Chapter 12 Simone #2
I sigh, already exhausted by the thought. “I didn’t realize the Callahans were so celebratory.”
“We are if we’re able to make it about alcohol.” He casts a half-grin in my direction then disappears into the closet to finish changing.
Killian is stern-faced and stony at the bottom of the staircase. He’s dressed in his usual dark jeans and a black jacket, his bent nose and scarred knuckles marking him as exactly what he is—a rough and tumble enforcer for the Irish Mob.
We drive to SoHo in one of the Escalades. I’m seated in the back, staring out the window as the city passes by.
My phone buzzes in my lap. It’s Chantal texting me. We’ve hardly talked since that night at Axis.
How’s the marriage going, babe?
I hesitate, then type back.
What do you think? I’d do anything to be rid of him.
Her response comes almost immediately.
I might have a permanent solution to your problem.
And no it’s not us running away.
I stare at the message, my heart skipping a beat. What does she mean by that? Permanent solution to my marriage to Ronan?
Before I can respond, Killian announces, “We’re here.”
For the rest of the morning, Killian shadows me. We go from boutique to boutique in SoHo, searching for a dress.
The neighborhood is quintessentially New York—cobblestone streets, cast-iron buildings painted in muted colors, artificially planted tree pits and shrubbery, and expensive storefronts with floor-to-ceiling windows displaying mannequins in cutting-edge fashion.
The air smells like expensive perfume and fresh coffee from the cafés tucked between designer shops.
Killian barely leaves me alone long enough to try outfits on in the dressing rooms, standing just outside like some kind of prison guard. His arms are crossed, his expression severe.
Every sales associate knows to give him a wide berth.
It’s no wonder he and Ronan are so tight. They have a similar brooding aura, a distinct masculine energy that’s both attractive and threatening.
He’s as fearsome of an Irish gangster as my husband is.
Which is exactly the reason I decide to try to lose him.
We enter a larger boutique called Atelier Noir, a spacious multi-level shop with exposed brick, no shortage of floor-to-ceiling mirrors, and racks of designer clothing on display like art installations.
The lighting is moody and ambient except for spotlights highlighting key pieces. The dressing rooms are in the back, cordoned off by thick velvet curtains.
I slip between a couple of different racks, weaving through the crowded store. The boutique is busy today with women browsing and the sales associates that tend to them.
I glance back. Killian is distracted, taking a rare moment to check the notifications on his phone.
It’s the opening I need, and I dart between a rack of evening gowns. I disappear to the other side of the store, near the back where it’s quieter and less crowded.
Satisfied to finally have a moment alone, I exhale, my shoulders relaxing for the first time all morning.
I step up to a full-length mirror framed in ornate gold and hold a dress on a hanger against myself. It’s a navy blue wrap dress that accentuates the hips and backside.
My head tilts as I study my reflection, debating if it’s the right one for a family event.
One moment I’m standing alone in the mirror. The next, I’m joined by a huge, muscly, mean-looking man who steps up behind me.
He’s not Killian. He’s someone I’ve never seen before in my life, appearing so suddenly it’s like he materializes out of thin air.
I jump in place, my breath catching. The dress slips from my hand, the hanger clattering to the floor. You’d think I’d scream, but my brain goes blank, and suddenly I’m struck speechless.
He’s massive, easily six foot five or six, built like a tank with a neck so thick it looks painful. His face is no less brutal, his brow heavy and furrowed and eyes dark and cold.
Unnervingly lifeless.
“I… I…” I stammer, taking a step to the side and bumping into the mirror.
His hand reaches out, and he grabs my wrist before I can even think to run. His grip is crushing, almost as if he intends to break my bones. I gasp and try to wrench myself free, but he doesn’t budge.
He simply looms closer, baring his teeth like a wild animal.
“Simone Langton,” he grunts in a harsh accent. “Or is it… Simone Callahan?”
Terror floods through me, ice cold and paralyzing. My mouth opens, but no sound comes out. He leans down, bringing his face closer to mine. His breath smells like cigarettes and bitter coffee.
“Answer me.”
I nod frantically, my eyes wide.
A slow, cruel smile spreads across his face. He yanks me closer, and I stumble forward, my heels catching on the area rug on the floor. His other hand comes up to grip my shoulder, holding me in place. His fingers dig into my skin hard enough it’ll likely bruise.
“Dren wants to send a message,” he says. “To your father. And your husband. The best way to do that, it seems, is through you. Tell them to stop fucking with our business or they’ll regret it.”
Just when I think he’s done, he squeezes my wrist even tighter and makes me wince.
“So will you. Understand?”
I nod again, more terrified than I’ve ever been in my life.
Then, as suddenly as he appeared, he lets go. He shoves me so I stumble back against the store mirror. He turns and strides off, his heavy boots thudding against the floor ’til he’s gone.
I stand there, frozen, my entire body trembling. My wrist throbs where he grabbed me, and it’s already bruising.
I’m not sure how many seconds go by before Killian emerges from between the racks. His face is twisted in anger, clearly irritated by my disappearance.
“Where the fuck did you—”
He cuts himself off mid-sentence. He drinks in how I look, pressed up against the mirror with wide, watery eyes and a tremble working its way through my body.
His demeanor changes instantly. His anger remains but for different reasoning. He’s suddenly more alert, glancing around and speaking with an urgent tone.
“What is it?” he growls. “Simone, what the fuck happened?”
I open my mouth, unsure what I’m even about to say. My throat is tight and my tongue is heavy.
So I say the only thing I can think to say. One word that seems to sum up what just happened.
“Dren.”