I think I might be sick. “Do you know the people who did that?”
“They’re dead. Kazimir killed them all.”
“Oh god.”
“It was a long time ago. I’d just barely joined the ranks. I didn’t personally know the men involved, but it makes no difference to Kazimir. The Irish murdered his family. His hatred for us runs deep.”
“But all you guys cooperate with each other in business.”
“Sometimes. Other times, we kill each other. If he had the chance, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill me.”
I roll onto my side and prop myself up on an elbow. “And you wouldn’t hesitate to kill him.”
His face darkens. I take that as a yes.
“You can’t hurt him, Declan.”
He looks at me for a moment, eyes flinty, then says, “Lass.”
“Don’t say that like I’m being absurd. You’re the one who said you’d promise me anything.”
“And you’re the one who hasn’t said I can trust you with my life.”
Anger makes my cheeks flush. “So it’s tit for tat?”
“No. Trust can’t be negotiated.”
Despite trying to keep it calm, my voice rises. “Natalie’s my best friend. She’s in love with him. If anything happens to him, it will kill her.”
He exhales a short, derisive burst of air through his nose. “Then she signed up for the wrong relationship. He’s got as many targets on his back as I do.”
“He could have one less.”
“You have no idea what you’re asking.”
“I know exactly what I’m asking, and the answer is a simple yes or no.”
“Then the answer is no.”
It’s cold, hard, and leaves me breathless.
Examining my expression with icy eyes, he says, “We’re enemies. We’re killers. Where did you think that story would end?”
In heartbreak, obviously, for everyone involved.
I roll over, away from him, curling into a ball against the pain.
31
Sloane
After a moment, Declan rises from the bed. He returns soon with a blanket that he drapes over me, tucking it around my body. He leans over and kisses my temple, then goes into the master closet. When he emerges, he’s dressed in jeans, a leather jacket, and combat boots, all of them black.
He leaves the room without a word, turning off the lights and closing the door quietly behind him.
I say drily to the empty room, “So much for the after-sex cuddling.”
I suffer through a moment of self-loathing for craving after-sex cuddling—a first—then throw off the blanket and get out of bed.
This house doesn’t have the automatic lights like the other place did, but I have enough from the glowing moon to navigate the room. I find the light switch on the wall in the master closet and flick it on.
Looking around, I laugh out loud.
I’ve never seen a closet with French doors before, but this one has a set that leads to a Juliet balcony outside. A gold-and-crystal chandelier glitters overhead. One entire wall is lined all the way to the ceiling with lighted shelves displaying shoes and handbags.
Mine, presumably.
Another wall has drawer after gold-knobbed drawer beneath hanging racks of long-sleeved shirts, dresses, slacks, and coats. The third wall is filled with Declan’s black suits and white dress shirts. A giant square dresser sits in the middle of it all, topped in cream marble with a display of white orchid plants in moss-filled glass.
This closet is as big as a retail clothing shop in a mall.
I go hunting through drawers until I find a lovely selection of La Perla lingerie in silk-lined dividers. I pause, staring at an exquisite pair of violet silk and tulle Brazilian-cut panties.
The price tag is still attached. The panties, one of maybe fifty pairs in the drawer, cost $240.00.
No wonder Declan made fun of my savings account.
I rip off the price tag, find a matching violet bra, and try them on in front of the full-length mirror.
Turning slowly back and forth as I admire my reflection, I realize I’ll never be able to wear my three-pack-for-thirty-bucks cotton Hanes again.
I hunt through more drawers. I find a lifetime supply of lululemons, along with jeans, sweaters, T-shirts, and everything else. I dress in a pair of $1,300.00 Dolce and Gabbana jeans and a black cashmere sweater so soft, it almost makes me cry, trying all the while to stay angry at Declan.
When I pull open one of the top drawers in the big center island, I stop short, sucking in a breath.
Apparently, his shopping spree also included a stop at Tiffany’s.
I close the drawer, wait for the blinding sparkle of diamonds to fade from my vision, then leave the closet and its temptations behind. I head out barefoot to the kitchen.
Declan isn’t there. He’s not in the living room or media room, either. It takes me twenty minutes to go through the entire house, until finally I determine that I’m alone.
Except for the shadowy figures moving around the perimeter of the yard, that is.
The ones carrying the big rifles.
I slide open a glass door in the enclosed breakfast room off the kitchen. Salt air swirls in. The cold sea breeze stirs my hair. I stick my head out and call, “Hey! Hello? Over here!”
I wave an arm at the dark figure prowling along a tall hedge of privet. He pauses for a moment, looking in my direction, then lifts a hand to his ear.
“For fuck’s sake, you don’t have to get permission, Spider,” I mutter, watching him speak into his wrist.
But I guess he did, because he starts to swagger my way.
When he reaches the flagstone patio outside the doors and enters the pool of light from the sconces mounted on the walls, I smile at him.
“Captain America! How are you?”
He tries not to smile at me, but it doesn’t work. “Hullo, madam.”
“Oh god,” I say, appalled. “Please tell me Declan didn’t say you have to call me that now.”
Spider slings the rifle over his massive shoulder and grins. “Nah. Just thought I’d give you a wee fright. Knew I couldn’t do it any other way, so…” He shrugs.
He’s in a good mood. I wonder if he likes it better here at the beach than in the city?
“Well, I’m happy to see you, anyway. Is Kieran skulking around somewhere, too?”
“Aye. That was him in my ear. He says hullo. He’s up front at the gates. Another thirty of us are spread out all over the property.”
“Thirty?”
He shrugs again. “Big place. Big pores. Lots of places rats can sneak in.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Don’t worry. We’ve got it locked up tighter than a nun’s snatch. Uh, excuse the language.”
“Snatch isn’t a bad word. Bureaucracy is. By any chance, do you know where Declan went?”
He makes a face and shifts his weight from foot to foot.
“You can’t tell me. Sorry, I forgot we weren’t supposed to talk.”
Looking apologetic, he says, “It’s just, you know, business.”
I wave a hand in the air dismissively. “Oh, I know. Man stuff. The code and whatnot. By the way, I hope I didn’t get you in trouble last time. I didn’t tell Declan we talked, but he knew somehow.”