8. Chapter 5 - Hillary
I awoke with a massive headache, the shrill screech of my alarm pulling me out of another terrifying nightmare.
They were getting worse; each evening brought far more hellish landscapes along with it, despite the emphatic promise from my doctor my brain would not be capable of dreaming under the effects of a newly prescribed sedative.
I didn’t have time to be tired. As usual, my day was packed with meetings, with one particular presentation I wouldn’t be missing, migraine be damned.
Pulling off my puffy pink eye mask and noise canceling earphones, I filled my lungs with three head-clearing breaths to calm my nervous system .
No amount of breaths in the world was going to bring me peace today. I needed to hit something.
Padding to my ensuite, I took my time getting ready, letting the steam from my shower seep into my pores and cleanse me from the inside out. I carefully tended to the cuts and bruises all over my body. Thankfully, my face hadn’t taken the hardest hits; expensive makeup, dark lipstick and strategic hairstyling would cover the majority of it.
I finally stepped out of my soapy cocoon, applied my makeup and dried and curled my hair into loose waves. I rarely curled my hair—it took too much time, and I had too many more important things to do—but I couldn’t force myself to rush out into the real world today.
The shattered shards of the last seventy-two hours had finally embedded themselves into my skin, and the pain of almost losing Aaron, the necessity of standing up to Kellan, and now having to keep Aaron safe from Mafia hit men, and keep Lucky under lock and key had shifted the trajectory of the next several weeks. I couldn’t afford the detour.
I couldn’t keep Alec in an offsite facility forever. No amount of picking off individual predators would ever bring my Carino back. One judge or one family having their daughter returned to them wouldn’t avenge Isabella.
I’d been searching for a way to honor her life for years; to avenge the gruesome way it had been stolen. The nightmares were wedging their way into my daily consciousness, as if her ghost was haunting me for failing her. For not loving her enough to see the grooming signs.
I hadn’t been strong enough to save her.
My vendetta was for her; to avenge her death by removing all predators from our state. The only way to do that was to take out the head of the organizations providing them with fodder in the first place. Managing these additional complexities would take energy and time—time I didn’t have.
Whe n I finally made it out into the kitchen to make my morning cappuccino, the freshly prepared mug sitting on the countertop surprised me, complete with heart-shaped white foam nestled on top.
Right. My house guest.
The muscular form of a man in a navy suit lounged on my white chaise lounge in my periphery. I turned to Lauchlan O’Donnell laying on the settee with his arms behind his head, eyes closed to the ceiling.
So much for handcuffing him to my bedpost, Kellan.
“Was wondering when you’d join me.” His Irish brogue broke through my usual morning quiet, but those sparkling, sea-glass eyes remained closed. “Heard your shower running and almost stepped in to join yeh.”
He’d arrived late into the evening last night, after Kellan had installed the tracking chip under his skin as promised. All he’d brought with him was a travel case and a suit bag—and a bag of snacks because ‘I know you’re not gonna have anything good to eat here.’
Ignoring the mug left for me on the counter, I made my way to the espresso machine that took up most of my counter space, and removed my favorite hand-potted mug from the hook on the wall. I turned the machine on to warm it back up—he’d had the courtesy to shut it off when he was done with it, at least—and turned my attention back to my wayward ward.
“Good thing for you, you didn’t. I know how to castrate a man.”
His eyes snapped open, but a playful grin danced across his tempting full lips. His gaze landed on mine, showing no sign of fear or hesitancy, just intrigue.
Apparently, very little made this man shake in his boots. I looked forward to testing that bravado soon.
“I’ll bet you do, Blondie. Do yeh bathe in the man’s tears afterwards? Or just collect them for your potions?”
A s nort escaped me despite myself. Lucky O’Donnell was a brat.
And a con man—that little piece of information was still hanging between us. As far as I knew, Lucky didn’t know I was privy to his actual day job—regardless of his side gig and crusade against Marco Alvarez. And as far as I knew, Kellan and Aaron weren’t aware of it, either.
Lauchlan couldn’t possibly know about Kellan’s FBI ties; I was surprised Kellan had told Aaron about that part of his life, but it certainly made plotting my next steps with the two men easier. Fighting to the death in a gentlemen’s agreement apparently developed an instant bond of sorts, which should prove useful in the days ahead.
Neither Lauchlan nor Aaron had any inkling of my evening activities—although, now I knew Lauchlan tracked my phone, I’d have to walk a much more careful line while delivering justice this week.
What an interesting circle of secrets among the four of us.
And I was the only one who knew them all.
Cocking my head, I assessed Lucky, who still leisurely took up space in my living room. I could call him on his shit right here and now, metaphorically castrate his agenda, and shift the power balance between us—but I didn’t know enough yet. Someone had hired him; I needed to know who and what they’d hired him to do.
If he was going to steal something, he might as well get it over with while living in the lion’s den—but the simplicity of that plan didn’t sit well with me. A thief didn’t need to follow me in the middle of the night to keep up the pretense. There had to be more to the story—a lot more—and I was determined to find out.
So, instead of pinning him to the wall with all that I knew, I raked my eyes over the well-honed biceps and thighs trapped in his form-fitting suit, sprawled out in all their glory, and enjoyed the view for a second longer than I should before responding.
“I drink them in my coffee, and it looks like I’m fresh out. I wouldn’t test me.”
Swinging his legs down to the floor, he settled into a seated position, resting his elbows on his knees, gaze peeking out from beneath long lashes, locked on mine in an intense stare of feral hunger.
“Oh, how I’d love to test you, lass.”
Warmth spread deep in my belly and directly into my silk panties. His heated suggestion contagious, I tossed ice-chilled water on the fire before it could build further. Lauchlan O’Donnell was a tool to be wielded against the Alvarez empire; nothing more. Sexual attraction and chemistry be damned.
“I’ll bet you would.” I said, intentionally tossing his words back at him then poured his bribery caffeine down the sink and finished making my cappuccino.
He didn’t take the bait, silent gaze on me as I worked; his stare burned a tiny hole through my shoulder blades, like I was an ant beneath his magnifying glass.
Having someone else in my space—especially him —was going to take some getting used to. With any luck, we’d be able to find an in to take down Alvarez as quickly as possible. For Aaron’s sake, and for mine.
Speaking of—it was time for Lauchlan to earn his keep around here.
“Alright, Lucky,” I sat on the sofa across from him, crossed my legs, and stared into the cocky recesses of his soul. I’d have to sip my coffee while conducting this small impromptu business meeting.
“It’s time for you to spill. Your sister…” I prompted, eyeing him expectantly.
The playful nature that always danced behind his eyes dissipated instantly, the glow within the sea-glass going eerily blank. Still, his smile remained. He steepled his fingers in his lap and brought them up to rest on his lips.
“Fecking Conan.” He shook his head, his smile morphing into a pained grimace. “He had to fuck me to get it out of me, but yeah, my sis.”
My perfect brows rose to my hairline as I nearly choked on the drink halfway down my throat. Sputtering, I wiped the dribbles of coffee off my mug. “He failed to mention that part.”
“Did he, now?” Lauchlan’s eyes lit up again in amusement, the familiar cocky grin taking over his features. “Well, that won’t do, will it? No secrets among the musketeers now, aye? Tied me to the bedpost and fucked me till I spilled my secrets and my cum all over his bedsheets. Would have been a great torture porn.”
Shifting back into his seat, he eyed me in challenge. He clearly thought he’d shocked me.
As if I hadn’t read the sexual tension between them months ago.
“Couldn’t have been too great of a fuck if he only got one secret out of you.” I raised a brow and took another, more cautious sip of my coffee. “Perhaps a woman’s touch was needed.”
He relaxed further into the cushion, his brows knitting together into a serious frown.
“I have no more secrets to spill, love.”
He was so good at duplicity; it was truly astonishing to watch—not a single standard tell to show he was lying. When all the cards were on the table and I truly had him at my mercy, I would force him to teach me—I could use that level of skill in the boardroom.
“And your sister?” I prompted again, determined to get one story—a real one—out of him.
He tore his gaze from mine and rubbed a hand over his jaw, his calloused palm scraping over the two-day-old stubble atop his cheeks. Taking a page out of Aaron’s patien ce book, I waited, sipping what remained of my coffee as I tried to assess every nuanced shift of muscle in his face.
“Shayna is—was,” he corrected on a sigh, his stare downcast into the couch cushion, “my half-sister, but she might as well have been my parasite for how close we were.”
“Da had an affair after a family job when I was nine. Ma came to America, and I stayed with him—he didn’t marry her, but she had a child out of it, and Shayna became my world. Tiny little thing in need of protectin’, so I became her protector.”
My stomach twinged, the admission forcing pricks of unease down my spine. I didn’t want to see similarities in our situations. Lucky was a chess piece. Anything else would be too… complicated.
“While I was away in college—I have a degree in 'tech’, by the way.” He smiled ruefully. “Software Engineering. Anyway, she got on with the wrong set of blokes. Groomers. She was fourteen, young and stupid, and they convinced her to do some things on cam. Then they blackmailed her with it to do other… things.”
Groomers. That word… That despicable, disgusting word. I froze in my chair, willing the memories to remain under the surface. I was the one interrogating Lucky; I would not fall apart in his presence.
He blew out a harsh breath, shifting in his seat uncomfortably before his gaze finally met mine, his eyes crinkled with sorrowful regret.
Finally, a genuine emotion from his carefully crafted facade; The raw agony in his features took me back–a mirror of my pain.
Still, I stayed silent.
“She ran away at sixteen. Came to America, with two men younger than me who’d sold her on the land of opportunity, when they’d just sold her body to the highest bidder. Alvarez.”
A r aw timbre shook from his throat on the last word, as if Alvarez had stolen a part of his soul—just as he’d stolen a piece of mine. I tried to swallow the golf ball of emotion firmly embedded into my throat, but the bitter feelings only lodged deeper into my chest.
Mournful green eyes remained fixed on the rug, his hands clenching and unclenching in his lap, as if squeezing out his hidden hurt.
“Took me years to find out—to track down her whereabouts—and she was last seen in Chicago. And then she was a Jane Doe in the morgue. Da used a contact on this side to confirm it—pretty sure the heartbreak killed him.”
Glossy eyes rose to meet mine. For a second, we were trapped in time, our tragedies inextricably intertwining our heads and our hearts.
A rosy flush crept up the sides of his neck to the tops of his cheekbones. He shook his head emphatically, as if clearing himself of the haunting memories and the ache that came with them.
I knew that pain. The rawness of it; how it scraped across every part of your insides with violent claws. I buried all the feelings that needed a much deeper grave, giving him the gift of grace to pull himself. No one could pretend to hold that kind of agony without truly knowing its flavor on the tongue. I believed him.
Despite it all, I couldn’t deny how deeply my heart hurt for him, his loss as acutely felt within my soul as it was in his. We’d both lost women we loved to brutal men who stole innocence as easily as they breathed air. The parallels were… uncomfortable.
Was it possible Lucky wasn’t actually the bad guy?
“So, you’re here to avenge her?” I asked gently, needing to hear it from his own lips. Desperate to hear more truths instead of the charming, cocky bullshit he normally spewed.
I n eeded this moment of vulnerability to last just a second longer, to know this side of Lucky was actually real.
Steely determination entered his gaze.
“Something like that. Vengeance for her. For me. For Da. Opportunity presented itself and I seized it.”
Opportunity. Interesting word choice. Was I the chicken, or the egg in this scenario? Which opportunity came first? Did it matter? Could I ever trust him regardless of the running order of events?
“I see.” Setting down my coffee mug on the glass table in front of me, I stood from my space on the chair opposite and moved beside him on the settee. I was careful not to touch him. Comforting him wasn’t an option, not with the boundaries of subterfuge between us, but I could offer my presence.
“And what is your plan for Alvarez?”
His body tensed beside me and his hands fisted into his sides. For the first time, I saw true, powerful anger in Lucky—his usual restraint by the wayside.
“Access to everything he holds dear to his black heart. I’m halfway into his system now. When I get full control, I’m going to expose all the shyte he’s been up to—the lives he’s ruined. And I’m bleeding him of every cent he’s got.”
Pausing, I thought through several scenarios simultaneously. If I brought Blackbird in to speed up the process—
Could I trust Lucky enough to even make that offer? Had we considered all the avenues to make this possible, or were we relying too heavily on Kellan’s ties to make our strongest play?
I’d have to sit on that one for now.
“Okay.”
I stood and smoothed the creases out of my skirt, turning around to face my house guest.
“I’ll help you with this. We’ll help you with this,” I amended and folded my arms across my chest, staring down my nos e at his brooding presence. “But don’t for a second think you have the upper hand here, Lucky. Fuck me over, and I’ll fuck you twice as hard.”
An impish glint entered his eye, the Lucky I knew depositing himself back into his body.
“Kellan said the same thing, Blondie, but he proved it. Care to do the same?”
A thick eyebrow rose to taunt me as he leaned back casually into my couch once again, his confession all but forgotten as he openly gawked at me.
“You’re impossible.” I grumbled. Leaving the living room, I grabbed my purse from the kitchen counter. “Don’t mess up my house while I’m gone.”
“I work, too, you know,” he shot back, his warm presence close behind me as he followed me to the front foyer. “I’ll see you tonight, honey.”
The irritating man leaned down and kissed my forehead like we were long-time lovers. Then he tossed me a roguish wink, as if he’d get away with that shit now he’d sobbed on my shoulder.
I elbowed him in the ribs—hard enough to mark him with a tidy little bruise. He grunted and clutched his side, then let out a booming belly laugh that echoed through the metal box, its sound light and infectious. My lips quirked up before I could firmly press them into a neutral frown. Avoiding his gaze, I pressed the elevator button to go our separate ways.
We rode down in silence; him scrolling through his phone while I contemplated the details of his story.
His crusade was surprising, yet useful. The more I considered his connections and the power position I had over him, even without knowing his true agenda for me, I could use him to get Alvarez where I wanted him.
He waved as we got off the elevator and walked out the front glass doors. I waited for Josephine to arrive to take me to the office. I stared at his retreating form that grew more confident with each passing step.
Lauchlan may have a heart, but I didn’t have time to see him as anything but a piece on the board. His trauma and vendetta didn’t have to mean anything to me—he could still be a useful pawn. I was going to move him wherever I damn w ell pleased.
Why did that t hought make me feel so shitty?