The Wedding Pact (The O'Malleys #2) (25 page)

He couldn’t even stand to look at her right now.

The band around his chest that never quite seemed to go away tightened until black dots danced across his vision. He’d thought Carrigan understood, but how could she? She hadn’t been there on that street so strikingly similar to this one, hadn’t seen the headlights cut through the darkness—the only warning they got before things went tits up. And she sure as fuck hadn’t been there on her knees, helplessly watching Devlin bleed out.

They’d both lost a brother, but he was only now starting to realize that the demons inside him that rose that night weren’t ones easily exorcised.

Lights broke up the relative darkness of the street and he glanced up, not even a little surprised to find himself outside Jameson’s. His feet always seemed to take him here when he wasn’t paying attention, as if he could somehow change the events of that night if he walked through it enough times.

He almost turned around and left. There was nothing for him here and he damn well knew it. But the siren call of the last happy night he’d shared with his brothers was too much to resist. Maybe if he went inside, he could actually manage to draw a full breath again. He pushed through the door, the heat of the room making him realize just how cold he’d been.

The place was packed tonight, though the crowd seemed subdued. Or maybe that was just him. He made his way through the full tables and snagged a seat at the bar. The normal bartender, Benji, was nowhere to be found. Hell, no one was behind the polished wood. He took in the people’s drinks on either side of him. Benji must have run out back for something.

But when the door to the storage room opened, it wasn’t Benji who backed through. Cillian’s first glimpse was of a mane of dark hair, wild and untamed. Then she turned around and every cell of his being went still. She was the most striking woman he’d ever seen. Her features were timeless, and combined with her dusky skin tone, seemed to indicate Middle Eastern descent. And the body he got a glimpse of when she hauled the giant box onto the bar…
Fuck
. More curves than a racetrack, her clothes seemingly designed to bring that to his attention without trying at all. The writing across the front of her faded T-shirt was mostly gone, and her holey jeans probably hadn’t come that way.

He had to know more about her.

He leaned forward, deciding to start with something simple. “Hey, sweetheart, how about a drink?” A minute passed, and then another. Nothing. She just kept unpacking bottles into the fridge below the bar. Cillian frowned. “Hey, I’m talking to you.”

“I heard you, pretty boy.” She didn’t look up. “And since your eyes don’t seem to be working, let me clarify something—I’m not your bar wench.”

“I never said—”

“Leave me alone. I’m working.”

He sat back on his stool, stunned. He’d thought he was being perfectly polite. Charming, even. He’d never had a woman shut him down so effectively when he didn’t actually deserve it—there
had
been plenty of times he deserved it, but tonight wasn’t one of them.

The storage door opened again, and this time it was a familiar face who came through. Benji grinned when he saw Cillian. “Back again?”

Like I can stay away.
“You knew I would be.”

“That I did, that I did.” He moved around the woman, a careful swing of his body that left as much space between them as possible, and ambled over. “The usual?”

“Yeah.” Even though he told himself not to, his gaze angled toward
her
again. She’d moved further down the bar and was now unloading a second box of beer bottles. “What’s the new girl’s story?”

“Olivia?” Benji raised furry eyebrows. “I wouldn’t.”

He couldn’t look away from her. Olivia. The name made him think of someone old world…or just plain old—definitely not a fit for the woman in front of him. “Why not?”

“She’s not like the other bartenders who come through here.” Benji paused. “Don’t step on toes.”

Easier said than done. He seemed to have offended her just by sitting down at her bar. Cillian had frequented a lot of bars, clubs, and pubs, and the universal rule seemed to be that bartenders were flirty and snarky and good times. They had to be, since tips could make or break them. They sure as hell didn’t snarl at a man just trying to get a drink. It couldn’t be clearer that there was something about him she blatantly didn’t like, and damn if a perverse part of him didn’t want to know
why
.

A glass hit his hand, breaking his thought process. Benji crossed his big arms over his chest. “She’s not for you. I like the girl, and she’s a hard worker. I won’t have you running her off because you don’t know how to take no for an answer.”

Cillian jerked back, stung.
Why the fuck is everyone so goddamn determined to think the worst of me?
“I’m not a creep.”

“Then stop staring at her like one.”

He immediately dropped his gaze, and then realized what he’d done. Why the hell was he fighting this? He needed a complicated woman in his life like he needed a punch to the face. This Olivia didn’t want a damn thing to do with him? Good. He’d have his drink like he normally did, tip well, and then leave. He stared at the apple juice, all too aware of the impulse to look over at her again. To watch her.

Like a fucking creep.

He sighed. “I get your point, Benji.”

“Good. Enjoy your drink.” The big bartender moved down the bar, refilling drinks and chatting.

Cillian was surrounded by people, but it didn’t make a damn bit of difference tonight. It never did. And now there was this prickly woman on the edge of his vision, her presence poking at him like a toothache.
I don’t need this shit
. He shotgunned the juice and threw a twenty on the bar. There was no escape for him tonight, and he damn well knew it. He might as well go home, lie on his bed, and face the demons waiting for him when he lost his battle with sleep.

Morning might come, but relief from the nightmares never did.

*  *  *

Carrigan met Dmitri’s car outside, torn between feeling like a sacrificial victim and a call girl. She’d put aside her virginal wear for the date. Dmitri had already proven that he wasn’t stupid enough to be fooled by the persona, and she hated wearing it. So she’d picked a jade green dress that hit her at mid-thigh and hugged her body. It wasn’t the sexiest thing in her closet, but it was the first time she’d left the house feeling like
her
in longer than she cared to remember. She always wore one mask or another. Tonight she was setting them aside.

Let Dmitri think of that what he would.

Liam stood next to her, disapproval embodied in human form. He’d been like this since she got back the other day, and she deserved it. Carrigan took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have disappeared and turned off my phone.”

“Not for me to say.” He didn’t look over. “But if I were going to speak my mind, I’d say that was a dipshit thing to do and we both know it. My job is to keep you safe, and I can’t do that if I don’t know where you are.”

“I know.”

But he wasn’t through. “In all these years of you dicking around, have I ever reported you?”

He is seriously pissed
. She wanted to snap back, but she fought the impulse down. He needed to say this and, after what she’d done, it was the least she could do to listen. It wasn’t like he was the first one to lecture her on her shitty life choices. Of the men in her life, Liam was probably the
least
judgmental. He deserved a chance to give his opinion, no matter how little she wanted to hear it. “No.”

“Have I ever passed judgment or said shit to make you feel like I’m one of your goddamn brothers, expecting you to act a certain way?”

“No.” She hated the guilt worming through her. The last thing she needed was to feel bad for disappointing yet another man in her life. She hadn’t even realized she cared about what Liam thought of her. He had the tendency to fade into the background—there when she needed him and invisible when she didn’t. They weren’t friends. They’d never be close. But she hated that she’d damaged what little respect he seemed to have for her. “I’m sorry, Liam. I screwed up. It won’t happen again.”

But apparently now that he’d broken his customary bodyguard silence, he wasn’t done. “I don’t like this any more than you, but we both have a job to do.”

“I know.”

He nodded, still not looking at her. “This Dmitri guy isn’t safe.”

“Probably not.” One encounter with him and she knew enough to know
safe
didn’t make the top twenty list of descriptions for Dmitri Romanov.

“Okay.” He rolled his shoulders. “You need me, you text. I don’t care if he’s the king of England. I’ll get you out of there.”

He’d be defying her father’s wishes to do it. She turned to face him fully, wanting to…hug him? Show him how grateful she was by reaching out? Neither fit in the realm of their roles. So she just stood taller and nodded. “Thank you, Liam.”

“Will you be making any excursions afterward?”

She shot him a look. “I was under the impression I’m confined to house arrest.”

He snorted. “Since when has that ever stopped you?”

It was a fair point. But hadn’t she just reasoned last night that things with James had to be over out of sheer self-preservation? Turning around less than twenty-four hours later and running into his arms wouldn’t do a damn thing to put some distance between them. “We’ll see.”

A black car pulled up to the curb, and a nondescript man got out. “Ms. O’Malley.” He hurried around to open the door for her, but Liam beat him to it. The man sputtered. “I was told—”

“You were told wrong.” She slid into the backseat and then scooted over to make room for Liam. He was right. He’d been there every step of the way and done his damnedest to keep her safe. She wouldn’t ditch him again. Especially since he alone didn’t see her time with James as one giant betrayal to the family.

I wonder why that is?

It didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was apparently on her side when she desperately needed someone in her corner. The driver seemed to have recovered from his confusion because he was back in the car and pulling away from the curb. She sat back and crossed her legs, trying to relax. She’d dealt with dangerous men before. She could do it again. At least this one was willing to negotiate and give her some freedom in return for her dancing to his tune.

It just didn’t seem like the silver lining it might have a few months ago. She’d had a taste of freedom—
real
freedom—with James, and now everything else seemed like a sad substitute by comparison. She was starting to fear that the man might have actually ruined her.

Carrigan stared out the window, not really seeing anything. It seemed like they made the trip between one blink and the next, because the next thing she knew, the car had stopped and the driver was opening her door with a defiant look at Liam. She stared at the sidewalk, suddenly sure she was about to take a step that she couldn’t take back. If she said yes to Dmitri, that was it. It was over.
Everything
was over. The man might offer her a measure of freedom, but he wasn’t the type to be crossed. The second she stepped out of line, he’d smash her like a bug.

I don’t want you, you can’t make me, please don’t make me get out of this car
. It was the voice of a small child afraid of the dark—a child she’d thought she’d put behind her once and for all.
Face your fears. To do anything else is inexcusable
. She steeled herself and took the driver’s hand, letting him help her out of the car. Behind her, Liam was already on his feet.

He nodded at the door. “Remember what I said.”

One text and he’d get her out of there. She nodded. “Thanks.” And then there was nothing left for her to stall with. She squared her shoulders and walked into Slingshot. Like before, it was completely deserted and, like before, she was struck by the wild fear that he’d invited her here to kill her.

Stop being an idiot.
You
invited him
. Right. Maybe that would have actually put the power in her court…except he’d taken control of the situation the second the invitation left her lips. She’d arrived in
his
car to a place of
his
choosing at a time
he
picked. So much for leaving herself any bargaining power at all.

She followed the pretty blond hostess back into the depths of the restaurant. There, at the same table with his back to the wall, sat Dmitri. He stood as she approached and moved around to greet her. “Carrigan. You look as lovely as ever.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I must admit I prefer you in color.”

“Dmitri.” She ignored the sideways compliment and took a seat in the chair he’d pulled out for her. “Thank you.”

“I was surprised to hear from you so soon.”