Chapter 9
Cillian
Not for the first time in the last twenty-four hours, I refresh my chat with Electra, hoping a message might have come through, and my phone forgot to display it.
Sadly, the only chat that’s gotten any action is the one I have with Jeneva.
ME: I’m here, but there’s no parking.
JEN: Celebrity cooking class.
That explains the dozen luxury SUVs.
JEN: Park behind the red Porsche. Tour of the place shouldn’t take long. I’ll be out ASAP. Just need to finish up ringing up a few customers.
After taking Jeneva’s advice, I unfold myself from the Woody, lock the door, and then head to the bar.
The place is packed, not a free seat at the counter or at the tables in sight.
Ever since the flower shop became a Boston landmark, courtesy of the Hadez family’s “endorsement,” Logan’s has become the place to be.
At least, that’s how Jeneva explained it the first time she asked me to grab a drink there, back when I’d just started giving Mrs. Murphy private dance lessons. I’d only agreed so I could gather as much information as possible about—
I stop thinking about Jeneva, because there, astride one of the barstools, sits Electra. And she’s not alone. I narrow my eyes on her companion—a tall, black dude whose suit fits with the kind of precision money buys.
Where did I go wrong that the girl who doesn’t date is propped at a bar, chatting up a rando? Did I lay it on too thick?
I plow right toward the Atlantean enigma I’m doing a shit job of seducing.
“Cillian?” Electra’s mismatched eyes flash with surprise. “What are you doing here?”
I take stock of the glass on the bar that’s filled with ice but bears the mark of a salt rim. “I thought you didn’t drink with strangers.”
“Derek’s not a stranger.” Her irises grip mine as she adds, “He works for an investment bank and has a dog.”
If my pursuit of her were real, I’d be fucking hurt she considers the slick asshole not-a-stranger while she sticks me inside that category.
“Does he know you pick pickles out of sandwiches and compare all men to your savior?”
Her pretty lips pop wide before pressing tight. “Excuse me?”
When my slipup hits, I mutter, “Mrs. Murphy mentioned your past.” Thankfully, she has. And then I lean over to murmur, “Are you trying to make me jealous?”
Electra shivers. Or maybe she shudders. My ego chooses to interpret it as a shiver.
Before she can answer, I tell Derek. “Thanks for keeping my girlfriend company.”
“What the…?” Her features tighten with annoyance.
Derek the Suit rolls his neck. “Want me to escort him out, Elle?”
Elle? How long have they been chatting that he’s already been given access to her nickname?
When he lifts his arm to corral me from Electra, I snarl, “Don’t touch me.”
Though my knuckles itch, I keep them locked at my sides. I can’t afford to get into a bar brawl, and not because I have a record but because I don’t have one. Not yet. Unless my stepbrothers’ FBI contact has already pushed it into the system?
“Elle clearly doesn’t want you here, buddy.” Derek’s tone is quiet, like he’s trying not to make a scene.
“I’m not your buddy.” I straighten, noting the hitch in his throat as I reach my full height.
He must really want to impress Electra because he grips one of my shoulders and shoves.
“I warned you not to touch me.” I remove my glasses and put them on the bar, and then I snatch his wrist and twist. “Get out of here before I make you incapable of jerking off for the next month.”
Before I can break his bones, Electra steps between us. “It was really great speaking with you tonight, Derek, but it’s best you leave me to deal with my self-appointed glory hound. I appreciate your willingness to help out, though.”
Derek’s stubby lashes all but smack his browbone. Smugness curls in my chest that she chose to kick him out.
Once he’s gone, and she’s murmured an apology to Logan for the disruption, I feign perplexity. “How did you do that?”
I’ve seen Electra Serran annoyed, hurt, and insecure. Seething, though—that’s new. The lines that compose her already angular face sit at such sharp angles that they look drawn with a ruler.
“What actually landed you in juvie, Cillian Lowry?”
Since the question is asked with a side of glowing eyes, I reel my lashes high and reply like an automaton. “I robbed a CVS store. Took insulin and art supplies.”
“What was your sister’s name?”
“Celia Lowry.”
“What happened to your parents?”
“My mother died six years ago—cancer. My father died when I was nine from cirrhosis.”
“Why are you at this bar? Did you know I’d be here?”
“No. I had a work meeting.” I hope she doesn’t ask with whom, but of course, the question comes. “With Jeneva.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
Since I’m still supposed to be hypnotized, I say, “No.”
“That’s rich of you. Sabotaging my date while you line up one of your own.”
Her date? I work my jaw from side to side. “I’m not here for cocktails and small talk. I’m here to visit Logan’s basement, because Jen thinks it’s the ideal venue for her friend’s bachelorette party.”
Electra purses her lips. “When’s the bachelorette party?”
“Next Saturday.” As I hold her radiant gaze, I feel dangerously close to being hypnotized.
She shoves up the sleeves of a black denim jacket adorned with large silver grommets that shine in the amber glow of the bar lighting. “I don’t have a savior kink,” she grumbles.
Since magic no longer brightens her irises, I allow myself to blink and glance around for my glasses.
She drops her voice to add, “What I do have are several pet peeves—people who think they own me is one of them.”
“I don’t think I own—”
She tosses a hundred-dollar bill on the countertop and walks off.
I jam my glasses back on and stalk after her. “Electra, wait.”
She doesn’t.
“Please wait. I’m sorry.” I jog to catch up and grip her elbow before I can think better than to touch a livid Atlantean.
She doesn’t tell me to unhand her, but she does glare at where our bodies connect.
“I’m sorry for charging into the bar like a jealous asshole.” I keep my grip featherlight. “I wish I could shut off my attraction, but I can’t. Just like you can’t shut off your attraction to…” I roll his name around on my tongue before spitting it out, “Malachi.”
She finally shrugs me off. “The difference between you and me, Cillian, is that I don’t stalk my crush.”
“I didn’t. I had a meeting.” I gesture to the shop where customers are waiting to be rung up. “Ask Jen.”
“Whatever. I’m late for dinner.” She skirts the storefront.
“Electra, wait.” I jog after her. “I’m sorry.”
“Deal’s off.”
Cold punches my chest hard enough to make me fall back a step. I can’t lose her. This will set me back months. My stepbrothers will never give me more time. They’ll give the job to someone else, get rid of me, and keep Quinn captive.
Electra turns the corner at a clipped pace.
I follow. “I’m sorry for having acted like a dick. I swear it won’t happen a—” I stop short, because where the fuck is my station wagon?
Only three cars remain in the parking lot, and the Woody isn’t one of them.
I grip my nape and squeeze. The Porsche SUV I blocked—it’s gone. The driver must’ve have had my car towed. I don’t understand how and when, considering I was at Logan’s for barely twenty minutes.
I scan the lot again, absurdly hopeful I somehow missed my car.
“Fuck,” I growl, retrieving my phone from my pocket.
“What?”
“My car got towed.”
As I look up the address of where I need to go, I hear Electra say, “From this lot?”
“Jen told me to park behind a red Porsche.” I huff out an annoyed breath. “She mustn’t have passed on the message to the driver of the red Porsche. Fuck.”
Instead of heading into Blooms’ through the back entrance, she steps into the street and lifts her arm. I think she’s about to cast a spell—God knows which one or why it’s the first thought that comes to mind—when a cab swerves toward her.
She pops open the passenger door. “Come on, Lowry. Get in.”
But I just stand there.
“Get in before I change my mind about accompanying you.”
I all but dive into the cab. And then I just gawk at her like some creep.
“What?” she asks a few minutes into the drive.
“I can’t decide whether you’re coming with me out of pity or— I can’t even think of an or…”
“Can’t I be tagging along because I’m not a completely heartless bitch?” She stares through the windshield at the sea of taillights.
“Does this mean I get a second chance?”
“A second one? You never even had a first chance.” She sticks her elbow on the door and cradles her cheek on her fingers. “Honestly, I don’t know if it’s such a good idea. You obviously have a lot of—”
“Feelings?”
“I was going to say expectations, but we can go with feelings. You did have a lot of those back at the bar.”
“Derek was a tool.”
She rolls her eyes. “Derek was genuinely interested in me.” Under her breath, she adds, “And not because of the size of my bank account, or because of my connections.”
“You think I’m after your money and family?” I ask.
Silence.
“Why the hell would you think that?”
Her lids twitch—barely a flicker, but I catch it.
“Did someone allude to this…” My spine feels as rigid as the time Trenton swung a bat into my lower back, convinced I was trying to steal Quinn.
To this day, he can’t wrap his head around the idea of platonic friendships between men and women. Then again, the only person Trenton trusts is his twin.
The metal accents on Electra’s jacket flash under every passing streetlight. “You’re awfully defensive.”
“You mistake defensive for pissed-off. I’m the first to admit I have a bunch of flaws, but greed isn’t one of them.” The taillights of the car in front of us burn my corneas. “All I want is to”—save Quinn—“make enough to get by.”
I expect Electra’s eyes to spark at any moment, but she only keeps watching me in silence.