It’s a simpler arrangement than here at the mansion, but we’ve had heavy security detail there for bloody ages.
“It’s a veritable fortress,” Keenan says. The mansion is, too, but if anyone comes looking for me or Aisling, the mansion is the first place they’ll go. “I’ll be able to communicate easily with you if you’re there, and you two will be safe. Let’s do the investigation. Your only job is to keep her safe and be sure she doesn’t do anything that puts us in danger.”
I nod. “Aye.”
Keenan looks to Lachlan next. “Bring Fiona here. It’s time the girls reunite.”
Lachlan winces. “You sure about that, sir? They broke off their friendship on rocky terms—”
“See to it they’re reunited,” Keenan orders, firmer this time. “If Aisling has a friend and lover in the Clan, she’ll be more loyal. Especially a girl like her, who has bloody nothing.”
Friend and lover. The words settle over the room, and every goddamn person hears them. All eyes are on me, though it’s Lachlan he’s talking to.
“Aye,” Lachlan says. “I’ll do that.”
Will they forgive each other? I’ve learned over the years that you can force many, many things, but friendship isn’t one of them. My conversation with Fiona earlier today leaves me hopeful, though. And Aisling’s in need of a good friend.
“Tully.”
Tully’s brows shoot up, at attention. “Aye?”
“Secure the bunker.”
Keenan’s last words settle like lead in my belly. He’s sending me away. He’s taking precautions. And he’s preparing for a fucking lockdown.
Chapter 10
I’m sleeping on my friend’s couch, still hungover from the night before. It’s easier to forget things that are painful and hard when you’re dead to the world. I welcome the oblivion.
I sit up when my phone buzzes insistently. One after another. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
I stare at the screen and don’t recognize the number, so I shove it back to the floor. Someone was kind enough to cover me with a blanket. I pull it back over my head. But it’s no use now. The phone rings, and rings, and rings.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
“Would you answer that fucking phone?” I toss the blanket aside to see some guy I don’t know sitting at a barstool by the kitchen counter. He’s got a large cup of something hot and steamy, and he rolls his eyes at me as he takes a sip. “Answer the phone and I might be persuaded to get you some tea.”
I reach for the phone and groan. I hit the “on” button and answer.
“Is this Aisling?”
“Aye. Who the hell is this?”
“Your father’s neighbor, Beatrice.”
I’m almost fucking sober now. “Is everything alright?”
She sighs. “No, love. I’m so sorry, but the police are trying to get in touch with you.”
My heartbeat accelerates, and my mouth goes dry. I swallow with difficulty. “Are you… am I…” I don’t know what I’m saying.
“Last night, the police found your father, love. He was… he shot himself, it seems.”
“Is he alright?”
She pauses. “You’ll have to ask the police,” she says with a sigh. “I don’t know. I found your number on your father’s phone, so I gave you a call.”
“Thank you. I’ll come straight away.”
I hang up the phone, and the anonymous bloke at the counter’s looking at me funny.
“You alright?” he asks.
No. No, of course I’m not alright.
My father’s shot himself.
I don’t know if he’s okay.
We’re not close and haven’t been for years, but at the end of the day, he’s my fucking father.
“Fine,” I lie. I shove the blanket off, thankful I’m still clothed. There are other mornings I wake and can’t say the same. I pull my mobile out again, and search for a cab ride.
“Where to, miss?”
I tell him my address, the place I once called home.
Aisling
With a belly full of food and the memory of what Tiernan’s done to me the past few days, I actually fall asleep with my wrists secured in cuffs. Not sure I could sleep for hours like this, but closing my eyes for a wee bit is better than staring at the bloody wall.
I’m dreaming when I hear the door squeak on its hinges, and my eyes fly open. I blink. Where was I in my sleep? The voice of someone I once knew still echoes in my mind when the door to the bedroom swings open, and Tiernan enters.
I like being bloody sober.
There’s a small part of me that misses the high of a hit, and the withdrawal symptoms linger, but they fade with each minute that passes. Whatever Sebastian gave me to help has done its magic, and Tiernan’s… attention… has definitely helped as well.
I let my gaze roam over him while he enters the room. When I was younger, I’d crushed on him a bit. My best friend’s older brother, he was… well, he was bloody hot, all strong and muscled and bossy. I told myself he wasn’t my type. I spent enough time with Fiona to know the men of the Clan are bossy and possessive, and really fucking overprotective.
But deep inside me, if I’m honest… I liked that, too.
I fantasized about meeting a man of the Clan when I was younger, but that was the stuff of fantasies. I even asked Fiona to set me up on a blind date, but I was only half-joking. In my logical mind, I didn’t want to be with a caveman like a McCarthy. I knew that Lachlan kept a close eye on Fiona, and even though a small part of me craved that—the undivided attention and devotion of a man who’d put me on a pedestal and treat me like a queen—I didn’t want to be under a man’s thumb.
And Tiernan was not only my best friend’s brother, but a man of the Clan, every bit as stern and unyielding as any of them. That wasn’t what kept me apart from him, though, not really. He didn’t see me as a woman, but a child, and I knew it. I was his younger sister’s little mate, and he’d just as soon pat me on the head and give me a lolly as he would look at me.
I couldn’t stand it. And when Fiona and I had our falling out… well, I’d just as soon cut off my right arm as I’d spend a moment with a man of the Clan. Way too fucking close to home for comfort.
But now… I don’t have much of a choice.
He wears a simple t-shirt and trousers, but the way he wears it… the knit fabric’s stretched tight over his shoulders and taut at the arms, and though it’s large and a little loose, it doesn’t hide the way his muscles flex as he moves. His longish hair’s reddish brown in the light, and my heart gives a little leap in my chest when his piercing eyes come to mine.
He’s commanded my body. Commanded my obedience.
Does he command my heart?
“I see you’ve behaved yourself,” he says with stern approval, reaching in his pocket to retrieve the key for the cuffs.
“Bloody hard to misbehave when you’re cuffed to a bloke’s headboard,” I mutter.
His stern lips twitch, though his brows are still furrowed. He kneels on one knee beside me, reaching for the cuffs. “Oh, I can think of plenty of ways of misbehaving while cuffed to a bloke’s headboard.”