Then he’s coming, too, bent over me, driving into me with chest-deep grunts, propped up on his elbows with his hands tangled in my hair.
Shuddering, he gasps my name.
And it’s like a dam breaks inside me. A lifetime of built-up emotion just cracks through my ribs and blows me apart.
I burst into tears.
“Angel,” he says, panting and alarmed. “Baby, why are you crying?”
I wail, “I’m crying because I love you!”
Incredibly, the man starts to laugh.
It’s a soft chuckle at first, but it quickly builds to genuine, chest-shaking laughter. Laughter that just might get him killed.
He withdraws, rolls me to my back, and settles himself between my thighs. He pushes inside me again with a low moan. Then he pulls the blindfold off my face and kisses the tip of my nose.
Gazing deep into my watering eyes, he says, “That’s the first bloody thing you’ve said that makes any sense.”
Then he kisses me and tells me he loves me, too, and I cry even harder.
44
Sloane
When I open my eyes, it’s morning.
I’m on my side, facing the windows. The curtains are drawn, but a sliver of light peeks beneath, spreading golden sunbeams across the floor. Declan slumbers behind me, his breaths deep and slow, one arm thrown over my waist. His nose is buried in my hair.
I’m not a particularly religious person, but I do believe in miracles. I know there are so many things we cannot understand, but that have the power to move us regardless. Mysterious things. Wondrous things. Things of great beauty that speak to the soul.
Things that heal us in places that have been broken so long, we thought they were lost forever.
Lying in this warm bed in this quiet room with this beautiful man, I feel miracles all around me.
Declan stirs, stretching his legs. His arm tightens around my waist. His lips find my nape, and he gently kisses me there.
His voice thick with sleep, he says, “You camels snore something wicked.”
I start to laugh.
“It’s not funny. I barely got a wink of sleep.”
“You’ll live.”
I roll over in his arms and smile at him. He returns it, smoothing my hair from my face.
He murmurs, “Good morning.”
“Good morning to you.”
Adjusting his head on the pillow, he lets his gaze travel all over my face. He sighs softly in contentment. “Thank goodness I didn’t become a priest.”
I arch my brows. “Yes, that would have been a poor career choice, considering your tendency to shoot people.”
“I almost did, though. I planned on pursuing my master’s in Divinity, but went into the military instead.”
I stare at him, certain he’s joking. “Really? You?”
He chuckles. “Aye. I wasn’t always a hard-ass. Once upon a time, I was very much the romantic.” A cloud passes over his eyes. “But life disabused me of all my romantic notions early on.”
I reach up and caress his rough cheek, instinctively knowing there’s a story there. A story of loss and pain.
A man with a big, black “Vengeance Is Mine” tattoo inked into his chest has some seriously heavy baggage.
I take a shot in the dark and guess at what it might be. “You were in love?”
His lips curl. It’s a smile, but a bitter one. “If only it were that simple. No, what led me away from god is how my entire family was murdered, one by one, and no one was ever held accountable for it. None of their killers ever paid a price.”
His voice drops. “Until I decided to make them pay. And pay they did.”
I stare at him with my heart beating fast and my stomach twisting. “Who killed your family?”
In his pause, I sense an ocean of misery.
“There were bloody gang wars in Ireland then. Every day, there was more violence. My parents were caught in the crossfire of a shootout at a café. They were celebrating their wedding anniversary. My older brother, Finn, died in an explosion at a pub. My younger brother, Mac, was killed in a collision with a lorry driven by two IRA members on their way to blow up a bank. And my sister, Cecilia, was in a nightclub that was set on fire by a gang who wanted to intimidate its owner into paying protection. It didn’t work, because he died of smoke inhalation along with twenty-three others, including my sister. The doors had been barricaded. Emergency personnel didn’t get there soon enough to get everyone out.”
I rest my cheek against his chest, close my eyes, and snuggle closer to him. There’s nothing I can say to make it better, so I don’t even try.
“I had nothing and no one left, including my faith, so I joined the Air Corps. From there, I was recruited to the Directorate of Military Intelligence, Ireland’s version of the CIA. And I learned to kill people. Bad people. Threats to national security and the like. I did it so well, I kept getting promoted. Then our family’s priest, who’d emigrated to the States before my parents died, contacted me. Said he’d heard of my reputation. Said he didn’t agree with my choices, but he’d made some contacts here I might find useful.”
His tone turns dry. “For a price, of course. The church looks the other way for sinners whose pockets are deep enough.”
“Anyway, it got me to thinking that I needed to expand my base of operations. There were evil men all over the world who weren’t being held accountable for their deeds. So I came here, where no one but the priest knew what had happened my family, joined the Mob, and worked my way up.”
“You’re good with navigating male-dominated hierarchies.”
He exhales heavily. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. There’s no better way to destabilize a system than from the inside.”
“So you’re a Trojan horse.”
“Aye. The goal is checks and balances. There’s only so much official legal systems can do. They need a helping hand.”
I think about that for a while. Counterterrorism, counterespionage, whacking bad guys while pretending to be friends… He’s got a lot on his plate.
No wonder he’s always so crabby.
“Now that all the heads of the other families are gone, what will happen?”
“They’ll regroup. It’ll take a while, but there’s always a new snake to replace the old one. But you’re not in danger anymore of being used as a bargaining chip for them to try to get Kage to reopen their shipping routes.”
“Because…?”
“The word’s out. You’re mine. Anyone who dares to do so much as breathe in your direction dies.”
I groan. “I’m sick.”
“How so?”
“That made me fall for you even harder.”
“If that turns you on, you’re definitely spy material. It takes a certain kind of personality to excel in my line of work.” He pauses. “Which is why I thought you might be interested.”
I look up at him, aghast. “In murdering people for a living? I’m sorry, but no matter how evil they are, I couldn’t do it. I don’t even like to kill spiders.”
“There are many other ways to be useful as a spy.”
I furrow my brow. “So it was your idea that those assholes on the ship interrogate me?”