Ciaran (Bourbon & Blood) (3 page)

She’d like to blame it on the whiskey she’d been drinking that night, but the simple fact of the matter was, she would probably have given it to him anyway. Ciaran was beautiful in the way that only Black Irish could be. With his charming accent, perfect smile, and his body which was utter perfection, it would have taken a stronger woman than her to resist him.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re all overreacting to this anyway. The attacker won’t come back,” she insisted. Even to her own ears, it rang false, but it was the version of the story she preferred.

Matt glanced at her, his expression firm. The worry and stress had left its mark on him. Matt had been blessed with a baby face, but for the first time in their lives, he looked older than his years. “Don’t be stupid. We both know that’s not the case. Men like this don’t just go away. He’s former Russian mafia, for fuck’s sake! If he’s been ordered to see you dead, he will kill you or will die trying.”

“He said he had a message to deliver. It’s delivered. It’s done!”

“The hell it is!” Matt shouted. “They did this to you to get to me…as long as I’m working this case, they know you’re my weakness. I can’t do my job and protect you! And in case you didn’t stop to think about it, let me sum it up for you, these fuckers are cruel…vicious, brutal, and colder than anything you can imagine. There are things worse than dying, Loralei, and they’ll put you through every damn one of them!”

That scared her. Terrified her actually. Matt was always one to gloss over details and tell her things would be fine. The fact that he actually wanted her to be fearful was a new and truly terrifying experience. “Fine. But does it have to be him? Can’t you put me in protective custody in a safe house with a couple of cute, uniformed officers at the door?”

He didn’t bat an eye. “There’s no money in the budget for a protective detail for you. For once in your damn life, just listen to me and let me keep you safe.”

“This is Lexington! We don’t have Russian mafia!”

Matt sat down in the same ugly chair Ciaran had occupied for most of the night. “No. We’ve got the assholes they didn’t want…a bunch of fucking mafia rejects who would rather shoot you, stab you, and rape you and—quite possibly in that order—than look at you. This is big, Loralei, and if I don’t stop it now, this city is going straight to hell.”

“What is this really about, Matt?” she demanded.

“You’ve heard of Krokodile?”

“It’s a drug, but I didn’t think we had it here,” she answered.

“We do now. Drug dealers are ambitious, Lor, and they’re always looking for new territory. I busted one two days ago, and not small time, either. He was carrying enough of this to supply the city for a month. He’s also selling out his friends like it’s a damn auction. Good for me, but bad for you. Less than twenty-four hours later, one of them was at your door. They want to make an example of me. This, everything that happened to you, is my damn fault.”

She could see how worried he was, and she could see the guilt that was eating at him over it. “It isn’t your fault.”

“When I booked this guy, he told me they’d be coming after mine, and I just blew it off,” Matt added. “Please, Loralei, I have to nail these guys, and I can’t do that until I know that you’re safe.”

She shook her head. “I don’t like it. I don’t want him back in my life, Matt. I was finally getting over it…over him. I can’t do this again.” It humbled her to admit it, made her feel weak and needy.

“I know he hurt you…and he’s not a long-haul kinda guy. But right now, if I have to choose between having you alive and brokenhearted or tortured and killed because of me, it’s a damned easy choice,” Matt stated. “Besides, he’s on his way here now.”

Loralei rolled her eyes heavenward. “So asking me if I’d be willing to let Ciaran look after me was really just to humor me? Once again, my life choices were made via royal Crawford decree!”

Matt ran his hand over his face in an expression of frustration. “It’s not like that…this isn’t Mom monitoring your calories and bitching about your weight! You are the only family I have, or at least the only family I claim. If keeping you safe means stepping on your toes a little, well tough shit.”

“I can come back after you’ve resolved your family crisis.” The charm of the Irish accent was overshadowed by sarcasm.

Loralei looked up to see Ciaran standing in the doorway, holding a pet carrier that rattled with familiar snores. Her heart melted a little at the sight of Churchill and at the sight of the man carrying her precious and somewhat challenged pug. But she had to admit Ciaran didn’t look much better than Matt. He had dark circles under his eyes, he was unshaven, and his curly hair was wild. But his jeans were clean and well fitting.
Lord, did they fit well!
The white T-shirt with a plaid shirt open over it was his standard uniform, as were the battered cowboy boots on his feet.

“The truck is out front if you’ve been sprung,” he said, depositing the pet carrier on the bed beside her. Immediately, she unzipped it and reached inside for Churchill. His squirmy little body torpedoed into her as he began his enthusiastic, happy dance all over her thighs. She winced when his paws came down on her fresh stitches. Immediately, Ciaran swooped him up. The damn traitor collapsed in his arms in a boneless and ecstatic heap, tongue lolling out and panting.

“Not yet,” Matt answered for her. “Waiting on the doctor. Should be any minute.”

Ciaran nodded. “You think you could give us a minute, here?”

Matt narrowed his eyes at him. “That depends on what you’re going to do with it.”

Ciaran ducked his head, and his lips quirked upward. “I’d hardly have anything other than conversation in mind given her current condition…and her lack of inclination.” He gave the dog a pat on the belly. “Besides, we’re well chaperoned.”

Matt huffed out a breath. “Fine. I’m going to go see if I can’t move this doctor along. Why the fuck they think no one else has anything to do but wait on them I’ll never know.”

When Matt left, Loralei looked at Ciaran and steeled herself. “I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

He shrugged as he absentmindedly scratched the dog’s belly and set the pug’s back leg to trembling furiously. “Then you can listen to what’s been on my mind…I owe you an apology.”

She looked away. “You don’t owe me a damn thing, and even if you did, it’s way too late for an I’m sorry.”

He moved closer, seating himself on the edge of the bed next to her. “You can hate me forever. You’re entitled. But you have to know I didn’t mean to hurt you. That was always the last thing I wanted to do.”

“Is that why you blow hot and cold? Because you’re trying not to hurt me? It’s a piss-poor strategy.”

“No,” he replied. “I’m not good at relationships. Never have been. I should have stayed in the damned army. I’m not fit for much else. But when I met you, I thought… No. I didn’t think. I wanted and I took and then I ran. I was a coward, and I’m not proud of it. But, right now, there are more important things. I’ll keep you safe,
mavourneen.
You might not trust me for anything else, but you can trust me for that. ”

“You said that last night.” Her voice was soft, pitched low. When she’d woken this morning, she thought perhaps she’d dreamed the whole thing, until Matt had begun outlining his plan for her continued well-being. Just as before, Ciaran’s words left her off balance and uncertain, but then he had always been good at keeping her off balance.

“I meant it then, and I mean it now. All this, me and you, it’s just until you’re safe. Then everything goes back to the way it was. You’ll be shed of me for good if that’s what you want.”

Loralei shook her head. “I don’t think I can do this.”

He reached out and traced one of the long scrapes that covered her hand. “I don’t think you have a choice. He targeted you, love, specifically. They want your brother’s focus on you and not on them. Until he’s finished with this, you’ll not be safe. The Russians don’t fuck around. They are brutal and effective, and if they want you dead, they’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen. And if they don’t want you dead, they might make you wish you were. They’re set to make an example of your brother, and they’ll do that by going after what he cares about the most. Right now, that’s you.”

Loralei shuddered. She didn’t want to recall just how brutal. It had been the element of surprise that saved her the day before. He hadn’t expected her to fight back, and if he cornered her again, she wouldn’t have that advantage. “Fine.”

Just as she capitulated, the doctor walked in looking harried while Matt strolled in behind him looking victorious. The doctor frowned at the dog, but after a surreptitious glance at her less than pleasant-faced brother, wisely said nothing. “Well, Miss Crawford, you’re free to go. The nurse is preparing your discharge instructions. You’ll need to return in a week to have the stitches removed. You were very lucky.”

“If I were that lucky, I wouldn’t have needed stitches,” she replied drolly.

The doctor’s frown deepened. He clearly did not understand humor. “The nurse will be in shortly.”

It was only a moment later that the nurse shuffled in with a wheelchair. “Oh, no,” Loralei said. “I’m not going out in that.”

The nurse shrugged. “You can go out in the chair, or you can stay here. It’s up to you. Either way, that creature goes. He’s drooling.”

Loralei glanced over at Churchill, who, sure enough, was in fact drooling. She knew just how skilled Ciaran’s hands were, and for just a moment, she was jealous of the dog.

“Get in the damn chair, Lor,” Matt said. “I’m sick of this shithole.”

Loralei rose from the bed and then climbed into the wheelchair. It offended her to the depths of her soul. “Fine.”

“I’ll get the truck,” Ciaran said, handed her the dog, and walked out.

“I don’t like this,” Loralei said to Matt as the nurse pushed the chair down the hall. She cuddled Churchill close and tried to figure out how the hell she was going to get through this.

“I don’t care.”

“Asshole,” she said bitterly.

“Yep.”

C
iaran walked
around the truck and opened the door. He didn’t have to help her in. Her brother would do that, but there was no point in giving the man even more reason to despise him. It had rocked him to see Loralei in such condition. Even with the pound of makeup Kaitlyn had slathered on her face, the bruises were glaring on her pale skin.

Her injuries, all things considered, weren’t that severe. A total of twenty-seven stitches between the wound at her shoulder and the ones on her thigh and her ankle, but no one had to tell him how much worse it could have been. She’d been damned lucky to have gotten by with such minor injuries, and if she faced off against the bastard again, the outcome would be very different.

Taking the dog carrier from her, which was empty of course, as the damn dog was cuddled close to her chest, he placed it behind his seat. She loved the thing though it had less than two brain cells to rub together. It had driven him crazy the way she carried on over the little beast,, but at the same time, he’d found it endearing. Her need to rescue animals and the way she melted at the sight of any baby animal had charmed him. And he’d almost lost her.

That thought kept running through his mind, but on its heels came another thought. She wasn’t his. She could have been, would have been if he hadn’t been such an asshole, but he’d blown it. All that was left was to keep her safe and do his best to convince her he wasn’t the worthless shite he’d behaved like.

So he stood there like a third wheel, looking like a dumbass, as Matt helped her from the wheelchair and into the truck. When the door closed, Matt turned to him. “Your job is to make sure no one else hurts her. My job, if you hurt her again, will be to make your life hell. We clear?”

“Crystal,” Ciaran replied with a nod. It goaded him, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t earned their distrust. Walking back around the truck, he climbed behind the wheel and met her questioning gaze. “Your brother doesn’t trust me,” he said.

“Should he?” she asked skeptically.

Ciaran smiled. “Probably not. Let’s get you home and settled. You look like hell.”

She leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. “Where’s that silver tongue now, Irish?”

“Ask me when you’re better and I’ll demonstrate,” he shot back.

“Oh, no. That’s not happening. Not ever again.”

We’ll see, he thought, and turned the key in the ignition.

The ride to his farm wasn’t a long one. They managed to avoid the worst of the day’s traffic. Heading out of town toward the horse country that spanned Fayette and Woodford Counties, it was only twenty-five minutes before he was parking the car in the driveway in front of his small house.

He’d bought the small farm that butted up against Grant’s property not long before their break up, if it could be called that. Since then, Loralie had been noticeably absent from Ash Grove farm and had visited Kaitlyn DuChamps-Ashworth much less frequently. He knew, because he’d been watching for her small car every time he’d heard one pass his house.

Kaitlyn had gathered clothes and toiletries for Loralei earlier in the day and dropped them off, along with her own dire warnings and threats. It had been something akin to peeling his testicles like a grape. He hadn’t said much in return. She was Loralei’s friend, and given what a shit he’d been, she was entitled to hate him. Not a one of them could loathe him as much as he loathed himself. Hurting Loralei out of his own stupid pride and petty insecurity had been one of the lowest things he’d ever done.