12. Cian

I stay slumpedagainst the wall long after Victoria leaves to get dressed. It’s not that I can’t stand up, it’s just that the weight of what I’ve become is fucking suffocating. Oisin dead, me at the helm. Fucking Robert ready to tear into me with his teeth bared.

I shake my head, trying to clear it. I know what I want—to crash through Kellerman’s ranks like a wrecking ball, to make them bleed for what they’ve done. But that needs planning, precision, not just blind rage.

The clack from Victoria’s heels tears me from my thoughts as she reappears ready for whatever fucked up version of a date night we’re embarking on—one that might involve smashing some heads in if we find any of Kellerman’s assholes lurking.

My gaze starts at her feet as she plants them in front of me. Killer heels, shiny black with a thin blade of a six-inch heel that is a veritable weapon. I linger for a minute before drawing my eyes upward. Legs for miles, toned, pale, gorgeous. All the way up past her mid-thigh, and the frown descends as I rapidly take in the rest of the outfit. It’s not even clothes. A black skirt so short you can probably see her ass cheeks from the back and a black PVC—I use the term top loosely—barely covering her magnificent tits. Her stomach is bare, her shoulders are bare, her back is bare.

“You look like a fucking whore,” I drawl.

She rests the tip of Bonnie on the floor and leans on it a little as she cocks her hip. My gaze meets hers, but she is anything but pissed.

“I’ll let that one slide, fuckface, seeing as that’s kinda the point. You want to beat heads? Then I’m your bait.”

“Fuck,” I breathe out and feel so unworthy of this goddess it nearly chokes me. Getting to my knees, I grip her ankles loosely and bend down to kiss the tops of her feet.

“I fucking love you,” I practically pant.

She straightens up, her breath hitching when I drag my tongue over her right ankle and slowly, salaciously up the inside of her leg. Her knees tremble when I pass by, and I slide my hands up the outside of her legs, under her skirt.

“Are you even wearing knickers?”

She giggles. “Barely.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t start with that bullshit,” she murmurs, sliding her free hand into my hair and tugging harshly, guiding me to her pussy.

I dart my tongue out over the very scant black lace with a low groan. She is damp and tastes of cum.

“By the way, another box arrived,” she states, stopping me cold.

I snap my head back and glare at her. “Oh? When? Did you open it? What was in it? Where is it now?”

She blinks at the barrage of questions. “Earlier, no Luke did, a rose and a lame-ass note, and it was on that table, but I’m guessing Luke took it with him.”

Holding onto the jealous rage that is about to burst free, I rise carefully, steadily, fixing her with a menacing stare that only makes her more defiant.

“Luke was inside the house?”

She licks her lips and narrows her eyes. “He needed to use my laptop to check the feed.”

“What was he doing here in the first place?”

“He checked the cams at your place and rang me to warn me. Seems the little fucker knows me quite well because he raced me here, knowing I’d open it.”

“Does he now,” I growl. “And since when are you two best buddies?”

“We aren’t. Before today, I’ve barely spoken to him.”

Her words are like ice on my fired-up nerves. Luke and Victoria are too close for comfort, and I can’t stop the dark thoughts creeping at the edge of my mind. I knew something was building in him, but her? That crushes me.

“Keep away from him,” I snap, my possessiveness getting the better of me.

She frowns, the playful glint in her eyes brightening. “I’m not your fucking property, Cian. I can talk to whoever the hell I want.”

I know she’s right, but fuck if it doesn’t burn. Luke’s mine—my right hand, my brother in arms—and Victoria, she’s my heart laid bare. Yet here they are, intertwined in ways I can’t control or comprehend.

And the fucked-up thing is, I can’t blame Luke for wanting her. Look at her. She is… everything.

“Fuck that, anyway,” she says, breaking through my internal storm. “We’ve got heads to crack.”

“You’re set on this?” I ask, studying her face for any sign of hesitation. There is none.

I nod, then reach into my back pocket, where my phone buzzes. The screen flashes with a name I hoped I wouldn’t have to deal with tonight—Robert.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath. Robert’s timing is always impeccably shit.

“What?” Victoria asks, trying to peek at the screen.

“It’s nothing,” I lie smoothly as Robert’s words drill into me.

We need to talk. Now.

My fingers clench around the phone as if squeezing it could strangle the message out of existence. I can’t deal with Robert’s shit right now—not when revenge is pulsing through my veins, burning the edges of my soul.

I shove the phone back in my pocket and grab her hand. “Let’s go.”

“Where to?” she asks.

“Do you have somewhere in mind?”

“Actually, yeah. The Blue Bell. The hardcore techno place on Riversway. That place hops night and day, and what better way to fish than to dance?”

My sinister smile lights a fire in her. I pull the phone back out as I nod, and she opens the front door, letting me go to stride to the Jeep. I fire off a text to Luke and Gianluca to meet us there in an hour. I need them with me, but also, I need to see how Luke deals with seeing Victoria half-naked. Also, I need more information about that fucking second box. I didn’t ask if Luke discovered anything. If he had, she would’ve said. Lifting my eyes from the screen, I see her from behind and groan. That skirt is going to kill me.

But she’s right. It’s going to do the job we are set out to do, and that’s beat off some of this fucking rage that is festering inside me. I have a feeling that Victoria needs it, too. Something dark lurks within her that drives her actions. I don’t know what, and I won’t push her to tell me. She’ll talk if she wants to. But she gets the need to scream into the void or smash heads in, whichever is convenient at the time. Putting my phone away again, I close the door and climb into the Jeep. Victoria lifts her hips and fumbles behind her, pulling a hair band out of the back pocket of her skimpy skirt that houses her phone just barely. She scoops up her hair and ties it in a tight bun. I’d rather she left it down, but I get it. She knows it can be used against her in a fight.

“Blue Bell here we come,” I murmur, and gun it out of the driveway before the sun has even set on this shit show that has been today.

As the Jeep roars towards the Blue Bell, the noise of my thoughts is louder than the engine. Victoria’s silence beside me is a brooding storm of its own, her gaze out the window, sharp and calculating. The ominous neon lights of the Blue Bell beckon us through the evening haze. This place is a fucking dump where your feet stick to the floor with spilt booze, and God knows what else. But Victoria is right. It bounces all day and night, drawing the attention of the criminal underworld like flies on shit. It belongs to a rival gang, but one neither of us has an issue with. The Fitzpatrick’s are old family alliances on my side, and this is going to piss them off, but I don’t give a fuck.

We arrive, and the thumping bass from inside shakes the ground beneath our feet. The line to get in snakes around the block, but we don’t bother with that shit. With a nod to the bouncer—a badass monster who recognises us immediately—the rope barrier unhooks, and we stride inside.

No one even checks for weapons or even glances at Victoria’s bat. It’s life. It’s the life.

The place is packed, bodies grinding, pulsing, sweating in the humid air charged with pheromones and aggression. It’s perfect.

We carve our way through the crowd, moving with a purpose that has people parting before us like we’re reapers amongst the damned.

Victoria’s eyes scan the crowd, predatory-like. She hands me Bonnie to gatekeep, a sign of trust no one else is privileged enough for, before she disappears into the sea of flesh on the dance floor. My jaw clenches at her absence—it’s unsettling. I am going to have to stand here while my woman attracts the attention of every fucker in here. The thing is, though, I know her. She will revel in it, but as soon as someone places a hand where she doesn’t like… they are dead meat.

I stalk around the edges, catching glimpses of her as she moves through people, graceful and gorgeous and mine. She’s like a blade cutting through cloth—efficient and unstoppable.

Luke finds me first, his eyes scanning over my tense frame before following my gaze to Victoria. “She doesn’t waste time,” he comments.

Gianluca joins us. “What are we doing here?”

I nod and lead them to the bar, where we get a round in, double shots, then another, and then a third.

I need to be buzzed. The rest can fucking wait.