Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

DECLAN

"You're a fucking twat, Finn."

Muttering under his breath like a child, Finn grumbles, " Póg mo thóin. You're a fucking twat."

Maybe I should've let Tristan choke his arse out a few months ago.

"Just grab his bloody feet," I snarl as my eyes dart down the dead man's bruised body in the back of my Suburban. Finn does as he's told— for once— and helps me drag the heavy weight down to the waterfront of the Hudson River. With all the rain the past few days, the water is high and the current should be strong enough to drag him into the Atlantic long before he surfaces. With any luck, the fish will have at him before then. Both of us give a lofty swing and toss him into the water. He hits with a splash, and I huff, "How many more strippers do you need to fuck before you finally realize they're nothing but trouble?"

" This one wasn't my fault." He tips his head to the dead guy, quickly floating downstream.

Of course not.

Nothing is ever Finnegan's fault.

"The Bratva's accountant? Not your fault, either?"

"Nah, I own that one." He smirks with a hearty chuckle. "It's not my fault this girl didn't exactly say she was seeing anyone. And she sure as fuck didn't let me know that it was his bed I was fucking her in."

"So, we are clear you started a fucking war?" I take a deep breath and try to maintain my composure as I wipe my soiled hands on the front of Finn's T-shirt. "Maybe in the future, to prevent me from having to help you get rid of another body, you find out if the girl you are taking home is seeing anyone. And maybe… Just maybe, for added measure, you don't fuck some poor bloke's girl in his bed."

"I think he was more upset that she was getting properly dicked than the fact it was in his bed," he laughs. "Pretty sure he's never heard her scream like that before."

"Jesus fucking Christ! You're worse than trying to rationalize with Fiona."

The gravel crunches under our feet as we walk back to the SUV, and Finn abruptly shares, "Seriously though, the whole fucking building can tell you how many times she came."

Tristan shouts as he closes the hatch of the Suburban, "If you two are done, can we get out of here before we get caught tossing bodies into the river? I would like to go home, climb into bed and"—he air quotes with an eye roll—" properly dick my wife."

The three of us climb into the SUV and fight bumper-to-bumper traffic as we head back into the city. For most of the ride, I manage to bite my tongue, but when we come to a dead stop a few miles from Finn's apartment, my curiosity gets the better of me. "I know I'm going to regret this," I sigh. "What is the fascination with strippers?"

He leans forward, rests his forearms on the back of my and Tristan's seats and presses himself between them before emphatically responding, "What isn't there to be fascinated with? Perky tits, tight bodies, flexible as fuck, and stamina for days."

I'm about to reply when he leans closer and divulges, "And more often than not, they have an ungodly amount of father figure issues they need help resolving. Meaning they'll do just about anything for a little praise and reassurance."

"I'm sorry I fucking asked." I shake my head, relieved when the light finally turns green and we can pull through the intersection.

"You asked, old man." He chuckles, sliding back.

Tristan laughs from the passenger seat, and I can't hide the displeased scowl spreading across my face. "What?" he laughs. "You did fucking ask. Were you really expecting a philosophical discussion or eloquent words of wisdom?"

"All I'm saying is don't knock it until you've tried it," Finn chimes in from the backseat. "We all know you haven't fucked anyone in a long while, and I'm sure Candy would be more than willing?—"

"I am not fucking the girl you had your cock in an hour ago." I cut him off. Pulling to the curb in front of his apartment building, I huff, "Just get out, and let's pretend I never wanted to know."

"Your loss." He smirks as he climbs from the backseat. "She sucks better than a Hoover."

For fuck's sake.

Merging back into traffic, I can feel Tristan's eyes on me. Turning to face him, I gruffly ask, "What?"

"He makes a valid point."

"You've got to be kidding me?"

"Not about the fucking strippers," Tristan clarifies, solemnly shaking his head. "It's been a while?—"

"It's barely been a year, Tris," I bark.

Disposing of a body because of Finnigan's recklessness was not on my agenda for this evening. And I definitely didn't sign up for a heart-to-heart regarding my non-existent sex life. I flex my fingers around the leather of the steering wheel, trying not to explode at Tristan. My knuckles whiten from my tightening grip when he continues to push the matter. "We both know damn well that isn't true."

"The fuck it isn't!" I snap as we pull into the parking garage. Seeing red, I slam on the brakes, throw the Suburban into park, and violently fist the front of Tristan's shirt. "I didn't once break my vows when I was married to her, and I sure as fuck haven't slept with anyone since Sarah."

"Relax." Tristan's tone is soft as he lightly grips my wrist to pull my hands from his shirt. "I'm not implying you were ever unfaithful to her. Quite the opposite, actually. You started mourning her long before she was gone, Dec."

He isn't wrong.

My celibacy began well before Sarah's actual passing, not long after I realized I was literally going to watch her die. Dropping my grip on Tristan and sliding out of the SUV, I share, "I'm not ready. Quite frankly, I don't know if I'll ever be ready."

"None of us are pushing you to get laid. Well, except Finn," Tristan jokes and forces me to crack a small smile. "We just don't want you to spend the rest of your life wondering what if?"

I wish it were that simple.

Memories of our life together aren't the only thing that has kept me from moving on.

"God forbid you ever lose Layla. You'll finally understand, then. And, more than anything, I hope that you never actually understand an ounce of what I've been through."