Irish Rogue, page 5
We roll around on the floor, punches hitting flesh with dull thuds, neither of us gaining an advantage until an ear-splitting whistle shrieks through the air. Pierce and I collapse separately onto our backs. I’m gasping for breath, each inhale pained as though a rib is bruised or broken.
“Someone better tell me what the fuck is going on.” The command is spoken deep and low.
Feck.
I open my eyes. Emilio stands there in his black pin-striped power suit, his platinum cufflinks buffed to a shine. Rage emanates from him. His dark gaze shifts between Pierce and me. I stand, each move sending a shooting pain through my torso. Blood glides down the side of my face. I reach up to swipe it away.
Pierce climbs to his feet, as well. His whole body goes rigid, but he doesn’t speak. Emilio raises a brow as though signaling his impatience. The man beside me remains silent. Apparently, it’s up to me to make conversation.
“Just a minor disagreement,” I finally say.
“A minor disagreement?” Emilio’s tone drips with sarcasm.
I cock my head in a faint nod. “You got it.”
“Both of you are bleeding on Dante Gallo’s carpet over a minor disagreement?”
“You’re repeating yourself,” I can’t help but point out.
Emilio’s gaze narrows. “I’m not sure now is the right time for flippancy, Padraig.”
Jaysus, what is it with these Italians and using a person’s full fecking name? “I hadn’t realized there was a wrong time for it. My apologies.”
Pierce growls beside me. I dart a quick glance over Emilio’s shoulder before returning to meet my brother-in-law’s gaze. A small crowd, including Gio, has gathered nearby. They’re all observing our exchange. Several of them have distrust in their eyes.
“Whatever your disagreement is, since neither of you seem inclined to give me a straight answer, it better be resolved.” With a sharp glance between both Pierce and me, Emilio turns and heads toward the locker room.
The crowd disperses as well, although several cast looks over their shoulders as though waiting for the action to begin again. Gio crosses to stand next to us. “What the fuck is wrong with you two?” he hisses.
“Merely a dis—”
“Yeah, yeah, a disagreement.” He raises a hand and shakes his head. “And here I thought Pierce was the insane one.”
Then he walks away, as well, leaving only the two of us. I finally turn and face Anya’s brother-in-law. A ragged cut slashes the corner of his rapidly swelling eye. Blood drips down his cheek in a line from his mouth to chin. He looks like shit. I’m sure my face isn’t any better. The pain in my jaw and ribs is a throbbing nuisance.
“Regardless of what you think of me, I’m marrying Anya.” I turn and head for the door. My pace is slow, and every breath I take sends a stabbing pain through my side. I make it out to the car before calling Dr. Byrne.
Chapter 8
Anya
* * *
Dinner has been an awkward affair. Ever since Pierce showed up with a couple of stitches near his newly swollen and blackened eye. His gaze keeps drifting to me. I shift uncomfortably in my chair from the scrutiny. Did Paddy leave here and go straight to find Pierce? Is that why his face looks like someone took a hammer to it?
Mila’s the most talkative during family meals. Then Pierce. Followed by me. None of us are speaking tonight, though. I don’t usually mind the silence. Except, this time, it’s suffocating. Someone has to fill it, so I clear my throat. “Rough day at work?”
Both Pierce and Mila turn toward me. The former’s expression is impassive, even for him. My sister’s is wary.
“I had an unpleasant conversation today,” Pierce says slowly.
I swallow. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
He lifts both brows. “Are you?”
There’s a tone beneath his question that makes me wince. It’s not one Pierce has ever used with me. It’s certainly one I’m familiar with, though. It’s how my mother always spoke to me. Every conversation we had was always full of disappointment. In her life. In me. In Mila. She’d been a miserable woman. That same disappointment is crystal clear in Pierce.
I set down my fork and fold my hands in my lap. My gaze remains on him. I won’t cower or show regret for my decision. “Yes, I am sorry it was unpleasant. I assume the conversation was about me.”
He remains silent a moment longer and then it all comes out. “Fucking Padraig? You’re marrying fucking Padraig Donnelly? Why him, of all people? Mila has introduced you to how many of Jacob’s soldiers and you’re settling for that Irishman? He’s not worthy of you, Anya,” Pierce says quietly but fiercely.
Tears burn my eyes. Although he’s only fifteen years older than me, I’ve always looked up to Pierce as almost a father figure. He’s been there from that first night when he rescued me and every day since. He’s the one who really helped me when I was at my lowest and did what most people would find unforgivable. Pierce has been the best thing to ever happen to Mila and me. I desperately want his support. No, I need it.
“I know you don’t understand why I’m doing this. But this is my choice. Paddy is my choice. I hope you’ll respect that—respect me—and the fact that this is what I want.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know if I can.”
Pain makes my heart ache. “Please, Pierce. If you care about me at all, you’ll accept my decision.”
“Why him? Make me understand why you want to commit yourself to a man who sticks his dick in anything that walks. A man who’s made it perfectly obvious to everyone that he has no interest in being tied down. Do you really want to be stuck with a man who will cheat on you for the rest of your life?” he asks incredulously.
I wince at the accusation. “Everything you just listed are the very reasons for why him. And it’s not cheating if I give him permission.”
Pierce’s expression is full of confusion, anger, and hurt.
“I know you don’t think it makes sense, but it’s not up to you to decide what’s best for me.” I’m trying to remain calm, but a part of me is panicking that he’s going to make this more difficult than it already is.
He stares at me for a few more minutes and then pushes back from the table and stands. “I can’t have this conversation right now.”
My gaze follows him as he walks out of the dining room and up the stairs. I can barely breathe from the pain in my chest. I’m shaking. Mila’s hand covers mine, and I jerk my head up to meet her eyes. She’s all blurry. I blink, and tears spill down my cheeks.
“Let me talk to him,” she says softly.
All I can do is nod. Mila and I finish eating, but I only pick at the food on my plate. I’m too nauseated. Even after we finish cleaning up the kitchen, Pierce still hasn’t come downstairs.
“I’m going to my room.”
Mila places her hand on my arm to stop me. “It’s going to be all right. He’ll come around. Just give him a little time.”
I try to offer her a faint smile, but I can’t make it form. Instead, I head out of the kitchen, my gaze darting to the stairs as I pass by, and lock myself in my room. On the bed is the bag filled with the fabric we bought today for my wedding dress. Just the sight of it makes me want to curl up in a ball and cry. I hide it away in my closet so I don’t have to look at it for a while.
On my nightstand is a framed picture of Pierce, Mila, and me. I pick it up, sit at the head of my bed, and stare down at it. I remember the day we took it. It had been about a year after Pierce rescued me. I’d begged to go to Coney Island. Growing up, I’d never been allowed. It’s Italian territory, and Russians are their bitter enemies. It didn’t matter that I was nineteen and probably far too old to be that excited.
Mila and I ate hot dogs until we almost barfed and rode the Ferris wheel more times than I could count. Pierce waited patiently at the bottom every single time. We strolled along the beach, searching for seashells, although we didn’t really find any. Despite that, it had been the perfect day. Pierce took the picture because his arms are the longest. I’m sandwiched between the two of them, and all three of us have smiles on our faces. It’s one of the few times I’ve seen him—and me—so happy.
I set the picture back with a sigh and pull my knees to my chest. Regret is heavy in my heart. Maybe I am making a huge mistake.
There’s a knock on my door. I cross the room to unlock it. Pierce stands on the other side, resignation lining his face. It doesn’t make me feel any better. I step back and let him in. He stands rigidly in the middle of the floor. His gaze lands on the picture and stays there for several seconds. Finally, he faces me.
“Five years ago, you were a scared girl. Rightfully so. You were also quieter than me. Still are. A feat no one else has managed to accomplish.” He smiles softly. I do, too. “You’ve grown into this beautiful and mature woman and, somehow, I missed it. I think, in my mind, you’ll always be that eighteen-year-old girl.”
“But I’m not,” I say quietly.
“I know that.” He sighs. “You’re right when you say this marriage doesn’t make sense. I’m not sure I’ll ever understand it. But I have to trust you. Even if I’m not happy about it.”
I close the distance between us, wrap my arms around his waist, and lay my head on his chest. His familiar clean scent soothes me. It reminds me of safety. And love. Pierce is the only man I’ll touch—or let touch me—and even the first, smallest one took months to happen. He lightly strokes my hair.
We stand there a moment longer as I soak in his warmth and affection before I step back. My gaze travels upward. I’d been terrified of that skull tattoo and its blood-red eyes at first, but it’s become just another part of Pierce. I raise my eyes further to meet his. “This may be asking a lot, but I was really hoping you’d walk me down the aisle.”
His expression softens. “Of course.”
“Thank you. For everything.” I owe my life to this man.
He palms my cheek, his calloused hand lightly scraping my skin, before he briefly nods and then walks out of my room, closing the door behind him. The sick sensation that had been floating around inside my belly settles. Getting Pierce to accept this had been one of my biggest worries. Except a new one has been growing. Am I doing the right thing?
Chapter 9
Paddy
* * *
“Are you fucking insane?” Jack roars and jumps up from his place on the sofa the second I step into the man cave.
I cross the room, passing him as he glares at me, and head to the bar, wincing at the stabbing pain his voice sends through my head. The empty bottle of The Devil’s Keep sitting on top of the gleaming wooden surface taunts me. Memories flash of Nathan and me drinking last night. There’s zero recollection of when either of us finished, but I have a vague memory of him stumbling out of the room while I poured myself another.
“Paddy?” Jack growls.
Continuing to ignore him, I reach into the cabinet and pull down an unopened one. I unstop it, grab a tumbler, and help myself to a refill. It doesn’t matter that it’s eight in the morning. In a single move, I toss it back and swallow the whole thing down. My lip stings like fire. The whiskey churns inside my gut before quieting and settling like a dead weight. Finally, I turn to Jack. “Don’t you have your own house? Why are you bothering me in mine?”
“Because, apparently, you have lost your goddamn mind.”
I wince again. “Will you please lower your voice?”
“For Christ’s sake, what is wrong with you? Taking on Pierce like that in the middle of Gallo’s? And when were you going to tell me about Anya?” Surprisingly, there’s hurt in his tone. “Is that why you’ve been acting weird since the christening?”
“I didn’t tell you about her because it wasn’t any of your business. Besides, nothing had been settled until yesterday.” I move to the other couch and drop onto it, my head pounding with the movement. That damn hair of the dog better kick in soon.
Jack takes his seat again and stares at me with wide eyes. “You’re getting married. To Anya. How is that not my business? How is that not the entire family’s business? When were you going to tell us? Were we even going to be invited to the wedding?”
“Don’t be an idiot. Of course, you’d be invited. And I was going to tell you when there was something to tell.”
“Was that before or after Pierce murdered you?” he asks sarcastically. “You look like shit, by the way.”
No doubt. My only consolation is that I bet Pierce looks just as bad. “I’m sure I’ve looked worse.”
“Doubtful,” Jack snarks.
“How’d you find out, anyway?” No way did the Italians tell him.
“Mila called Rory.”
Of course, she did. Should have known. I nod. At last, it seems like my headache is dissipating.
“Seriously, though, Paddy, what the fuck?”
Christ, is everyone going to harass me about this? I can’t imagine the conversation that took place at Pierce’s house last night. Is Anya going to call the whole thing off? “I’m getting married,” I say nonchalantly as though I didn’t just drop this fecking bomb.
“Yes, I’ve heard,” Jack replies drily. “That doesn’t explain why.”
It’s no one’s business that this was all Anya’s idea. If she wants people to know, she can tell them. I stare directly at him. “The last time I checked, I didn’t need to explain anything to anybody.”
“Well, you better be ready to explain things to Mother. She’s on her way over.”
Feck. “Is that why you’re here so early? To warn me?”
“That and to make sure you were still alive. Because you clearly have some type of brain injury.”
I tip my head and spread my hands out, a large smile curling my lips. I lick the bottom one that just split back open, lapping up the blood. “As you can see, I’m perfectly fine.”
“Son of a bitch, I missed it,” the disgruntled, feminine voice complains.
Jack and I turn. Our mother and Caitlín stand in the doorway. Neither of them appears happy, but I’m sure for far different reasons.
“Missed what?” Jack asks.
Caitlín jerks her chin in my direction. “Numbnuts here getting his ass kicked by Pierce. I wanted to be there to see it.”
Mother hisses our sister’s name and smacks her on the arm. Caitlín doesn’t even attempt to appear remorseful.
“Sorry to disappoint,” I say sarcastically.
Caitlín shrugs. “I’m sure it won’t be the last time Pierce beats the shit out of you. I’ll try to remain patient.”
Our mother huffs out a despairing sigh. “If you both are finished, perhaps I can speak with Paddy alone, please.”
Jack stands and closes the distance between Caitlín and her. “Come on, brat.”
The two of them head out of the den, leaving just Mother and me. “Can I get you a drink?” I ask for nothing better to say.
She sends me one of those looks, the kind only a mother can. The kind that has a person shifting nervously, waiting for the lecture on how disappointed she is. “I believe I’ll pass, but thank you.”
“I hope you don’t mind if I do.” Without waiting for her assent, I once again head to the bar. It isn’t as though I want another drink. It’s a postponement tactic. Anything to put off the inevitable.
“Padraig,” she draws out my name in a way she hasn’t since I was a child.
I slowly set down the bottle without dispensing any liquor from it and turn toward her. She scans my face. I keep my expression as blank as possible. Humor won’t get me anywhere with this conversation. She moves across the room and gracefully slides onto one of the stools. I wait for her to speak, but the silence drags on longer. I clench my jaw to stop myself from breaking it.
Feck. I cave first. “I suppose you heard the news?”
My mother rests her forearms on the bar top and laces her fingers. “I have.”
“Brenna?”
“Caitlín, actually,” she corrects.
Of course, that holy terror would be the one to tell our mother before I could. “I’m sure she enjoyed that.”
“Truthfully, I think it was an accident.” She smiles, but it fades quickly. “Anya must have a very good reason to ask you to do this.”
“How do you know she asked me to do anything?”
My mother’s expression shifts to doubtful. Right. Because there isn’t a chance in hell I would have asked a woman to marry me. “Yes, she has her reasons. They’re not mine to tell, though.”
She nods faintly. “Do you think this is a good idea?”
How long are we going to have to deal with everyone questioning this? “Don’t you think that’s for Anya and me to decide? We’re both adults.”
“Yes, you are,” my mother agrees. “But it’s my job as your mother to worry about you.”
“Me?” I draw back. “Why would you need to worry about me? I’m perfectly fine.”
Her eyes bore into mine, studying me. Observing me. Judging me? “I’m worried that Anya is going to hurt you. Not intentionally, of course.”
I chuckle at the suggestion that, somehow, she’ll be the one doing the hurting. “You’re probably the only person on the planet who doesn’t think I’m going to be the one to hurt Anya.”
“Oh, I have no doubt you will,” she says gravely. “I think you’re both going to hurt each other. More so than either of you could imagine.”
What the hell? “I love you, Mother, but you have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She continues assessing me until, finally, she slowly climbs down from her seat. Her heels clack on the tiled floor and then she’s standing in front of me. “You and Caitlín have always been my most impulsive—most fearless—children. You both forge straight ahead, confident in whatever path you take, because, for you, things will always manage to work themselves out. Somehow. It’s one of the biggest reasons you two have constantly butt heads. You’re so much alike.”
