Chapter Seventeen

Chelsea

I woke in Andrew’s arms, and the night before came rushing back to me. The murder in the alley, what I’d learned about Sadie, the pleasure room, the shower afterwards.

And that he’d said he loved me.

I looked up at him with my hand on his chest, over his tattoo. He was awake.

“Morning.” He grinned lazily.

“Hey.” I smiled then kissed his nipple. “Sleep well?”

“How could I not when you’re with me, I feel like I am whole again.”

I bit on my bottom lip.

“What?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yes.”

“Was it losing Sadie that stopped you feeling whole?”

He frowned. “How do you know about Sadie?”

“Dalton told me.” I shook my head. “I’m so sorry, that’s such a terrible thing to happen. A tragedy.”

“An unnecessary tragedy created by an asshole who is now six feet under.”

“I’m glad.”

“Me, too.”

“Was he the first you murdered?”

“Killed. I’m not a murderer, none of us are. We kill those who need to be removed from society.”

I nodded slowly and sat up a little. “So how many people have you killed?”

“Does it matter?”

“I suppose not.”

He was quiet for a moment, then, “I don’t know exactly how many have died from my bullet.” He stroked my hair. “So let’s just say there are a fair few skeletons in my closet. I’ve been running this show for a while now.”

“You’re the boss?”

“We don’t really have a boss, but I guess since I started Galahad, with first Mitch and then the twins, I get a big say in what goes down in Rose Cottage and with our hits.”

“Hits?”

He ran his hand from my throat to my right nipple, circled it. “You got a problem with this whole thing in the hard light of day?”

“No. Not at all.” My nipple tightened. “And I’m one of you now.”

“In more ways than one.” He switched his attention to my other nipple.

“What you said, last night.” I studied his face.

“About?”

“About…that…you said you loved me.”

He stilled.

“Was it just in the moment? Was it because you were about to fuck me?”

“No.” He sat and slipped his arms around me. “No, it wasn’t because I was about to fuck you. I said it because it’s true.” He paused. “For a long time it was lust, obsession, fascination, a longing that I thought would rip my soul out in the dead of the night. But now I know it’s love. The thought of not being with you, not holding you, keeping you safe, having you as mine, I can’t stand that. I don’t want it. And if that is love, then yes, I am so in love with you I feel like my heart might burst with it.”

“Andrew.” I pushed his hair back from his brow and studied his eyes. “I love you, too. I’ll never want another man, only you. Forever.”

“That was the right thing to say, babe.” He kissed me deeply, then flipped me over.

And then he was inside me, deep, and riding us both to a morning orgasm that joined us in so many ways.

An hour later we were in the kitchen eating eggs. Trixie had cooked up a big breakfast for everyone. Cillian, Phil, Dalton, and Mitch were there discussing how things had gone down the night before.

I thanked my lucky stars these guys knew what they were doing. I’d shot a man, and they’d covered my tracks.

And Mitch, he might be a cop, but he’d looked deep into my eyes and told me I’d done the right thing and I must never have a moment of guilt about it.

“Smells good.” Bridget walked in wearing pajamas covered in teddy bears. “Any going spare?”

“Sure.” Trixie stood and dropped some bread into the toaster. “And there’s coffee, too.”

“Perfect.” Bridget grinned at me. “You good?”

“Yes, thanks. You?”

“All good. How was the pleasure room?” She raised her eyebrows at me then shifted her attention to Andrew. “Fun?”

“I…I…er…it was…” I started.

“None of your business.” Andrew squeezed my hand. “It’s no one’s business.”

“Except you must have been exhausted afterwards,” Dalton said. “You don’t usually sleep here. You usually get home.”

“Needs must.” Andrew sipped his tea. “It was late.”

“So you haven’t been to his bachelor pad?” Bridget asked me.

“No.” I turned to Andrew. “I haven’t.”

“I’ll take you, later.”

Bridget grinned. “Oh yes, and then tell me what it’s like. I’ve got this image of a mad professor’s studio, towering cases of books, models of skeletons, walls of Post-it notes joined together with string…you know what I mean?”

I laughed. “Yes, I’ll tell you.”

The door opened. Two men walked in. One looked just like Cillian.

“Finn!” Cillian jumped up. “Fuck, I didn’t know you were released.”

“Just.” Finn embraced Cillian and gave him a pat on the back. “Charges dropped. Both me and Grant told to go and not come back.”

“Really?” Mitch nodded. “Good result considering you were caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Yeah, but that criminal defense lawyer…” Grant, who was tall with dark curly hair, put his hands on his hips and surveyed the room. “She was the bee’s bloody knees, shit-hot on everything. The police couldn’t pin anything on us, she made everything circumstantial.”

“So you got rid of your guns,” Phil said. “At the scene, right?”

“Yeah, wiped them then shoved them down the back of a sofa as soon we realized it was a raid. We hadn’t paid for sex, or had sex, there wasn’t much they could pin on us. They tried hard enough, but nothing stuck.”

“She was incredible, this lawyer, Rebecca Saunders.” Finn nodded slowly. “Really incredible.”

“Cute?” Cillian asked.

“You bet.” Finn laughed and helped himself to coffee. “Damn cute. In fact, she fell for my Irish charm.”

“What do you mean?” Phil asked.

Grant laughed. “He asked her out, and ’cause he’s got the luck of the Irish, she said yes even though she is way out of his league.”

“Really?” Cillian asked. “You asked her out, Finn?”

“Yeah, thought I’d take her to The Ivy on Friday.”

“Can I come?” Cillian grinned and kept his attention on his brother.

“You want to?” Finn asked.

“Sure, if she’s hot.”

“Okay.” Finn sat. “I reckon you’ll get on with her as well as I do. And I’d wager she could handle us both.”

I looked between the two brothers. It sounded very much like they were into sharing. And they were both hot, with their quick smiles, rangy yet strong bodies, and intelligent eyes. This Rebecca Saunders was a lucky woman.

A phone rang.

It was Mitch’s, and he picked it up. “It’s a contact,” he said. “Quiet, everyone.”

I snuggled a little closer to Andrew. The mood had turned solemn. Bridget and Trixie slipped from the kitchen.

“Hey, what you got?”

All attention was on Mitch as he listened to the low voice on the other end of the phone.

“You sure?” Mitch put his attention on me. “I see. Yes. Okay. Hadn’t expected that. Thanks.” He ended the call.

“What?” Andrew asked instantly, his hand tight on mine. “What’s going on?”

“Your father is out on bail, Chelsea.”

“He is?” My emotions ballooned. I wasn’t ready to see him, not after what he’d done. “But…those charges were—”

“Not too serious, as it turned out.” Mitch glanced at Andrew.

I couldn’t read whatever it was that passed between them.

“You’d better tell her what you know, Mitch,” Andrew said.

Mitch’s lips tightened. “Fair enough.” He clasped his hands. “His only charge now is tampering with evidence.”

“What? I don’t understand. He chased my mother down, left her dead in a ditch and—”

“New information has emerged,” Mitch said. “And I’m afraid it doesn’t put your mother in a very good light.”

“She’s dead!” I stood. “What the hell are you talking about?” My eyes prickled.

“Hey, sit down.” Andrew tugged me close again. “Hear him out.”

“Your father has told the police, and they believe him, that he was trying to stop your mother from going to a meeting with some dangerous gang members, and that’s why he went after her. He’s been very co-operative apparently, and what he’s said has added up, so far.”

“What…what did he say?”

“That he’d begged her to stop what she’d been doing.”

“But…? She hadn’t been doing anything? She was my mum. She played tennis, went to lunch, and pestered me to get on with my studies. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. She was perfect.”

Mitch swallowed. His jaw was tight. “He was begging her to back away from the human trafficking ring she’d got involved with.”

“What?” I felt sick. My head was going to explode. This couldn’t be true.

“I’m sorry,” Mitch said. “But it’s big business, human trafficking, lots of money to be made.”

“But my father…how could he not tell us? I…”

“Not many parents would share such information.”

“So what evidence did he tamper with?” Andrew asked.

His presence was comforting, and so was his clear mind when mine was spinning.

“When she crashed and died instantly, he grabbed her phone and a laptop from the car so that he could protect her name in death. Except it didn’t work that way, because then it was him about to be thrown into prison for a few decades, he had no choice but to confess. Tampering with evidence is a much less serious charge than murdering his wife.”

“He didn’t murder her…he didn’t kill her.” The words were good in my mouth. They made my father himself again, even if he had withheld information.

But my mother…who was she? Human trafficking?

My head swam. The faces all turned my way had blurred. I clenched my fists. “This can’t be true, she was a good woman, beautiful, a wonderful mother and…”

“Have you ever heard the name Candy Floss?” Mitch asked.

“What? No.” What kind of name was that?

“Your mother never called herself that?”

“No. Never.” An image of us at a fairground came to mind. My mother laughing as she bought four big bags of pink candy floss. “She loved the stuff. Couldn’t walk past a stall.”

“Might be why she picked that name then.” From his pocket, Mitch pulled out a small black book. The leather binding was tattered, and a frayed silk page divider hung from it. “Do you recognize this number?”

“I…what?”

“Zero, seven, seven, zero, four, four, two, two, eight, eight, nine, nine.”

A lead weight opened in my belly, a black hole that seemed to suck me downward, into the seat. Of course I knew that number. We’d laughed that it was an easy one to remember. The only one I could.

“Chelsea?” Andrew said softly. “What is it?”

“That…that was my mother’s number.” I pointed at the book. “Why is it in there? Why have you got it?”

“This.” Mitch sighed and shook his head. “Is the little black book of a pimp we took out recently, Ranson. He ran a whore warehouse, kept his girls high so they’d stay, utterly dependent on him and—”

“Okay! So?” I folded my arms. “It’s not a crime that her number is in his book.”

“I think it means she knew him well,” Mitch said. “And she’s listed as Candy Floss and then in brackets, Bitch Who Gets Good Price Albanian Ass.”

“Albania. My mother has never even been there and…” I swiped at a tear that was rolling down my cheek. How could this be happening? “No. This isn’t right. Not at all. It’s a lie.”

* * * *

Andrew

I sighed and pulled Chelsea closer. Learning about her mother’s true character, on top of grief, was a double blow, hell, it was a triple blow. It marred memories and would stir up so many questions.

“That’s the book you picked up at the warehouse?” I nodded at Mitch’s hand.

“’Fraid so.”

My belly twisted, and I wiped a tear from Chelsea’s cheek. “Come on, let’s head to my place.”

“I want to go and see my father.”

“Are you sure? Already?”

“Yes…he’s my father.” She stood. “And he’s obviously having a horrible time.”

I also stood, but as I did, a thunderous vibration went through the building. It shook the souls of my feet and rattled through my bones.

“What the fuck?” Dalton stood and pointed at the screens. “We’ve got visitors.”

“Who the hell?” Finn and Cillian stood.

Cillian passed Finn a gun.

“Is that…?” Finn said.

“Bikers.” Phil frowned at the screen.

“They don’t look like they’re here to fuck. They look mad as hell.” Mitch glared at the screen which was a mass of Harleys and black leather. “The Beasts. They’ve been hanging around Oxford for a few days now.”

“The Beasts?” Chelsea’s eyes widened. “What? No.”

I spun to her. “You know them?”

She gulped. “One of them.”

I didn’t have time to ask her anything else because the front door was being thumped in a way that suggested it was about to be knocked down. I rushed out the back door with the guys, Chelsea in tow, though I didn’t really want her around rough bikers.

“Hey, you!” A huge guy with a gray beard shouted at Dalton as he rounded the corner. “Who’s in charge of this whorehouse?”

“What’s it to you?” Dalton slammed his hands on his hips and tipped his chin.

“We got business with him.”

I came to a halt and surveyed the thirty or so bikes filling the front of the property. Hot exhaust fumes swirled in the air, and the tension was crackling. “You can speak to me if you have a problem.” I stepped forward. Maybe one of the girls had been seeing one of them and it had turned sour. That was my best guess.

Chelsea came to a halt behind me, her chest on the back of my arm.

“Fuck! It’s true. You’re living here!” A big guy with pale hair in a super-short cut stepped forward. His cheeks were red and his eyes flashing with fury. “You are here.”

“Vince?”

I spun to Chelsea. “You know this guy?”

“It’s…he’s my brother.” Her eyes were wide. She was clearly as surprised as I was that he’d turned up.

“You.” Vince stepped forward, shoulders hunched, fists clenched. “You think it’s okay to whore my sister out in this place?”

“What? I…urgh…” The bastard had got a good shot at my chin, sending my neck snapping back and jarring my teeth together.

Fury flooded me. I retaliated with a swift left hook that hit home and then a kidney punch.

He doubled over, but only for a split second, then came back with a lethal temple punch that I just managed to dodge so it sliced off my flesh. But that seemed to infuriate him further and he lunged at me, fists and knees and boots flying.

I took several hard shots, and so did he. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. My heart was going like the clappers, and the sound of the chanting bikers filled my ears.

“Stop! Stop! What are you doing?” Chelsea’s little hand was tugging at my t-shirt. “Stop it. This is crazy. I’m not living here. What are you doing, Vince? This is my boyfriend.”

Suddenly my attacker backed off, spat on the ground, and wiped his forearm over his sweating forehead.

He was breathing hard, so was I.

Chelsea was between us, arms outstretched as if to keep us apart.

“Vince, are you crazy? What are you doing?”

“I heard from Ness that you’d hooked up with an old dude and—”

“Less of the fucking old,” I snapped.

He glared at me. “And a bit of digging soon told me that you were hanging out here. At a whorehouse.” He pointed up at it.

Trixie, Bridget, and three other girls were peering out from behind a curtain.

“I’m not a whore.” She wagged her finger at him.

“And don’t think about arguing that point.” I snarled. “She’s my woman, no one else’s.”

“She’s my fucking sister, and I will not have her staying here.”

“It was one night, an emergency.” I frowned.

“What kind of emergency?”

“It was bad, but I’m okay. If I’m with Andrew and the guys…I’m okay.”

Vince’s jaw tightened. “Andrew.” He nodded at me. “The professor, right?”

“That’ll be me.”

“Kind of inappropriate, don’t you think?”

“What?”

“You two, together.” He huffed.

“We’re both consenting adults.” I straightened my t-shirt and shoved a hand through my mussed-up hair. “Why don’t you come in? We’ve got news.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, right.”

“About Dad.” Chelsea gripped his upper arm. “News about Dad and what he did.”