Chapter 17 #2
“She was.” Patrick’s face twists into a look I can’t place.
I don’t think his expression signals pain, at least not exactly.
It’s more like grief or sadness, but it’s only there for a second before it flickers away.
“That’s mine and Cormac’s mother. It’s been so long, I think I forgot what she looked like. ”
“She in Heaven?” Lucky asks, tilting his face over his shoulder to look up at Patrick. “My dad goes there.” He nods, and I finally get myself together, striding across the room.
I think he meant to say he went there, but I try to change the topic whenever he asks why he doesn’t have a dad like the other kids at day care. No matter how hard I try to handle that conversation with care, I always end up emotional, and he can’t possibly understand why.
“Hey, kiddo.” I grin, coming to a stop a few feet away from the club chair they’re seated in.
“Mommy!” Lucky, ever the gentleman, shoves Patrick’s arm out of the way and slides down his legs. He bolts straight for me, and I bend down to pick him up. He hits me like a freight train, and my temples throb.
“You snuck off again.” I stand, giving him a squeeze as I kiss his temple. “But I heard you had help.”
“Yeah, Mal, help me.” He nods, resting his cheek on my shoulder. “Mommy, I gotta go potty, real bad.”
My eyes widen, and I take off, but then I remember I don’t know where the closest bathroom is down here.
Patrick pops up at my side, smiling. “It’s this way.” He winks, and my silly heart races.
Oh, shit.
I forgot how hard it is to be around compatible alphas without the suppressants to buffer.
Thankfully, Lucky makes it to the toilet in time, but I really need to ask about getting a few things delivered.
Miriam was an angel, coming through with cups yesterday, but if we’re going to be here for any amount of time, I’d like to buy a few things to make it easier on all of us.
Miriam meets us in the living room as we make it back from the bathroom, and I ask her if she would mind watching Lucky for a few minutes while I speak to Patrick. I’m not sure where he went while we were in the bathroom, but I intend to track him down.
“You don’t even need to ask,” the older woman says, smiling brightly. “I’m always available for this little cutie.”
Lucky runs into her knees, lifting his arms. “Pick me up, Mimi.”
I grimace as she bends to scoop him up. He’s so heavy that I’m surprised how easily she lifts him. I suppose where there’s a will, there’s a way, but I also don’t want her to destroy her back.
“Thank you so much,” I tell her before taking off to look for Patrick.
I’m shocked Malachy hasn’t made it down yet, but I’m sure he has his own things to take care of.
That, or he’s ignoring me now because he knows I wanted him to kiss me.
I don’t understand why he has come to check on me two nights in a row if he’s not interested…
Maybe he’s just a really good guy, who looks after all the women around him.
Patrick is in his office, which happens to be the first place I check.
I knock and let myself in without waiting. “Malachy was going to talk to you, but he hasn’t made it downstairs, and I don’t think this can wait.”
“He called me. That’s where I disappeared to while you were helping Lucky to the bathroom.” Patrick stands from his desk, prowling around it and toward me. “He’s assisting Cormac with something, but they should both be in soon. What can I help you with, Charlotte?”
“I forgot my suppressants.” I keep my eyes focused on his, but my mind helpfully replays flashes of what he looked like without his shirt the other night. My mouth feels especially dry as I say, “I need to get them. Or maybe someone can grab them for me?”
Patrick comes to a stop a foot away, and his nostrils flare. “You do smell quite potent.” He raises a hand, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Hmm, that is a problem, especially with our guest in the shed.”
My head tilts as I breathe in his smoky campfire scent. He smells just as incredible as he does every time I catch a whiff of his scent, and my instincts ache to let me be distracted by it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Patrick tsks. “Apparently no one shares with me anymore when we’re supposed to be keeping a secret.
” His blue eyes roll. “Well, that’s on them.
Malachy snatched one of the MC members. He’s currently in Cormac’s torture dungeon.
We’re going to find out why they were in Boston in the first place and any other pertinent information that can be wrenched out of him. ”
My jaw falls, and I stumble against the door.
Patrick follows me back, brushing his thumb over my cheek. “Scared now, sweetheart? I told you we’d keep you and Lukas safe. Sometimes that requires a level of ugliness most of the world would shy away from, but not us.”
He said torture dungeon, and it’s like my brain can’t compute those words in regard to Cormac. He could be exaggerating in an attempt to scare me, and I’m not sure if he’s successful.
Do I really care if one of Blade’s guys is being tortured for information?
Not necessarily.
The things they would do to me if they got their hands on me have kept me up at night for years. They wouldn’t have an ounce of mercy. The crimes men commit against women are often more vile and degrading than what they would do to other men.
Rape is used as a means of control.
A way to exert power and belittle.
It also means that, soon enough, Cormac will know what I did to send me on the run.
I’m not sure if I’m ashamed that I killed Blade.
Most of the time, I’m not.
There’s no doubt in my mind that if I hadn’t gotten him first, he would have killed me.
If anyone would understand my motivation, I believe Patrick, Malachy, and Cormac would, but it also might destroy their illusions that I need protection.
“Don’t tell me you’re scared of us now.” Patrick quirks an eyebrow. “I’ll find you so much more interesting if you go scorched earth on anyone who has ever wronged you.”
“You know, Patrick. I have questions about how you ever get laid, but with that type of confidence, I’m sure plenty of women have fallen for your particular type of charm.”
His eyes sparkle as his lips tip up. “I’ll be happy to show you my brand of charm at any time. Just say the word, sweetheart.” He teases his thumb over my lower lip, and a shiver slides down my spine.
Goddammit.
I’m a hypocrite for the way I talked about Lacey fully being in her bad-boy era. He smells too good, and I’ve always been attracted to cocky guys.
I’m not proud of the fact that I shove off the wall, stretching up until my lips hover an inch away from his. Our breath mingles, and a low growl rattles out of his chest as he leans down to meet me in the middle.
His lips are curved into a smirk as his mouth brushes mine. That alone should be enough to have me kneeing him in the balls, but I’m weak, and his pheromones are making me floaty.
He wraps his hand around my lower back, and his other weaves into my hair as he growls, slamming my ass against the wall.
Patrick isn’t teasing, slow, or playful.
He fucks his tongue into my mouth and moves me where he wants me with a fistful of my hair. He puts that confident swagger to good use, destroying me with licking, teasing kisses.
His knee notches between my thighs as his front pushes against mine, and I almost wish he’d be a little less gentlemanly with the locations of his hands.
Patrick pulls me closer, and I melt into him, releasing an embarrassing little moan that only makes him more feral.
He’s a bossy kisser, and it ratchets up my natural instinct to be submissive and go with the flow. His scent is everywhere, and it makes my head foggy as he nips at my lower lip.
A loud banging rings through the air as someone knocks on his office door. I jolt, but Patrick doesn’t miss a beat. He swirls his tongue around my lip and pulls back.
“You in there, Pat?” a male voice yells through the door. It might be the older man who was patching him up that first night—Seamus?
“What?” Patrick growls.
“The front gate staff has been calling the three of you,” the man says. “They wanted to know how to proceed. One of the Chapmans’ cars is at the gate, trying to gain entrance. They couldn’t reach any of you, and they didn’t want to cause an incident, so they waved them through.”
“Jesus,” Patrick mutters. “Apparently I don’t pay those people to think…”