Savage Hearts: Chapter 12

For the next two days, nothing happens. I have no mysterious midnight visitors, no more formerly dead, headless Mob bosses are discovered alive and intact after a warehouse fire, and nobody gifts me an envelope full of Benjamins in a restroom to try to get me to abandon the hoe life and make a fresh start.

I stay locked in my bedroom trying to work and trying not to think about Malek.

I succeed at the first thing far better than the second.

On day three, I ask Spider if he’ll drive me into town so I can work at a coffee shop. I can’t take a single minute more of swimming around in the huge, empty fishbowl of the guest bedroom, gulping air and longing for another heady sniff of pine needles.

Spider’s immediate response is a flat, “No.”

He caught me in the kitchen, where I’ve taken to sneaking at odd hours to pilfer food from the fridge in hopes I won’t have to encounter any of the staff and endure their withering derision.

In my head, I’ve created an entire ten-season Netflix saga of what all the Irish bodyguards have been saying about me behind my back since Sloane and Declan left.

It’s ugly. Even if only two percent of it is true, I can’t face them ever again.

I’m not anxious by nature, but I am easily mortified. Even a minor mistake makes me want to die of shame if it’s committed in public.

“Please?” I say, trying to appear winsome and irresistible. “I have to get out of this place. It’s too quiet. I’m going nuts. I need some noise and chattering people around me so I can concentrate.”

Spider gazes at me sternly. “Orders are, you stay here, lass.”

“Orders. Right.” I pause to purse my lips and examine his steely exterior for cracks.

He says emphatically, “No.”

“What? You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“Whatever it was, it involves me doing something I’m not supposed to do at your request.”

“I’d never ask you to do something that would get you into trouble.”

When he only stands there, staring down his nose at me with his arms folded over his chest, I tell the truth.

“Okay, I probably would, but if you did get into trouble, I promise I’d feel bad about it. How about if we just go for a drive around the block with the radio on? I’m sure we’re allowed to do that.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re so much like your sister.”

“Say that again, and I’ll give you a smack on that big skull of yours.”

He pretends to be offended. “My skull isn’t big!”

I laugh at that. “Yes, it is. It’s as enormous as the rest of you.”

He stares at me, slowly lifting his brows.

My face decides it’s time to turn a nice bright shade of tomato red. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No? So the rest of me is small?”

He’s teasing me, the jerk. Time to change the subject.

“How about the library? I’m sure Declan would agree I’d be safe at a library, right?”

“We’re not going anywhere.”

“Fine. If you won’t help me, I’ll run away. I’m sure that won’t get you into any trouble.”

I don’t really mean it. I’m just being dramatic because I’m not getting my way. I turn around and flounce off with the plate of chicken wings I found in the fridge.

Ten minutes later, Spider knocks on my bedroom door.

“Yes?”

He sticks his head through. “All right, lass. Let’s go.”

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I perk up. “Really?”

“Aye, really.”

I munch on a wing for a minute, debating, then shake my head. “That’s sweet, but I was only joking about running away. And I really don’t want to get you into trouble.”

He chuckles. “You won’t be. I got permission to take you out for that joyride.”

“From Declan?”

“Aye.” His grin is so big, it’s nearly blinding. “If anyone knows firsthand how a Keller woman can pester a man to death when she wants something, it’s him.”

Abandoning the plate of wings, I mutter, “Yeah, I bet he does,” and jump up to gather my things.

Ten minutes later, we’re pulling out through the big iron gates, and I’m in full interrogation mode. Apparently, freedom makes me chatty.

“So how long have you worked for Declan?”

“A long time.”

“Is it a hard job?”

“Depends on what you mean by hard.”

“Do you have to kill people?”

He sends me a sideways look that means Of course.

“Oh. Wow.”

I think for a moment about what a bummer it must be to have that in your job description, then let it go because there’s nothing I can do about it.

I’m not one to dwell on things that can’t be fixed.

“Is a mobster what you wanted to be when you were growing up? And don’t give me some oblique answer. I want specifics this time.”

I can tell he’s trying not to laugh. “Oblique?”

“It means indirect.”

“I know what it means, lass. I’m just amused by your choice of words sometimes.”

Offended, I say snippily, “So I’m a word geek. Sue me.”

“Aw, don’t be sore. What’s your favorite word?”

That stumps me. I mull it over for a while as we drive, passing more gigantic estates set back behind locked gates and tall hedges. Bermuda seems to be entirely populated by paranoid rich people.

“Serendipity.”

“Serendipity?”

“Yeah, because of the way it sounds, and also because I like its meaning.”

Spider nods. “Happy accident.”

And here I thought he was just another pretty face.

“Yes, exactly. I also like the word ‘mellifluous,’ because when you use it in a sentence, people think you’re super smart. And it’s pretty. Mel-li-flu-ous. It sounds like you’re chanting a spell. That’s what I wanted to be when I was growing up, by the way. A witch. God, it would be so badass to be able to put curses on people, don’t you think? And fly. Except I wouldn’t want to fly around on a broom. A broomstick stuck up your cooch would be crazy uncomfortable.”

Spider has his fist over his mouth. He’s trying to stifle his laughter.

“Hey! I’m being open and honest here! You could at least have the manners to keep a straight face.”

“Witches are supposed to ride their brooms sidesaddle, lass, not with the bloody thing clamped between their thighs.”

I roll my eyes. “Excuse me for not knowing the proper way to mount a broomstick. I missed that day at Hogwarts.”

Spider laughs and laughs, clearly enjoying himself. I wonder when the last time was that he had a good laugh. His job probably doesn’t afford many occasions.

Staring at his grinning profile, I say suddenly, “Are they going to be okay?”

He knows who I mean. His voice gentle, he says, “Declan’s a wicked smart man, lass. And wicked powerful. He’ll not let your sister come to any harm.”

“But what about him? I bet there are lots of guys who want to do him harm, right?”

“Aye. But he’s been around this game a long, long time. He knows every trick in the book, even the ones that haven’t yet been written. More than twenty years he’s had in the life, and he’s still standing. He’ll stand for another twenty easy, mark my words.”

Spider is obviously very proud of his boss. His confidence in Declan sounds unshakeable. It makes me breathe a little easier, but I also know that nobody’s invincible.

No matter how smart you are, there’s always someone smarter. Even the highest and most secure castle walls can be breached.

Case in point: Malek.

He came in and out without being seen by any of Declan’s guards. I locked the patio door, and he somehow unlocked it from outside. I haven’t heard a peep about triggered security alarms or violated perimeters, but he snuck onto the premises without raising any red flags, appearing noiselessly in my bedroom where he could have quite easily murdered me.

But didn’t.

He called me baby and left me a white rose, instead.

I haven’t decided what I’m going to do if he shows up again.

I’m not naïve. I know he’s dangerous. He wears violence like cologne. Trusting men like him is what gets women like me killed.

But there’s something both powerful and undeniable that draws me to him. An irresistible natural force, like gravity. He knelt next to my bed and took my face in his big rough hand, and my heart opened like a flower.

Clearly, I have the same brains god gave a flea.

“Did Declan tell you anything about the situation with his old boss when you talked to him about taking me out for a drive?”

“It was a text message.”

“Oh.”

“But I did talk to him last night.”

I can tell from his voice that he’s got information. Sitting up straighter in my seat, I look at him eagerly. “And? What did he say?”

“Long story short, without getting into all the gory details, Diego’s got amnesia. Can’t remember a bloody thing that happened to him.”

I gasp. “No way!”

“Aye. They saw him in the hospital. The poor sot doesn’t even recognize Declan. Doesn’t know his own name. Has no bloody idea who or where he is.”

“That’s awful!”

Spider makes a noise of agreement. “It’s quite a mess, all around.”

I examine his face. “Sounds like there’s more to it than amnesia.”

Looking serious, he glances in my direction. “When Declan thought Diego had been killed…let’s just say he didn’t take it sitting down.”

“Oh, boy. That sounds murdery.”

“Aye. Retaliation in kind when a boss is killed is normal business. But with Diego alive, certain actions Declan took have been proven unnecessary. And with Diego not being able to recall who kidnapped him and locked him up, the whole thing’s one giant clusterfuck.”

I get that there’s going to be blowback on Declan for whatever murdery stuff he did to avenge Diego, and I don’t think it’s fair.

“But Declan has an excuse. He really thought Diego was dead. There was a body and everything!”

Spider chuckles darkly. “Tell that to the rest of the families.”

“Wow. I’m glad you can be so nonchalant about it. I think I’d be having a heart attack.”

He shrugs. “It’s the life. Never a dull moment. Dodging death keeps a man young.” He pauses. “What’s that screwy face for?”

“What you just said is probably the most macho thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not sure it was a compliment. Oh, look, a bookstore! Can we go in there?”

I point at an adorable little shop we’re passing by. The façade is painted bright blue. Potted red geraniums line the big bay window in front. A few bicycles are parked outside beside a row of small café tables. People sip coffees and chat in the morning sun.

“Your wish is my command,” says Spider, smiling. He makes a right turn, taking us around the block.

“In that case, I wish for season tickets to the 49ers.”

Spider makes a retching noise. “Ugh. American football.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“You Yanks wear too many bloody safety pads. Wankers. And the helmets!” He scoffs. “To cover your dainty eejit brains.”

“Ah. I see where this is going. You’re about to extoll the manly virtues of rugby, right?”

He glances at me, grinning, before pulling into a parking spot at the back of the store. “Extoll?”

I say mildly, “Oh, shut up.”

As soon as Spider turns off the SUV’s engine, I open the door and hop out, collecting my laptop. When I turn around, he’s standing right in front of me.

Scowling.

Taken aback, I say, “What?”

He says crossly, “You’re supposed to let me open the door and help you out, lass.”

“Why? Do I look like I normally have trouble exiting vehicles?”

“No, because I’m a man, and you’re a woman.”

When I only stand there staring at him with my face scrunched up, he adds, “Also, I’m working. It’s my job.”

“You should’ve started with that.”

“Why?”

“Because then I wouldn’t suspect that you have old-fashioned, inflexible ideas about gender roles.”

He chuckles. “I do have old-fashioned, inflexible ideas about gender roles. But trust me when I say that they’re all to your benefit. Now, will you let me open the door to the bloody bookshop for you, or will your wee feminist ego insist we arm wrestle over it?”

I lift my nose in the air and sniff. “I wouldn’t arm wrestle you.”

I was trying to be snooty and dismissive, but he seizes the opportunity of my refusal to make a point.

“Of course you wouldn’t. You’d lose. Would you like to know why?”

Knowing where he’s going with this, I exhale a heavy breath and roll my eyes. “Because you’re stronger than me.”

“Aye. And that’s because…?”

“Because you’re a man, and I’m a woman.”

“Correct.”

“God, you’re a pain in the ass.”

“You’re not the first woman to tell me that.”

“Shocker.”

He grins. Then he closes the passenger door and guides me into the shop with his hand on the small of my back.

Conversation at the café tables stops dead as we pass. One women stares at Spider with her mouth hanging open so wide, I have to suppress a giggle.

Inside, we look around at the charming space. There’s a little coffee counter on one side of the store at the front, along with a few more small tables. The register is on the other side. Behind both, rows and rows of crammed bookshelves stretch all the way to the back of the building.

Heaven.

“Can I buy you a coffee, lass?”

“Sure. Thank you. Americano, no sugar or cream.”

He crinkles his nose. On such a muscular, macho guy, it’s adorable. “So basically hot bean water. Did you spend much time in prison?”

“Ha. And thank you for judging my choice in caffeinated beverages. Is it okay if I browse the shelves a bit before we sit down?”

“Of course. I’ll catch up with you.” His look sharpens. “Don’t wander too far.”

He stands in line behind an old man leaning heavily on a cane, and I stroll down the main aisle until I hit the travel section.

I turn down the aisle on a whim.

It’s surprisingly large, with a selection of everything from walking guides through Kyoto to spelunking guides for the underwater caves of New Zealand.

The books on Russia are at the end of the aisle.

I flip through several of them, not knowing what I’m looking for. Then a large, colorful volume on a top shelf catches my eye. It’s sticking out a few inches from the rest.

Deciding I’d like to look at that one, I set my laptop on the floor and grab a rolling shelf ladder someone left in the middle of the aisle. I roll it over, climb up a few steps, and reach for the book.

I’m about to pull it out when another hand reaches up and settles over mine.

It’s big, male, and covered in tattoos.

The arm it’s attached to is encased in a black wool coat sleeve.

The sharp breath I drag into my lungs is infused with the scent of pine needles.

Malek.