Redemption (Cavan Gang #2) (2 page)

“I’m going to get something on you one day, MacGuire, and on the day you get what’s coming, I’ll toast your rotting corpse.”

“Think about it a lot, do you? I thought you pulled us over for running a stop sign. I wasn’t aware I murdered anyone.” Rogan felt his temper slipping. It was bad for business to have a detective following him around. Rogan didn’t know why the detective had the hots for him so bad, but he needed to get him off his back.

“Get out of the car. All of you.”

“We’ll have to decline until my lawyer gets here. Luckily, we’re close to his house.”

“Your lawyer? When did you call him? I pulled you for a traffic violation, or have you got something else to confess?”

“If it’s a traffic violation, why do we have to get out of the car?” Colm asked.

Maran scowled at them. “Out now. Before I arrest all of you.”

Rogan nodded at Colm and Cillian. Moving slowly, they climbed from the car. Colm opened Rogan’s door as another car pulled up behind them. Maran stiffened, placing a hand on the weapon strapped into a shoulder holster.

“Easy,” Rogan murmured. “I won’t be happy if you shoot my lawyer.”

Maran rubbed his hand over his face. “Get out of the fucking car.”

“Now, now, Detective. No need to get all riled up.” Fergus Bryson stepped up beside the taller detective.

Maran turned to glare down at the short, rotund man standing next to him. Fergus volunteered to play Santa each year at the local children’s hospital, went to church each Sunday, and was an absolute shark in the courtroom.

“Mr. Bryson,” Detective Maran spat out. “Overkill for a routine traffic stop.”

Fergus shrugged. “I get paid by the hour.”

“And I’m sure this will cost me a pretty penny,” Rogan said dryly, straightening his pants as he stood.

“After hours and short notice.” Fergus grinned. “Now, Detective, what’s the problem here?”

Twenty minutes later, Rogan leaned back against the backseat as they pulled out into traffic. He closed his eyes.

“I need a vacation,” he muttered.

“Boss?” Colm queried.

“Nothing.”

His phone rang and he ignored it. The caller could wait.

“Is Ms. Toresso all right?” Colm asked.

Rogan bit back a growl. Couldn’t the man see he wanted some peace and quiet? But Colm had a huge protective streak when it came to women and he’d seen Miller at her worst—out of her mind while detoxing. Rogan clenched his fists. He would love to kill Iker all over again for holding her against her will and forcing her to take Fizz.

The latest drug on the market looked like candy and fizzed on your tongue. Both the Vipers and the Seven Sinners pushed it for the Fuerte Cartel.

“She’s fine. A lot better. They say she can leave soon.”

“Yeah? Well, that’s good, right?” Colm asked.

“Hmm.” He opened his eyes as they pulled into the driveway, waiting for the electronic gates to open. The large house wasn’t the one he’d grown up in. That house had been too full of memories to keep. Most of them he didn’t care to remember. As he walked inside, his phone rang. Persistent. With a sigh, he pulled it out and glanced at the screen.

“Hey, Dylan.”

“Rogan. How are you?”

Exhausted. Indifferent. Horny.

He moved into the study and sat behind his large, oak desk. “Fine. How is Tilly?”

“She’s great. We’re in Waco at the moment.”

Rogan settled back and half listened. His rather apathetic attitude should have alarmed him, but he couldn’t work up interest in anything.

Except Miller.

Around her, he fired up, he felt alive.

“So you’ve been to see Miller? Rogan?” There was a long pause. “Are you still there?”

Rogan started. Christ, he had to be better than this. “Yeah, I’ve just been at the rehab center. Her doctor and therapist are happy with her progress. They’re releasing her next week, provided she has someone to stay with.”

I could look after her.

No way. Having Miller in his life presented a huge complication he didn’t need. Not to mention the danger she’d be in being around him.

“Great. We’ll be headed back to Austin next week. We’ll pick her up.”

None of your business. Don’t get involved
.

“She wants to stay here. In San Antonio.” Damn it. So much for keeping some distance.

Silence on the other end of the phone.

“She doesn’t want to stay with us?” Dylan asked in a quiet voice.

Christ, why get involved? He had his own shit to deal with. Closing his eyes, he saw a pair of warm-brown eyes staring up at him, shimmering with tears.

“She thinks she would cramp your style. You’ve started a new job, you’re planning a wedding, and Miller doesn’t see where she would fit in.”

He could relate. Kinky sex life aside, Dylan and Tilly shared a normal life. They’d get married, have kids, and live in the suburbs. Go to PTA meetings and dance recitals.

Live happily ever after.

Not a life he’d ever lead and, right now, not something Miller could relate to either. Dylan was silent for a long moment. Then he sighed.

“Damn, Tilly’s going to be upset.”

And Dylan made it his life’s work to make Tilly happy.

“What is she planning on doing, then?” Dylan asked with concern.

Fuck it.

“She’s going to live with me.”

***

Were there cameras in the room, watching her? Probably. Did she care?

Damn it.
Yes, she did. Her body might be on fire, but she would not give whoever watched the camera feed an X-rated experience by bringing herself to orgasm. The lack of privacy in the rehab center was getting to her. She felt like a bug under a microscope. A prisoner.

A nice prison. In fact, the nicest place she’d ever stayed. Her grandmother’s house had been sparse. Her grandmother hadn’t believed in life’s little comforts. Like air conditioning or heating. Her view had been that suffering would save your soul.

Her soul had entered dangerous territory a long time ago. She’d placed her best friend in danger. An unforgiveable act. Even if she hadn’t meant to.

“I had the best intentions,” she muttered. What had she been thinking?

She’d been thinking that she could discover who had murdered her mother.

When Miller was seven, her mother had abandoned her. Less than two years later she’d been dead. Miller’s grandmother had hidden the truth about her death. It wasn’t until her grandmother died and Miller was clearing out her stuff that she’d discovered a newspaper article about her mother’s death.

Her murder.

Burning with unanswered questions, Miller had waited impatiently for her father to turn up on her doorstep. She knew he’d turn up eventually. Like a boomerang, she could throw him out, but eventually he always found her. Her father had never worked an honest job in his life. Whatever money he made was on the wrong side of the law and he burned through it. When he found himself broke, he came to her begging.

This time, though, she’d been happy to see him. She’d poured him a few whiskies then interrogated him about where her mother had gone after abandoning her.

According to her father, her mother had moved in with the leader of the Vipers. Iker Florez. A few months later, she’d been murdered. Her killer never found.

The unanswered questions ate away at her.

So she’d made the stupidest mistake of her life.

She’d decided she had to know who killed her mother and set out to talk to the people she’d last been close to.

Specifically, Iker Florez.

Evil. Dangerous man.

She’d thought herself street-smart— thought she could protect herself.

How wrong she’d been.

Worse, she’d managed to drag other people into her mess. Tilly. Her one friend.

Miller’s father had even provided her with a little nugget of information she’d thought to use to gain Florez’s trust.

Her father had been working with Javier Cabeza, Tilly’s ex. They’d been middlemen between a cartel and the Vipers, supplying drugs. Cabeza had been skimming money off the top.

When she’d told Iker that Javier had been stealing from him, she’d expected him to be grateful. But she hadn’t thought things through to what he would do with that bit of information. He’d gone after Javier, who had been in jail at the time, killing Javier when he confessed what he’d done with their money.

Javier had swapped out a fake stone on one of Tilly’s rings with a real one. Using the gang’s money.

Inadvertently, Miller had put Tilly right in the line of fire.

And she hadn’t done a thing to earn the gang’s trust. Instead, they’d held her against her will, pumped her fill of Fizz, and used her as bait to lure Rogan to his death.

Tilly and Rogan had survived unscathed.

But she would never forgive herself.

“I’m a naïve, stupid idiot.” She’d talked this all out with her therapist. There wasn’t a thought in her head her therapist didn’t push her to examine, to overthink, and work through.

She was so tired of thinking.

She wanted a moment where she didn’t have to think.

She craved oblivion.

Just one pill wouldn’t hurt surely. It would give her a few moments of peace.

Was that too much to ask?

Miller took a deep breath. No. She didn’t need oblivion.
Think about something else. Go to your happy place.

Rogan.

Uh-uh. He couldn’t be her happy place. She could not rely on him.

But, damn, she wanted him.

Every time he visited, he left her in this state. Hot. Needy. Imagining things she could never have.

Rogan kissing her. Touching her, tasting her, licking her all over. Her hard nipples begged to be kissed, her clit throbbed as she imagined his tongue lapping at it.…crap, this was not helping her get to sleep.

Not like she slept much nowadays, anyway. When she slept, the nightmares visited.

With a groan, she rolled onto her side. “Shit, shit, shit.”

She punched her pillow as she clenched her thighs together to try and ease the throbbing in her pussy.

“He’s probably crap in bed anyway,” she whispered. Another crazy talking to herself.

When he entered a room, he took command of it. Something about him drew her attention. And not just because he was sexy as sin or had a dark, dangerous vibe. But something about him screamed strength, loyalty.

See? She was crazy. Delusional. Why was she attracted to someone bad for her? Why couldn’t she be attracted to someone easy? Someone normal. Someone boring.

No, not boring. Safe.

Safe is boring.

Okay, these voices in her head had to shut up. Now.

Before she did go insane.

Six weeks later

“You work too hard.”

Rogan glanced up, unsurprised to see Miller sitting on the stairs, staring down at him. Most nights he found her there, waiting. So he’d started coming home later and later in an attempt to avoid her.

Coward.

“And you should be in bed, not sitting alone in the dark.”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Yeah, he knew all about insomnia. Rogan reached over and turned on the table lamp, lighting the dark with a soft glow. He should send her to bed.

She sat halfway down the stairs, her arms around her drawn-up knees.

“You changed your hair color,” he commented.

She shrugged. “Got sick of red.”

The dark locks suited her better. Although she always looked beautiful. Even when she’d decided to dye her hair gray. Why a twenty-four-year-old would want to be gray, he’d never know. But she’d changed it again a few days later.

She colored her hair in an attempt to find her identity after everything she’d gone through. He could relate. After Rogan realized he would never get away from the gang, he’d gone through a period of wondering who he was.

Sometimes, he still wasn’t sure.

“Looks good,” he told her gruffly.

She smiled. “Thanks. You know, anyone would think you were trying to avoid me.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked. The chill in his voice should have dissuaded her from questioning him further.

Unfortunately, while his tone would have others quaking in their shoes, Miller smiled. She had no sense of self-preservation. She needed a keeper.

Not you. She’s not yours
.

She was his responsibility while she stayed with him. He was supposed to be offering her support not running from her.

“You’re out most of the night and day. I’m not even sure when you sleep.”

He didn’t. Not really.

“Are you okay?” Did he ask her often enough? Crap, he was doing a shit job of looking after her.

His attraction to her seemed to grow with every moment he was in her company. His solution? Avoid her.

For the past five weeks, they had lived together and he was slowly going insane. His right hand ached. He could imagine the expression on his doctor’s face if he complained of carpal tunnel syndrome from jerking off too much.

He’d offered Miller a place to stay because he’d been unable to take the thought of her unprotected and alone. Because he wanted to be the one to take care of her.

Because he wanted her.

“I’m busy,” he told her. “Got nothing to do with you.”

The flash of pain on her face sent a stab of shame through him. Putting space between them was the smart thing to do. And he always did the smart thing.

Except when it came to her, apparently.

“Come into the kitchen, sweetheart.”

Damn it. Now, why had he gone and called her
sweetheart
? He silently swore as he strode into the kitchen. Miller followed him, taking a seat on one of the barstools.

Her small frame was dwarfed by a large T-shirt that reached her knees. Large brown eyes watched him with a hint of wariness. Those lush, full lips featured heavily in his fantasies. He imagined them wrapped around his cock, sucking him deep into the warm confines of her mouth.

Rogan swallowed heavily as he filled up the kettle and turned it on. He moved around the kitchen, searching for things to keep him occupied so he didn’t have to look at her. Didn’t matter anyway. He had every feature memorized, from her pert, upturned nose to her stubborn chin, and those long, thick eyelashes, the perfect frame for her chocolate-brown eyes.

She’d started to gain some much-needed weight and her face no longer had a gaunt, starved look.

“Here, drink this.” He placed a cup of tea in front of her.

Miller took a sip, wrinkling her nose. “Chamomile?”

“It will help you sleep.”

“So will a shot of scotch, and it doesn’t taste like flowers.”

“This is better for you,” he countered.

“Thanks, Dad.”

He sent her a stern look and, with a sigh of exasperation, she took another sip.

“Aren’t you worried I’ll get addicted to this stuff?” she asked dryly.

“Nah, it tastes like crap. No one could get addicted to herbal tea.”

She smiled and his heart lightened.

“Now why are you having trouble sleeping?” If someone told him a year ago he’d be standing in his kitchen with a beautiful woman, just talking, he’d have laughed. His involvement with the other sex took place in the bedroom. And not in his house. He had an apartment in the city for intimate encounters.

He’d had one real relationship in his life, years ago. It had taken him a long time to recognize Victoria was a taker. Longer than it should have.

“No particular reason,” she said, looking uncomfortable.

“The therapist said talking would help.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sick of talking,” she muttered. “All I do is talk and that damn therapist can kiss my ass.”

It was a hell of an ass.

Rogan cleared his throat. “The damn therapist charges through the nose.”

Miller paled then glanced down at her cup of tea. “I know. Sorry, I sound ungrateful.”

Tired, he spoke without thinking.

“All I meant is she’s paid to help you. If she’s not helping, then you need to tell me.”

“Like you don’t have enough problems.” She ran her finger along the top of her cup.

“What does that mean?”

“I know I’m just another thing on your list to worry about. You’ve already got enough on your plate.”

He frowned. Should he tell her he avoided her because she meant
too
much? Because she was coming to mean more to him than everything else?

Nope, bad idea.

“Miller, look at me.” He waited patiently, sipping his tea as she met his gaze. “If there is something going on, then I expect you to tell me.”

She let out an exasperated breath. “Me? I’m fine. You’re the one who’s out all hours of the night. Don’t you have men you can delegate to? You need your sleep as well. You’re going to get ill.”

She was scolding him? When was the last time someone had dared to scold him? Or cared about him? He warmed under her caring and he realized she was drawing him further under her spell.

Having her live with him played hell with his peace of mind.

***

“I’m fine, Tilly.” Miller stared at herself in the mirror as her best friend chattered through the phone.

Tilly’s happiness filled her voice. She’d finally found a man who adored her, who recognized the treasure she was.

Miller didn’t get the kinky stuff they enjoyed. Yeah, she could get into being tied up and fucked. But having your partner dominate you? Spank you?

Then again, would she object to Rogan putting her over his knee? To his commanding her in the bedroom? Her clit throbbed as pulses of desire raced through her.

She’d do whatever Rogan wanted.

“Miller? Miller, are you listening to me?”

“Sorry, Tilly, what did you say? I was distracted.” By the thought of Rogan kissing her, caressing her ass, squeezing her nipples.

Bad girl. Very bad girl.

“Is everything all right? Are you having problems? Is the therapy still helping? Are you exercising? Meditating?” Tilly fired the questions at her.

Her therapist insisted she exercise to get the endorphins flowing and meditating was meant to help keep down her stress levels.

Vital steps on the road to her recovery. Or so her doctor had told her. Ick.

She found exercise pretty much on par with getting a root canal and couldn’t sit still long enough to meditate.

“Woo, calm down. Take a breath.”

“Are you all right, Miller?”

“Sure, it’s all going great,” she said brightly.

“I know when you’re lying to me. Do you need me?”

Fantastic. She loved her friend. More than anyone else on this planet. But Tilly would smother her. She’d do it with the best intentions, but Miller needed to work out who she was now. She needed to figure out what to do with her life.

She wouldn’t be able to do that if Tilly was fussing over her.

“I’m coming down there,” Tilly said suddenly.

“No, Tilly, you’re not.”

“You sound funny. I’m worried about you. I knew you should have moved in with us. What does Rogan know about looking after you? The environment you’re in isn’t safe, Miller.”

She understood. Living with the boss of a gang would seem ludicrous to most people. Especially for someone who had been drugged and terrorized by another gang.

But she felt safer here than she ever had. No one would touch her while under Rogan’s protection. She’d always taken care of herself—having someone else look out for her was odd and wonderful all at the same time.

Don’t become too reliant on him. You won’t be here forever.

As much as she cared for Rogan, as attracted as she was to him, she held no illusion about who he was. And what he did.

“No one will hurt me while Rogan is around,” she told Tilly.

“Is he ever there? Because every time I’ve called you, he’s been out.”

“He works a lot.” Too much. He needed to delegate more. She knew he was under a lot of strain.

You could help ease the strain
.

Nothing like a hard, hot fuck to ease the stress levels.

Down, girl.

Her libido raced out of control.

“Miller, please consider moving in with us. I promise not to fuss.”

“Uh-huh,” Miller replied skeptically.

“Well, I won’t fuss much. I nearly lost you.”

Miller could hear the pain in Tilly’s voice.

Guilt swirled in her stomach. Why did Tilly bother with her? She was nothing but trouble. Everyone else in her life had abandoned her. Her mother had run off. Her father had left her with her grandmother. He’d spent most of her childhood in and out of jail.

Her grandmother had believed children should be seen and not heard. She hadn’t believed in spoiling children with anything resembling praise or affection.

Tilly’s family semi-adopted Miller, opening their house to her and providing her with the love and affection she craved.

And how did she repay them? By nearly getting Tilly killed.

“Tilly, I am so sorry for what I did.”

“Miller, we are not doing this again.” The stern tone of Tilly’s voice surprised her.

“What do you mean?”

“You have apologized enough. You made a mistake. You didn’t set out to put me in danger. So chill. Javier told them I had their money. He was stupid enough to cheat them. He sold them drugs and took a bigger cut than agreed. He hid the money by exchanging the cubic zirconia in my grandmother’s ring with a real diamond. None of that was your fault. You were trying to figure out what happened to your mother and you ended up in a shitload of trouble. Concentrate on yourself. Don’t worry about you and me. We’re good.”

Miller blinked, surprised at the welling tears. “I’ve got to go. Need to exercise.”

“Okay,” Tilly said. “Call me tomorrow?”

Ahh, let me check my diary. Yep, surprisingly I’m free all day.

“Will do.” She ended the call and lay back on her bed.

“Miller, you are such a loser,” she muttered to herself.

No job. No house. No boyfriend.

Sad. Very sad.

She needed something to focus on. Something to keep her mind occupied.

Something to stop the cravings.

The thing is, sometimes she wondered what she craved more. The drugs. Or Rogan.

Neither of them would be good for her.

But damned if that stopped her from wanting them.

***

“What do you think about this?” Miller held up a fluffy, pink dressing gown.

“It looks like the Easter Bunny shed his skin,” Natalya replied.

“Well, I like it. It’s warm and fluffy.”

“And the least sexy thing I’ve ever seen.”

Perfect. She needed ways to keep herself from jumping Rogan’s bones because it was getting harder and harder to fight her attraction to him.

“That thing will cover you from head to foot,” Natalya told her.

“Good. I’m getting it.”

“Wait, you never buy anything, and now you’re buying this monstrosity?” Natalya peered at her. “Okay, what’s up?”

The woman was way too perceptive.

“Nothing’s up. I want to buy something, what’s so weird about that?”

Miller made her way over the counter, hoping to dissuade Natalya, who had been studying a slinky red nightgown that would look smoking hot against her tanned skin. Natalya was gorgeous with long, dark hair and a sweetly curved body.