3. Killian
Killian
Before
Ireturn Malachy’s death glare, determined not to be the one to break first. My brother is a slightly younger, slightly better polished version of myself and our favorite pastime is pissing each other off.
We hold identical poses, backs straight, legs spread wide and arms folded over our combat shirts.
We only blink when our bone-rattling truck hits a pothole and two benches of twenty men jolt up out of their seats.
I say men, but there’s a veritable goddess sitting next to me, which is why I’m getting the evil eye from my brother.
“Couldn’t you have found better transport, Mal?” I complain. “Like maybe one with fucking suspension?”
“I’d say we’ve done pretty well considering we had zero notice, and this isn’t our fucking fight.”
I shake my head imperceptibly. I expected pushback for turning up with my unannounced plus-one, but there should be no question about why we’re traipsing through the Blue Ridge Mountains in the middle of the night.
“We’re here for the lowlife who made the mistake of thinking they can steal Ash Griffin’s family.
Not all the battles we pick are ours. Sometime we have to step up for our friends and this is one of those times.
Dad knows it. So should you.” The fact I have to point it out is why Dad trusts me as his second in command.
At twenty-nine, I’m the oldest of his five sons and for my sins, I’m heir to the Irish mafia.
One day I’ll inherit a sizable empire covering most of Nevada and a little more besides.
“Sorry if I’m a wee bit confused about who you class as friends these days,” Malachy says as we resume our staring match. He’s concentrating on glaring at me just as hard as he is ignoring the woman who sends a jolt of electricity down my spine every time her shoulder knocks against mine.
“The fleet was the best we could secure at short notice, Kill,” Lorcan interjects before I can offer our brother an expletive or two. As the third of John McConkey’s sons, he’s used to being in the middle of our battles.
Lorcan sits on Malachy’s right and it’s the first time he’s spoken since I landed at our meeting point somewhere north of Atlanta. He doesn’t engage much with the world around him, but it would be a mistake to assume Lorcan isn’t absorbing everything.
“At least we brought useful assets to the fight, not more trouble,” Malachy says. The fucker’s itching for a smack in face.
“I think he means me,” Katarina says with a bored sigh.
“She’s exactly who I mean,” he answers, his gaze still locked on mine.
It pisses me off that he won’t look at her, or call her by name. It may only be the second time I’ve met Katarina Barkov, but how can anyone not look at her? She’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. Long-limbed with curves that could lead the purest soul into temptation, and pure I’m not.
Nor is Katarina. There’s nothing sweet or innocent about Vasili’s niece.
Her eyes are a darker brown than mine, darker even than Malachy’s and his are almost black at present.
Her hair is the color of polished ebony and falls in a single braid down to the base of her spine, a practical measure for tonight’s mission but a distraction too.
I want to wrap that braid around my fist and…
“I can think of a few uses for her.”
My gaze slides to Malachy’s left and the man giving Katarina a look I don’t much like. Of all my brothers, he was always going to be the one to pay our guest attention. Too much attention.
“Tier, I suggest you shut the fuck up if you want to keep your teeth,” I growl.
My hand tightens into a fist, and even my dumbass brother knows it’s not a good idea to start a fight in a tightly enclosed space.
“What did I do? I didn’t say anything bad,” he complains, his blue eyes shimmering with innocence as he turns to Malachy. It’s a look he practiced to perfection on our mother. “Did I say anything, Mal?”
We all ignore his questions and Tiernan sits back with a huff. Twenty-five-years-old and he can still pout like a toddler.
I’m about to relax when Katarina stretches out long legs that had to have been poured into her skin-tight black jeans.
She’s sitting directly opposite Tiernan and when she crosses her ankles, the heels of her boots come to rest in the middle of his splayed feet.
Any part of Katarina between his legs is not a situation I’m comfortable with.
“I think he was suggesting he could fuck me,” she says.
The silence above the rumble of the truck’s engine is deafening as Tiernan glances nervously from Katarina to me.
I see the warring thoughts in his head. He can either take notice of my earlier warning and keep his teeth or…
He stretches out his feet towards her, capturing more of her legs between his. “If you’re offering, I could–”
As I lunge at Tiernan, Malachy leans out of the way. He’s not about to intervene in a fight over a Bratva princess, and it’s Lorcan who reaches across Malachy to sandwich himself between me and our younger brother. He doesn’t say anything. He simply uses his thick arms and body as a blockade.
“I’m going kill you, you little arse-wipe,” I yell over Lorcan’s shoulder.
“It’s OK, Shorty,” Katarina says, pulling me back. “This boy couldn’t handle me.”
“Ah, don’t you be worrying about that,” Tiernan says when he really should shut the fuck up. “I come with backup. Literally.” He tips his head to the front of the truck where Ronan is peering through the small window from the driver’s cab.
Ronan’s hair is a sandy brown, just a touch lighter than Tiernan’s, but the best way to tell the twins apart is the cow’s lick curl resting at the center of his forehead. He winks at Katarina. “Satisfaction guaranteed,” he shouts through the glass.
“If either of you go near her, you won’t be left with a pair of balls between you,” I snap.
“Jesus Christ! No one is fucking anyone!” Malachy erupts, tugging Lorcan back into his seat and trusting I won’t smash my fist into Tiernan’s smug face.
“I shouldn’t need to point this out but you…
” He jabs a finger in my face, “are a McConkey and she…” He aims his digit in Katarina’s direction next, “is a Barkov. One day you’ll be head of this family and she’ll be head of the Bratva, our sworn enemy.
And let’s not forget we killed her brother not that long ago. ”
“Half-brother,” Katarina corrects. “And if I take issue with what happened, it’s that I wasn’t the one to kill him.’
Ilya Barkov was a nasty piece of work who specialized in human trafficking. I’m relieved his sister doesn’t mourn his death.
“But don’t worry on my account, Malachy,” she continues. “I wouldn’t fuck your brothers if they crawled to me on their hands and knees and begged.”
Malachy checks for my reaction, but I’ve schooled my expression.
I’m not sure how far I’d go to get between Katarina’s legs, but it’s further than I’d comfortably admit.
I don’t know why I’m obsessing over this woman.
Maybe the Russians have devised a pheromone that’s making Katarina irresistible, but if that’s the case, Malachy and Lorcan are clearly immune.
“But I do worry about you, princess,” Malachy persists, looking her up and down in a way that inconceivably suggests he doesn’t like what he sees.
“We’re about to storm into a secret Bratva compound full of deserters from your uncle’s army, and the charge is being led by our good friend Ash Griffin, the man who’s just broken off your very brief engagement.
If I had to guess whose side you’re on, it’s not ours. ”
“Ash trusts her and so do I,” I cut in. Now that my brother is staring at Katarina, I like it even less. They look ready to kill each other.
“Don’t presume to know anything about me,” Katarina warns him. “I’m the one who told Ash where the hideout was. Those sketches of the layout you’ve been studying are mine. You can thank me later.”
Malachy sneers. “Don’t hold your breath. You wouldn’t be doing this if there wasn’t something in it for you.”
I hate agreeing with Malachy, but it’s a fair point.
I’m not so far under Katarina’s thrall that I don’t see the very big question mark over why she’s involving herself in this.
I’m aware of the pressure her uncle is putting on her to find a rich husband he can exploit, and it’s no surprise she wasn’t able to trap Ash for long, but news that she’s now dating a Moncrief is a surprise.
The Scottish titans of the hospitality industry are friends of the Griffins and, by extension, friends of mine too, but I don’t know Duke particularly well.
I’d bet everything I have it isn’t a love match, which beggars the question why the Griffins and Moncriefs are keeping her close.
I know why I’d keep her close, but that’s another matter.
All I know for sure is that tonight we’re walking into danger and we need to work as a team, and for better or for worse, that includes the niece of the Bratva’s pakhan.
“This conversation ends now,” I say, raising my voice so everyone in the truck hears.
I expect my men to follow my lead without question, but Malachy’s little speech will have planted doubts.
My brother’s an expert strategist, but he sometimes forgets we’re not inanimate cogs in a mostly well-oiled engine.
If he wants to replace me as second in command when I take over from Dad, he needs to learn how to instill confidence, especially when we’re about to go into battle.
“Tonight, Katarina is one of ours and we protect our own. Agreed?” My men agree without hesitation. Malachy is the last, but he nods. Reluctantly. And that just leaves one person. I turn to Katarina. “Agreed?”
A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “I’ve stayed at the compound. I know the buildings and I know the kind of men you’re going to face. Despite what your brother thinks, I am a useful asset. So use me.”