Chapter 24 #2
“Shit,” she curses, flushing slightly as she twists her fingers together nervously. “I’m sorry. I just got really excited.”
I laugh at her enthusiasm. It is contagious, as is her broad smile.
“You just took me off guard.” I smile warmly at her. “Thing One and Thing Two didn’t tell me about you.”
Margaret rolls her eyes as she elbows the twins in the sides.
“That’s these boys for you,” she laughs. “None of the Kavanaugh brothers have any manners.”
“I beg your pardon?” Seamus brings his hand up to his chest and pretends to look shocked. “I have amazing manners. Thank you very much. My mother raised me well.”
Margaret snorts. “Yeah, in a pen, like a pig.”
It’s Kiernan’s turn to laugh, his usual stony exterior melting slightly.
“Come on.” Margaret grabs my hand and tugs me along behind her through the maze of people toward the back of the club.
“Let’s sit and get a drink. The boys told me you’ve never been to a club before.
” I shake my head. She has to nearly yell at me to be heard over the roar of the music, and if she didn’t have a firm grip on my hand, I would have lost her in the din and haze of the club.
The minute we sit down on the plush green velvet of one of the back corner booths, a waitress wearing a short black miniskirt and a green crop top comes up to take our order.
“A blackberry mojito for me and a…” Margaret looks at me a bit skeptically, probably wondering if I’ve ever ordered a drink before. She doesn’t know I spent the better part of a year working at a dive bar.
“Jameson on the rocks, please.”
The waitress nods as she writes down our order and takes off.
“Girl, that is some hard shit right there.” Margaret laughs. “I thought you’d order something like a margarita or a white claw.”
“I worked in a dive bar for a while,” I tell her, thanking the waitress when she comes back a minute later with our drinks. Damn, she is fast. Margaret must see something in my face because she chuckles before taking a sip of her drink.
“Seamus and Kiernan own the club,” she giggles. “Whenever they’re here, one of the waitresses is taken off floor duty to only serve their booth. No having to wait or anything.”
That make sense.
“This place is amazing,” I tell her as I look around. The blend of music, lights, and the smoky ambiance all meld together to create an almost ethereal experience. Our booth is on the edge of the dance floor but still tucked back far enough to provide a modicum of privacy.
The hints of green and cherry wood that are spread throughout the club pay subtle tribute to their Irish heritage without being overwhelming.
There aren’t any Irish flags or colors outside of the green.
No high-top bar stools or pool tables. This place is more elevated and swankier, a sign of the new generation of Irish taking over.
It is very much the style of the twins.
A song comes on I don’t recognize, but Margaret does, her face glowing as she claps her hands together excitedly.
“Come on!” She ushers me out of the booth, dragging me behind her onto the dance floor. “I love this song.”
Margaret raises her hands above her head and sways her hips to the beat of the music. Her eyes close as she gets lost in the beat. Looking around, I see the twins grinding against a couple of college-age girls who already look to be far past drunk.
Not sure what exactly I am supposed to do, I mirror Margaret’s movements until my body finds its own rhythm among the beat.
One song becomes two, which becomes more, and soon I find myself tiring.
The man beside me has been trying to grind his body against mine for the last few songs, and I am done with it.
The twins are too busy making out with their drunken conquests, so I settle on seeing if Margaret will join me back at the booth.
“I need a drink,” I yell and mime that I am thirsty. We’ve been at the club for almost three hours, and the first round of Jameson has already worn off. A thin sheen of sweat covers my forehead and the back of my neck, and I am dying of thirst.
Margaret nods, pushing past me so she can lead me back toward the booth. I follow behind her, attempting to keep up with her quick pace.
The knife comes out of nowhere, and if I hadn’t been so intently focused on my surroundings so I wouldn’t lose sight of my newly acquired cousin, I might have missed it.
I leap back as the blade comes slicing down at me.
“Jimmy?” I swallow back the lump in my throat as I stare at the man before me. Jimmy Burlosconi works for Dante as an enforcer, but something in the back of my brain tells me this isn’t Romano sanctioned.
I hope.
“Don’t take this personally, princess,” Jimmy sneers. “But a job’s a job, and I ain’t passin’ up the bounty on your head.”
Bounty?
Someone put out a bounty on me?
Who?
My suspicion that Jimmy isn’t working for Dante is right. He wouldn’t need to put out a bounty on my head to get Jimmy to do the job. Jimmy works for him, which means someone else out there wants me dead.
“Fuck you,” I snarls at Jimmy, dodging another blow. Someone screams “knife,” and the crowd on the dance floor parts easily.
Jimmy snarls as he lunges forward. I brace for the impact, ready to knock the knife from his hands, but I am too slow.
“Fucking pox bottle,” Kiernan growls as he slams his fist into Jimmy’s face. The hitman’s blade clatters to the ground as he hits the floor.
“Who do you think ye are coming into our club and attacking our sister?” Seamus hisses, his foot landing in Jimmy’s stomach. “Get him up.”
Two of the club’s bouncers yank Jimmy to his feet and haul him off the dance floor without another word.
“Are you okay?” Seamus turns to me, his eyes scanning me for injuries.
I nod.
“He didn’t get me,” I assure my brother. “Those lessons with narkey-hole over there paid off.”
Seamus bursts out laughing at my use of the Irish insult he taught me. Kiernan, however, doesn’t look nearly as amused at being called out for being moody all the damn time.
“Fuck you teach her that for?” Kier shakes his head at his brother. “Father’s gonna be fucking furious if he finds out you’re teachin’ her that shite.”
His twin just shrugs and grins before bending down to grab Jimmy’s forgotten knife.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,” he hollers to the surrounding crowd. At some point, the music has been killed and the lights turned on. “The show is over. Free drinks on the house for the next half hour.”
Shouts and cries of excitement rise up around us as the lights dim again and the steady thrum of music starts back up.
“Oh my god!” Margaret rushes forward and wraps me in a hug when I reach our booth, the twins close behind me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I assure her, then turn back to the twins. Something about Jimmy is bothering me, and it isn’t the fact that he tried to knife me. “How the hell did Jimmy know I was here? And better yet, how did he know what I was wearing?”
“Fuck if we know,” Kiernan growls. “But trust me, sis, we’re gonna fucking find out. You good?”
I nod as I slide back into the booth beside Margaret, taking a long sip of the Jameson she ordered for me.
Dammit.
How the hell did he know I was at the club?
There are only a handful of people who knew I’d be here with the twins. Even fewer who knew what I’d be wearing, and every single one of them is part of Liam’s crew.
Shit.
There’s no way it’s Liam. He doesn’t need to put a bounty on my head to kill me. He’s had more than enough opportunity to do it himself.
Unless he wants it to look like someone else did it.
I’d like to think Matthias would avenge me if I were murdered. Liam wouldn’t risk starting a war by killing me himself without an alibi. But then, what’s his motive?
As the eldest Kavanaugh, I’m technically first in line to inherit the Kavanaugh fortune and the underground empire. But I’ve already told Liam and the twins I don’t want it. Sure, I could stake my claim, but why would I? I don’t want anything to do with that world if I can help it.
I’ve told Liam I’m more than happy to help with the legal side of things once everything is said and done. I just won’t take away from what the twins have worked so hard for.
That wouldn’t be fair to them.
Something shifts in Liam after I told him that, right before I accused his wife of being a dirty, rotten, cheating liar.
Not my finest moment.
“Um, Ava?” Margaret says quietly.
There’s something in her voice, nervous, tight.
I shake myself out of my thoughts and look at her. Her face has gone pale, her eyes wide and locked on something behind me.
“I think he’s here for you,” she whispers without blinking. She looks like a fox caught in a trap.
A chill skates down my spine. The fine hairs on the back of my neck lift, instinct screaming that I’m being watched.
I don’t need to turn around to know who she means.
There is only one man who can make a room react like that.
I swear I can hear his heavy footsteps even over the pounding music. My body hums, wired tight, every nerve ending aware.
Watched.
No.
Hunted.
The question is, who’s the prey?
Because it sure as hell isn’t me.
Heat presses against my shoulder, his presence overwhelming, unmistakable. Still, I refuse to look at him. Instead, I drain the rest of my drink and let my blood-red lips curve into a slow, dark smirk.
“Nice of you to join us,” I purr, letting the words drip with intent, “husband.”
“You’re in a lot of trouble, my little traitor.”