35. Make It a Double
MAKE IT A DOUBLE
Carina hasn’t said a single word since we left Seamus’s bar.
And I don’t know what to say.
My first kill wasn’t planned. But it was controlled. Celebrated. I had known it would happen one day, so it was almost a relief to have that initiation over with.
Innocence is rarely rewarded. No fight is ever truly fair. I taught Carina how to shoot so she’d feel safer, so she’d be prepared if she was ever around a gun, not because I thought she’d have to discharge a weapon the next day.
I’m mad at myself for putting her in a situation where doing so became necessary. And I’m worried because the pale woman in the passenger seat isn’t someone I recognize. I’ve known many versions of Carina, but I’ve never seen her sit so still or her expression be so blank.
I should have insisted she stay in the car.
Seamus swore repeatedly that he hadn’t shared any details about Carina’s new identity, only that she was in Ireland, but I can’t trust he told the truth.
I didn’t have the time or the tools to interrogate him properly, not with Carina in the same room.
I’ve repeatedly checked the car mirrors, and we don’t appear to have a tail, but that doesn’t mean they’re far behind.
She needs to leave the country as soon as possible, but I can’t drop her off at the airport in a catatonic state.
So, I’m driving to the one place in Dublin where I know I’ll have support if necessary. I park on a side street, replacing the partial clip in my Glock with a full one before slipping the handgun back into its hidden holster.
Carina remains silent. She doesn’t ask where we are or why we didn’t return to the hotel. She mirrors my movements, climbing out of the car once I do.
I don’t have to remind her to bring the gun. She tucks it into her jeans, letting her T-shirt cover the waistband so it hides the weapon.
What I said to her earlier about Maksim? I always knew the day would come when I couldn’t shelter him. I simply delayed it as long as possible. But I would have killed a hundred men earlier to ensure she didn’t have to pull the trigger once.
Tigh Mòr looks the same as the last time I was here two, maybe three, years ago.
Ivy crawls across the gray stone exterior of the building, partially obscuring the wooden sign that swings merrily in the summer breeze.
A few clusters of patrons are smoking at the tables outside, chattering over the ambient street noise and the up-tempo music spilling out from inside the bar.
Inside is busier than the pub where we ate dinner.
I guide Carina over to the counter. She’s still quiet but alert, glancing around, a little color returning to her face in response to the liveliness.
I lean closer, ensuring she can hear me over the music and chatter. “I thought you could use a drink.”
Her eyes drift from our surroundings to me. She blinks a few times, finally focusing. “Make it a double.”
I nod, relieved, then motion over the nearest bartender.
She hurries this way, bracing her palms on the wooden surface beside a stack of coasters. Tattoos snake down and around her arms. “What can I get ye?”
Before I can reply, another voice interjects. “I’ve got this one, Saoirse.” Cillian Walsh appears, wiping his hands on a towel that he tosses over one shoulder. His dark eyes gleam as he studies me. “Lev.”
“Cillian,” I return.
“Did I miss a message?”
I shake my head. “I’m not here on business.”
Cillian’s eyebrows rise. “You’re always here on business.”
“Not tonight. All I want is your best whiskey. A double.”
He stays surprised. On the few occasions we’ve drunk together, I’ve always imbibed vodka. Cillian looks left, noticing Carina half behind me for the first time. His gaze bounces back to me, and then he whistles. Long and low.
Fuck. He recognizes her.
He leans forward, resting his forearms as he lounges against the counter. “Is it finally my turn?”
“Only if you feel like taking a one-way trip to the Liffey.”
Cillian grins in response to the threat, holding a hand out to Carina. “Nice to see ye again.”
She glances at me before cautiously shaking his palm. “We’ve met before?”
That question does more to defuse my aggravation than any apology Cillian could have shared. Not that he attempted one.
“Lake Forest,” Cillian tells her. “About”—he pauses, probably counting—“ten years ago?”
“Eleven.” Carina and I speak simultaneously.
“You were at the party,” she adds.
“I hosted the party,” he corrects. “After spending six weeks staking that place out so Sokolov could swoop in once you showed up.”
I should have cut his neck with that bottle. Since I can’t rectify that now, I threaten to cut him out of future negotiations.
Cillian simply smirks. “You aren’t here on business.”
He turns away, toward the rows of bottles, leaving me with Carina’s curious stare.
“You planned that night?”
I look at her, relieved to see more color has appeared in her cheeks. “I wanted to see you again.”
“I almost didn’t go back that year. Samantha was such a bitch to me after what happened with Harrison.” She tilts her head left, studying me more closely. “He and his family left Chicago right after that weekend.”
“Too bad.”
“Was that you too?”
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
I say nothing, surprised she can tell.
“You didn’t need to—that was totally unnecessary.”
Unnecessary is what I would have done to him if I’d had the influence at eighteen that I do at twenty-nine.
“He hurt you.”
“He ran his mouth. He was a kid.”
“You’re defending him?”
“No. I’m just … not everyone deserves to be punished.”
“Here’s the whiskey.” Cillian sets a glass down. It’s so full that some amber liquid nearly sloshes over the rim. His version of a welcome. “If you need anything else, let me know.”
I know the offer is for more than a refill. Cillian might be irritating, but he’s reliable.
I nod an acknowledgment before he turns away, picking up the glass and holding it out to Carina. She grabs it and swallows a large sip, making a face as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Fuck, that’s strong.”
“Feel better?”
She doesn’t answer, and I immediately regret the reminder of what happened earlier.
“I’m assuming you guys aren’t actually cousins?” Carina indicates to where Cillian has moved, talking to one of the bartenders by the beer taps.
“I don’t have any cousins. My mother’s an only child, and my father’s siblings died young.”
“I have a lot of cousins.” She gulps more whiskey. “This is helping.”
“Good.”
Another sip. “Know what would really help me forget?”
I shake my head.
“Dancing.”
I’m not sure what I expected her to say, but it wasn’t that. “Okay. I’ll watch your drink.”
She hands it to me, then says, “I want you to dance with me.”
I’d rather get stitches without being numbed. I’m not even exaggerating. A cheery pop song is playing from speakers set up by a DJ table in the far corner. The throng of people dancing nearby are twirling and bouncing and gyrating.
Carina steps closer, rising on her toes and looping her arms around my neck.
I set the glass down so it doesn’t spill all over her.
She seems intent on pressing as much of our bodies together as possible, and it’s very, very distracting.
Her body heat seeps into my skin—solid, warm proof that she’s alive.
“Please,” she whispers right next to my left ear. “Please dance with me, Lev.”
Fuck. I can’t handle her begging.
I grab her hips and spin her toward where the dancing is happening. “One song.”
“One entire song,” she says. “This one already started, so it doesn’t count.”
“You’re bossy.”
We reach the periphery of the designated dance area. Carina spins to face me again. To ensure I see her roll her eyes, I realize.
“Says the bossiest person I’ve ever met. Don’t tell me where you’re going. Shoot this potato. Get in this stolen car.” She pauses. “Take off your clothes.”
I’ve always prided myself on my ability to remain cool and collected under any circumstances.
It’s always been easy to let go around Carina, locked away in a private hotel room.
Since my willpower is rapidly disintegrating out in public, I think I underestimated how much of it wasn’t where we were … but was her.
“You’re not dancing.” Her head tilts back, eyes meeting mine.
“This is me dancing,” I argue.
Carina reaches out, grabbing my wrists and forcibly raising my arms to wave them in the air.
I feel ridiculous. I’m close to laughter.
She beams and spins, hair flying as she sings along to a line romanticizing being young and in love.
Some dark strands smack my chest before she’s facing me again.
Her eyes narrow when she notices I’ve reverted to swaying, and then she turns and steps back so our bodies are flush.
Her ass presses against my pelvis. I’m getting hard, and we’re close enough that I’m sure she can tell.
Is this the first song or a second one?
Carina angles her head, chin lifting so she can see my face. “You haven’t touched me.”
“I’m touching you right now.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Nope,” I say lightly.
“I missed you.” Her head tilts back even more, exposing the pale column of her throat. “And your cock.” She smirks. “Mostly your cock.”
“Carina …” I’m struggling to stay in control. To remind myself that she’s tipsy and traumatized and needs to get on a plane as soon as possible.
“Did you miss me?”
“You’re drunk,” I state.
She shakes her head. “I’m not. Ask me anything. I’ll prove it to you.”
“There’s nothing I want to know,” I lie.
Hurt flashes on her face. “You used to fuck me every chance you could. Now you’re—”
I yank her left, out of the path of a broad guy wearing a rugby jersey who was about to bump into her from behind. “Watch it,” I snap at him.
Carina’s hair hits me again as she pulls away, striding down a hallway I know leads to the restrooms and Cillian’s office.
I swear under my breath and follow her.