Chapter 14

Tag

"Shit, boys. Looks like things got grisly down there." Finn stares at Bryan, Brendan, and me as the three of us emerge from the basement. To see the twins bloodied up isn't unusual—they practically invented the Irish Donnybrook—but I try not to let the beast in me take the reins.

Tonight, I failed.

"Had McGuire's men been more forthcoming, this wouldn't have been necessary," I say.

"Or as much fun," Bryan counters. "It did give us a little extra conditioning for our fight next week."

Brendan secures the latch to the basement door and turns on the alarm. "I like it when they hold out. It's more of a challenge."

"But they caved?" Finn asks.

Bryan waggles his brow. "Pinch a man's cock between the blades of gardening sheers and he'll always cave."

"Brutal," Finn winces and adjusts himself.

I shake my head. "Thanks for your help, boys."

The twins jog up the stairs and I wait until they've gone down the hallway toward their rooms before I turn my attention back to Finn.

He must read my mood because he hands me the open bottle of whisky in his hand, and I raise it to my mouth. After a couple of long gulps, the burn of it going down brings me out of the haze of violence.

Sometimes it takes me days to feel things.

"You okay, bro?"

Looking into his haunted gaze, I'm struck by the reality that I've been a shit brother over the past months. "Are you? I'm sorry I haven't been here. I should've manned the fuck up and made sure I was around for you."

Finn shrugs. "It's cool. I'm good."

No. He's anything but.

The kid is barely twenty-four and has no parents and no guiding force to help him through. No wonder he's been acting out.

"I'll do better, Finny. I promise."

He nods. "I get it. With the expectations of you taking his place, this house must be hell for you. Sleeping in his bed. Sitting in his chair. It's a lot."

Aye, it is. "I'll still do better."

"Yeah, okay. Thanks, Tag."

I cup the back of his neck and pull him closer to kiss the side of his head. "And though I don't deserve it, I need you to do something of a favor for me."

He eases back and shrugs. "Sure. What do you need?"

I glance up the stairs and frown. "I brought a woman with me tonight. Laine O'Neill. She said she just landed at 7 AM yesterday morning from the states."

"Okay, so what do you need?"

"Use your hacker magic to check out her story. She says she's here to bury her mother, Kate O'Neill, originally from Brittas Bay."

"Do you need me to do it now?"

"No. It's three in the morning. Tomorrow will be soon enough. And Finn…be discrete. If what she told me is true, I don't want to come off looking like a fucking jerk."

Finn chuckles. "You're the head of Quinn mafia clan but you're worried she'll think you're a jerk?"

I'm way too tired for his amusement, so I turn toward the stairs. "Go to bed, Finny. Tomorrow is likely to be a clusterfuck."

"Will do. I'm going to grab a piece of Cora's cake first."

I stop on the steps and turn back. "The raspberry chocolate one?"

"You know it."

Damn. I've been away too long. "Leave a piece for me. I'll have it for breakfast."

"And my whiskey?" he asks, pointing up the steps.

"Oh, I'm taking this to bed with me. It's been a day and you've self-medicated long enough. We're Quinns. It's time we come out swinging."

My legs feel like lead as I plod up the stairs and try to force the beast back in its cage. I can usually tether my dark impulses behind a charming smile, but since Da passed, it's been tough.

The man survived decades of danger and gets taken down by a heart attack?

It was sudden and unfair.

Cormack Quinn was a god among men, and we weren't ready to lose him. He was strong and lethal in a way that made the rest of us marvel. He could take care of himself in any situation. He was a fighter. He was smart.

And in the end, none of that mattered.

The echo of my own harsh breaths follows me as I ascend the stairs, each step weighed down by the night's grim work.

At the top of the stairs, I tip my head back and take another long swig of whiskey to numb the visceral reality of the monster within.

A woman's scream pierces the night, slicing through my soul like a blade.

It's Laine.

I race down the hallway, her scream cutting off as quickly as it started.

"It's fine," she gasps. "It's only a nightmare."

I stop, ready to break the door in if I have to, but I don't.

It's only a nightmare.

I suppose that's to be expected, given the evening she had: the shooting, me chasing her through the streets, and then dragging her here and locking her in the family estate.

And yeah, the last thing I said to her was that she shouldn't try to escape or she'd be hurt.

I press my ear to the wood of the door.

Each gasping sob is a sharp stab of guilt in my chest. "It was only a nightmare," she whispers in a repeated mantra.

Fuck. Maybe Aiden was right. Maybe I brought her here for entirely selfish reasons. There's no ‘maybe' about it. I know, deep in my cold dark heart why Laine is sobbing in that bedroom down the hall.

My gaze falls to the macabre sight of my hands and clothes.

This is why I can't have nice things.

I step back from the door, the whispers of her sobs lost in the quiet of her room. No matter how much of a monster I can be, the Quinn Laws are our guiding tenet to business and life.

No innocents are to be hurt.

Tomorrow, I'll set it right. No matter how curious I am about the woman, I'll help her find her mam and any kin she might have in Brittas Bay and I'll return her to her life.

Continuing to the end of the hallway, I step into my old room. Technically, I'm supposed to be in the king's suite in the other wing, but I have no interest in tackling that tonight.

Leaving the lights off, I strip out of my clothes and toss them into the bin meant for things too soiled to be saved. With each bare footfall across the plush carpet, I tighten my rein and lock down my emotions.

I leave the vanity lights off and only turn on the overhead light in the shower.

Setting it on dim, I turn on the shower and let the spray warm up while I take another long drink. Once I've downed a quarter of the bottle and the buzz of sweet relaxation is creeping in, I step into the shower.

Under the stream of water, I tilt my head back and let the sluice of hot and steamy run through my hair, down my back, and over my ass.

Fine. If I'm being honest with myself, I know why I don't want Laine to leave. Because, for the first time since Da died, someone looked at me and saw me.

She looked at me from across Jimmy's bar and her gaze wasn't filled with fear or disdain, not even with animosity. She looked at me with genuine attraction and when I took her into my office, the attraction grew deeper.

We talked about the loss of her mam and my da, and we she shared the pain of it. It was in that moment that I realized how empty my heart has grown.

I'm a leader. I'm a brother. I'm a source of both hatred and admiration. But no one that looks at me truly sees the man.

Emotions. I've been trained my entire life to lock them down and keep them hidden, but twenty minutes with Laine cracked the fa?ade.

Moving the bar of soap over my pecs, I get my froth on and let my slick hands do their thing.

I've been aching all night.

I haven't had sex in weeks, and for me, that's two lifetimes. Then Laine and I…

Damn, we were so close.

My mind flips back to the sensation of pinning her against the glass wall. The sounds that she made while I swept my tongue through her heat. And the greedy pleas that ripped from her throat as her orgasm tore through her.

In that moment, I wasn't a mafia boss—I was Tag.

Restauranteur.

I chuckle as my body luxuriates in the memory of her coming against my mouth. Whether she regrets it now or not, we connected at that moment.

She was lost with me.

Insane with wanting more from me.

Every moan, thrust, and scent that surrounded us is etched in my memory.

I groan as my cock surges. It's been a solid rod of granite since we were interrupted, and I need a break from the incessant drive to fuck Laine.

I don't want to succumb to teenaged basics.

A quick toss in the shower in the morning to start the day on the right foot is one thing. Riding my palm while fantasizing about a woman sleeping down the hall is entirely different.

Except, well…desperate times.

If I let off the pressure, it'll be better for both of us. I'm going to send her on her way tomorrow and need to be set straight to do that.

Closing my eyes, I send my palm downward, over the ridged planes of my six-pack to the problem at hand. My skin is hot and smooth, stretched over honed muscles.

I dip further south for a second and squeeze my sac. My balls are so tight, they feel like they might burst from the pressure.

Feckin hell. Somewhere over the passing hours, the urge to release tripped way beyond an annoying ache. We're now in flat out need territory.

I pitch forward to catch myself with a straight arm and a palm against the tile wall. Dropping my head, I close my eyes and give them another twist and squeeze.

The assault sends a sharp tingle across my nerve endings and my already stiff cock jumps in my palm.

The contact is electric.

Maybe it's the whiskey I guzzled or the steam from the spray, but as I settle into a rhythm, I swear the room starts to spin.

It's nothing. This is basic biology.

My cock kicks in my palm, and I draw a deep breath. Pressing one hand against the glass of the shower, I arch my back and give myself a slow tug.

Fucking hell, that feels good.

I close my eyes and relive the sensation of my fingers sinking into Laine's pussy, stroking her inner muscles as the scent of her fills my mind. The clench and release of her orgasm gripping my fingers was incredible.

She's a fucking drug and after only one touch, I am an addict.

Her aggression surprised me. Once we got started, she really turned on.

She mentioned she'd waited too long. Based on the strip of pale skin on her ring finger, I can only imagine her ex-husband is an idiot.

I don't want to think about her being married. The darkness inside me yanks at its tether. My breath tightens in my chest. If she's married, it won't end well for the bastard. It's obvious he hasn't been taking care of her needs.

I grip tighter and pick up speed.

Oh, yes. Faster. Harder.

I throw back my head as my release breaks free and ropes of cream warm my hand. Doubling forward, I ride out the violent wave and curse myself for using Laine as a prop for getting here.

I exhale and rinse my hand off.

There are too many daggers bouncing around in my head, piercing my gray matter, to think about that right now.

After turning off the water, I wrap my hips with a towel and my lips around the bottle. All I need to do is down more whiskey and black the fuck out.