Deviant Hearts: Chapter 4

I step outside of the Irish pub into a blur of chaos.

I’m dimly aware of automatically dropping down for cover and yanking my gun out of my jacket as the black SUV roars past, gun-muzzles flashing fire through the rolled-down windows.

But then I do something else. Something curious that surprises me.

The bullets are still flying when I hurdle over the flowerbed I’ve been crouched behind. I can feel them pinging off the pavement by my feet and the brick wall behind me as I bolt across the sidewalk and tackle Neve to the ground.

She screams and thrashes, but I don’t fucking budge. I don’t ease up, covering her body with my own as the windows of the white Range Rover next to us explode into tinted black hail.

Then I’m up, surging to my feet with a snarl on my lips, bringing my gun up and squeezing off a few rounds at the black SUV as it roars away.

I memorize the license plate just before it screeches around a corner.

It’s only then that I’m aware of the screaming.

I whip around, and something hardens and goes cold inside of me when for a second, seeing Neve collapse to the ground, I think she’s been hit. But then I quickly realize it’s not her.

It’s her fucking sister.

The bodyguard, Castle, is down, too. Well, he can wait.

“Get your fucking hands off of her—!”

“Move,” I snarl at Neve, as I drop to my knees next to Eilish. My hands run over her sides and across her midsection where the blood is seeping into her dress.

“Don’t fucking touch—”

“I’m looking for entry wounds!” I bark at Neve. “Not copping a fucking feel! Jesus!”

Her mouth snaps shut as the volume and intensity of my voice drags her out of her terror. I whirl back to her sister, frowning as my fingers trace over the blood.

Where the fuck are the bullet holes—

Neve and I both jump when Eilish suddenly gasps for air, bolting upright with terror in her eyes.

“NEVE!!” Eilish screams as her sister sobs with relief, wrapping her arms around her.

The blood isn’t hers.

Neve and I both realize it at the same second. Because we suddenly look to where Castle is slumped to the ground.

Fuck.

“You’re absolutely sure?”

My tone is lethal.

Kratos nods grimly.

“Had my guy at the NYPD run the plate. It’s definitely one of his.”

His as in that moron Ezio. The drive-by that sprayed bullets at Neve, Eilish, and Castle, that very easily could have thrown this entire thing spiraling into all-out war, was Ezio.

I’m going to fucking kill him.

Hades, Kratos, and I are holed up in a spare conference room at Mount Sinai West—the closest hospital to O’Bannon’s. The three of us, together with Cillian and a few of his men, rushed a wounded Castle, a shaken Eilish, and a near-catatonic Neve here an hour ago.

But everyone’s okay. Well, mostly.

The blood on Eilish was Castle’s. But even so, he’s going to be fine. The guy was smart enough to be wearing a bulletproof vest under his shirt, which caught most of the shots that got sprayed his way. He’s got a few bruised ribs, and wounds on his arm, shoulder, and hip that had to be stitched up where he got grazed—that’s where the blood on Eilish came from.

But as much as it pains me to say it, the Kildare’s top lieutenant and bodyguard is one tough son of a bitch. He’s going to be fine. So is Eilish, who’s only being treated for the bruise on her ass that she got when she fainted.

Castle’s okay. Eilish is okay.

Neve, on the other hand…

I feel a throb of something confusing surge through my veins as I think of the thousand other outcomes there could have been today.

It could have, and would have, destroyed the peace agreement Cillian and I hammered out if his niece had been gunned down—by the head of one of my supposed goddamn allies, at that. Jesus.

But she’s okay. She’s unhurt.

I can’t say the same will be true for Ezio when I get my hands on him.

“What the fuck was he thinking?” Kratos mutters, pacing the floor by the windows.

Hades swears under his breath. “He’s pissed that his son was killed by those dirty fucking Micks—”

Then he stops short, his eyes darting to the doorway behind me. I turn to see Cillian standing there, leaning against the doorframe, letting a cool, eerie green look linger on my brother.

“No, please, you were saying?”

Hades smiles sadistically.

“I was saying Ezio is more than a little upset that you dirty fucking Micks killed his son.”

The room feels tense as fuck for a second or two. I’m waiting for that weird, psycho smile on Cillian’s face to drop away, and for him to make a sudden rush at my brother. But it never happens. He just keeps smiling like that.

We might be brokering a truce and entering into a partnership here. But that doesn’t mean I’m not still leery of the green-eyed Irishman and his reputation for being well past unhinged.

Cillian lets that smile of his bore right into Hades, until my brother scowls and shifts uncomfortably. Cillian says nothing. But he finally lets go of Hades with his eyes, swiveling his gaze to me instead.

“I don’t actually give a flying fuck about your man’s emotional state. But you do understand that he’s a dead man, yes?”

My jaw clenches, but I nod.

Because I do understand that, even if I don’t like it. Ezio’s a good man, and the Adamos family served my uncle well for years. If Ezio’s killed—worse, if he’s killed by the Kildares and I allow it to happen—we’re going to have a whole other issue on our hands.

And it’s one we’ll have to tackle. Or rather, one I’ll have to fucking tackle.

Hail to the Chief.

Cillian’s not wrong though. This has to happen. Ezio has to be taken out. He shot at Cillian’s fucking blood, for fuck’s sake.

“It’ll be handled.”

Hades glares at me. I glare right back.

“Prépei na symveí. To katalavaínoume kai oi dýo,” I mutter at him in Greek.

It has to happen. We both understand that.

His face darkens as he looks away. But then slowly, he nods and glances back at me.

“Nai, enochlíste. Katalavaíno.”

Yes, brother. I understand.

Cillian eyes me. “You’ve got exactly one hour to round him up and bring him to me. Or else I burn this fucking city to the ground until I find him.”

My mouth thins.

“Let’s be clear about one thing. We’re in agreement here. But we’re entering an equal partnership.”

I step closer to Cillian, not blinking even when he fixes me with that psycho dead-eyed look of his.

“You do not give me orders or ultimatums. Is that understood?”

He says nothing for a few seconds. Finally, his lips curl at the corners as he raises a brow.

“You can unwad your panties, God of War,” he mutters. “We understand each other. But I need that man found, and I need him found now. I hope you can appreciate the urgency.”

“I can. And you’ll have him as soon as I find—”

“Ares.”

I glance at Kratos to see him nodding through the glass wall that forms the far side of the conference room. On the other side of it, a white-faced but tight-jawed man stands with his head held high, flanked by two of my men.

Ezio.

“My my, such prompt door-to-door delivery, I’m impressed,” Cillian murmurs viciously. I turn, frowning when I see him pulling a switchblade out of his jacket.

“Easy.”

“Oh, I’ll go easy. And slow.”

Hades and I glance at each other incredulously, and he gives me a “what the fuck” look.

“We’re in a hospital, Cillian…” I mutter.

“Yes, I’m well aware of that. But we’re only in a hospital because that motherfucker standing right there put my two nieces in it, if you’ll recall. Not to mention one of my best men. Which is why I’m going to cut his skin off.”

The door to the conference room opens, and one of my guys sticks his head in.

“Mr. Drakos, Ezio would like a word. He came to us on his own, by the way.”

I nod, then glance around.

We need to be somewhere that isn’t full of fucking windows.

“Find us a room with some more privacy,” I growl at the guard before he nods and ducks back out the door. I turn to Cillian. “And you. Enough with the Silence of the Lambs shit until we figure this out.”

I see the viciousness surge behind his eyes.

“Please,” I add.

Cillian rakes his teeth over his lip, thinking. “Fine. But I’m bringing my knife.”

“You have my fucking word, Ares.”

Five minutes later, we’re in the hospital’s chapel, with my men outside it guarding the doors. Ezio looks like he’s about to piss himself as he eyes the causal way that Cillian is flipping the switchblade around in his hands with the practiced skill of a surgeon.

Or a butcher.

Ezio’s just gotten through telling us how three of his men acted outside of his authority to try to take out Neve, as well as any other Kildares they could.

“You have to understand, they’re angry, Ares. Jason was…” He chokes as he looks away. “He was much loved by my men, and they reacted very poorly to the news of the truce. They feel it’s betraying his memory.”

He clears his throat nervously as he turns to Cillian.

“I don’t hold my son’s death against you personally, Mr. Kildare. And as a show of good faith, though it does pain me, the three men responsible for today are tied up in a van downstairs. They’re yours to do with as you wish.”

I glance at Cillian.

“We good?”

He lifts a brow, eyeing Ezio cooly before turning to me.

“That depends. Do you believe him?”

“I do.”

I really do. I’ve known Ezio Adamos a long, long time. And while I understand that he and his men are angry about what happened to Jason, he’s not stupid enough to start tossing bullets around in the middle of fucking midtown Manhattan at ten in the morning.

Cillian lifts a shoulder. “Then yes, we’re good.”

Ezio smiles weakly and approaches the Irishman. He puts out a hand, which Cillian eyes for a second before firmly shaking it. Ezio stiffens when Cillian’s grip tightens, and he pulls him close.

“Make no mistake, Mr. Adamos,” he growls quietly. “If I find out you’ve lied to me—say, if these men of yours admit certain things you’ve left out, perhaps under torture…”

Ezio shivers. Cillian smiles.

“Then I will find you, and I’ll cut you from your asshole to the back of your fucking neck.”

He leans close to Ezio.

“Via the front.”

Ezio shudders and then nods stiffly. “I understand, Mr. Kildare.”

“Fantastic. Now, I’d very much like to be shown this van.”

When Ezio and Cillian are gone and I’m alone with my brothers again, Hades whistles low and turns to me.

“He’s certifiably insane. You know that, right?”

“I think I picked up on that, thank you, Hades,” I mutter dryly.

He shakes his head, looking away.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Speak,” I growl.

My younger brother rolls his shoulders and turns back to me.

“Look, I understand it’s your throne. And yeah, on paper, this truce is a good thing.”

“But?”

He shrugs.

“But, have you really considered the family you’re joining with ours?”

“It’s politics, Hades. Nothing more. It’s like signing a treaty between two countries.”

He smirks, lifting a brow.

“Yeah, until Neve starts popping out babies, that is.”

Kratos chuckles. I glare at them both.

“That is not happening.”

“That confident in your pull-and-pray game, huh?”

I sigh as the two of them snicker.

“I mean that is not happening. She’ll be my wife in name only. I’m not going to fuck her.”

“You’re goddamn right you’re not.”

Shit.

The three of us turn at the sound of Neve’s voice in the doorway. She shoots daggers at me, arms folded over her chest. Her long red hair is out of its messy ponytail from earlier, and now cascades down over her shoulders and across the green of her shirt.

“You lay a fucking finger on me, assho—”

“Leave us,” I growl, turning to my brothers. The two of them eye me, then Neve, then me again.

“Now.”

“I’m walkin’, I’m walkin’,” Hades mutters, throwing a smirk Neve’s way as he and Kratos slowly move past her and out the door.

When we’re alone, I sigh and lean against the pew behind me, folding my arms across my chest.

“How are Castle and your sister?”

“They’ll be fine, thank you,” she mutters, still scowling at me.

“Yes?”

“I want to make sure you heard what I said. If you lay a single fucking finger on—”

I bark out a laugh. “Do you think I have any interest in laying a finger on you?”

Neve’s brows shoot up.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” I snap. “You are the furthest fucking thing from the ideal wife I could imagine.”

The redhead gapes at me.

“Okay, rude,” she sneers, shaking her head. “And fuck you, too—”

“You’re tempestuous, opinionated, rash, foul-mouthed… shall I continue?”

“Oh, please do!”

“You’re a slob.”

“I’m n—”

“I’ve seen your bedroom, Neve.”

Her words die in her throat.

“Don’t even try to deny it.”

Neve’s face burns hotly as she glowers at me.

“You have no grace, you’re difficult, and”—I run an eloquent gaze over her attire—“you have an abysmal sense of fashion.”

Her mouth makes a wide and scandalized “O” shape.

“Okay, so, first, asshole, eat a bag of dicks—”

She gasps I move closer to her.

“All that said,” I growl, making her shiver as I loom right over her. “When we’re married…when you’re my wife…”

Her breath catches sharply as my hand comes up to cup her jaw.

“If I choose to lay a finger on you, or several fingers, or even a whole hand…” I smile coldly. “Or things other than a hand…”

Her eyes grow even wider as her face turns crimson.

“You son of a—”

“If I choose to do any of that to exercise my marital right,” I hiss thinly. “I will. Is that understood?”

Neve bristles, simmering with hatred and heat as she glares up into my eyes.

“Take your hands off of me.”

I keep my eyes locked on her. She swallows, and I try to ignore the way her pulse hums hotly underneath my fingertips.

“I said take. Your. Hands. Off—”

My fingers leave her skin and my hand drops back to my side. But I don’t move away.

“For now, I will. But soon, Neve,” I murmur quietly, relishing the way her breath hitches a little as I move closer. “When you’re my wife, should I choose to, I’ll be putting my hands on you whenever I want. Wherever I want.”

Her face throbs with heat, her eyes bulge, and I can’t miss the way her throat moves as she swallows the lump caught in it.

“I’d like to see you try, asshole,” she hisses.

“Challenge accepted.”

I turn and walk out the door without another word.

Alone in the elevator a minute later, I lean against the wall, my pulse thudding in my ears.

I wasn’t lying, or trying to be an asshole. She really is the furthest thing I could have imagined for myself as a wife. She is all of those things I mentioned, and all of those things grind the fuck out of my gears.

So why does the idea of laying my hands on her despite all that give me such a thrill? Why does it turn my blood to liquid fire and my cock to fucking steel?

Why does the idea of fighting with this woman I don’t even like for her obedience and her submission fire me up me so much?

And why does the idea of Neve Kildare, with all her fight and all her attitude, on her knees looking up at me and begging for my cock, engulf me with a desire stronger than anything I’ve ever felt in my life?

Maybe I’ll tame her. Or maybe she’ll kill me in my sleep. Either way, this is happening.

The only thing to do now is buckle up and hold on tight.