Chapter 2: Crown of Smoke: Chapter 2

I’m the youngest in my family. Even my twin brother is older by a few minutes. But I wasn’t raised as a coddled and spoiled youngest child, growing up to be a wimpy asshole. No. I’m focused, controlled, disciplined. I’m not a man easily led by his dick. So it’s fucking annoying that the woman at the bar, Lucy, has derailed my mission. All because I couldn’t stop from interfering in whatever crazy scheme she’s got going.

For the last two weeks, I’ve seen her at the bar. She stands out like a sore thumb. It’s not the blazer or even the wholesome appearance that makes her not belong. Most men probably only see the blonde hair and perky tits and don’t notice that she doesn’t fit in. Sure, I’ve noticed her looks and wouldn’t mind getting a closer look at those tits, but I’m on a mission and it’s not to get laid. Nor is it to find out what she’s doing here, and yet…

She thinks she’s subtle, but she’s not. She’s here for the same reason I am. The Kean Crew. Why she’s watching them, I have no idea. I’m sure she doesn’t realize just how dangerous they are.

When she dismisses me and my warning, I shrug her off. It’s her life. But now she’s following Danny O’Brian out the back. Every muscle in my body tenses. The predatory glint in O’Brian’s eyes sets off warning bells. I’ve seen that look before and it never ends well for the other person, in this case Lucy. In a day or so, the media will be reporting her missing.

‘Just stay put,’ I mutter to myself. ‘Not your problem.’

But my feet shift beneath me, ready to move. The mission hinges on maintaining my cover, on infiltrating the Kean ranks through underground fights. It’s why they think I’m Flynn Tine, not Flint Infrinn. I need to keep it that way because one wrong move could blow everything my brothers and I have worked toward.

Lucy’s blonde head disappears through the door, and O’Brian’s buddies rise from their table to follow. Three of them, including Connor, the baddest-ass of the group. My jaw clenches.

‘Damn it.’ I set down my whiskey and slide off my stool, keeping to the shadows as I track their movement. Unlike Lucy, I fit in. Jeans, black T-shirt, tattoos, they all help me blend with the regular crowd here. No one gives me a second glance.

The door creaks as I ease it open. Cool night air hits my face, carrying Lucy’s voice from the alley.

‘Please.’

“She’s hot. Maybe we can have a little taste of her first,” Jonny, one of the goons I’ve been trying to befriend to get in with the group, says.

Danny nods. “Yeah. Me first. I’m the one that got her out here.”

My blood runs cold. Every protective instinct roars to life, warring with years of careful planning. Exposure means death. For me and my brothers. For any chance of justice. But I can’t walk away. Not from this.

I flex my hands, feeling the familiar itch for violence beneath my skin. Cover be damned.

I step out the door. O’Brian presses Lucy against the brick wall, his hand over her mouth while his buddies egg him on. Her eyes are wide with fear, but there’s still that spark of defiance I noticed earlier.

‘Boys.’ My voice cuts through the alley. ‘That’s no way to treat a lady.’

O’Brian’s head snaps toward me. ‘Tine? This ain’t your business. Walk away.’

Tine. If only they knew the truth. Would they be afraid? Probably not. The name Ifrinn seems to have died with my parents and my and my brothers’ disappearance. But soon, they will be afraid. That I promise.

I crack my neck, stepping closer. The familiar rush of adrenaline floods my system, the same feeling I get before a fight. But this is different. This isn’t about gathering intel or maintaining cover. This is about her.

‘See, that’s where you’re wrong.’ Another step. My fingers twitch, ready to strike. ‘I’m making it my business.’

Lucy bites down on O’Brian’s hand. He yelps, releasing her mouth. She shoves him hard and tries to run, but Connor is there to stop her as Jonny and another goon, Dillon, I think his name is, move to flank me.

“Fucking bitch. You’ll pay for that,” Danny says, pulling out his knife.

My lips curl into a cold smile. ‘Last chance to walk away.’

Jonny and Dillon glance at each other and laugh. “Yeah, right.”

That’s when I make my move, surprising them with my speed as I get past them and to O’Brian as he slices the knife through the air.

Lucy cries out, but I don’t have time to find out whether she’s been cut. I have to move fast. I surge forward as O’Brian draws his knife back again. My cover, my mission, my brothers’ warnings, they all fade beneath a red haze of fury. My elbow cracks against his temple and he drops like a stone.

Dillon swings wild, sloppy, untrained. I duck under his fist and ram my knee into his gut. He doubles over with a wheeze. To make sure he stays down, I kick him in the nuts and then the face.

‘Get him!’ Johnny yells out.

“You’re fucking dead, Tine,” Connor says, standing back, waiting, watching. He knows I’ll kick his crew’s ass and then he expects to have a turn at me.

My body moves on pure instinct now, falling into the lethal dance I’ve been training for since the day the Keans killed my parents ten years ago. Block, strike, pivot. Each movement is precise, calculated.

O’Brian drags himself off the ground, sneering at me. Blood sprays as my fist connects with his nose. He staggers back, cursing. Johnny comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my chest. Mistake. I drive my head back into his face, feeling cartilage crunch. Maybe even a few teeth crack. His grip loosens, and I turn. Yep, he’s missing a few teeth. I give him another blow and he falls to his knees.

Lucy’s eyes are wide, fixed on the violence unfolding before her. I want to tell her to run, but Connor is blocking her path.

O’Brian recovers his knife and charges again. I catch his wrist, twist until something pops. The knife clatters to the pavement. His scream echoes off brick walls as I drive my knee into his sternum. Years of rage and loss fuel each strike. These men serve the family who murdered my parents, destroyed my life.

Connor pulls a gun. Time slows. My heart pounds. Sweat trickles down my spine. I’m fast, but not faster than a bullet. One wrong move now means death.

“Seriously?” I give him a cocky smile. “You’re the best street fighter around. You need a gun for little ole me?”

His jaw tightens. “You’ve got a big mouth.”

“I’m just trying to prove myself. I’m a good fighter. I can make your crew a shit-ton of money.” Maybe he’ll accept this lunatic idea that this is an audition.

“You can go fuck yourself.”

Lucy launches herself off the wall, hitting Connor. The gun goes off, but luckily, his aim shifts and doesn’t hit me. I don’t have time to call her out on her idiocy. I move before Connor can recover. Two quick steps, and my hand shoots out to grab the gun’s barrel. Push up, twist. A second shot cracks overhead as I wrench the weapon from his grip.

I like using my fists, but I’m no stranger to the feel of a gun in my hand. For a heartbeat, I’m tempted to use it. Several pulls of the trigger, and I’d have four fewer enemies to worry about.

But Lucy’s watching. And bodies with bullet wounds raise too many questions.

I eject the magazine, clear the chamber. The pieces clatter across the alley as I use the gun against Connor’s temple. He staggers back.

O’Brian moans from where he lies curled around his broken body. The others won’t be getting up anytime soon, either. Good.

I turn to Lucy, who stands frozen. Blood trickles from her arm. It looks like O’Brian got a piece of her, after all. The sight makes my hands itch to finish what I started with these bastards.

‘You okay?’ I keep my voice steady, though adrenaline still courses through my veins.

“Ah… I think so.”

I reach out and cup her cheek to get a good look in her eyes. They’re fearful but not showing signs of shock. They’re also the most amazing shade of blue I’ve ever seen.

‘No one’s going to hurt you again.’ The words are more of a growl than a statement. It’s a dangerous promise, one I have no right to make and yet strangely have every intention of keeping.

Lucy’s pulse jumps beneath my fingers. ‘Is that another warning about monsters, Mr. Tine?’ Her eyes dart to my mouth, then back up to my eyes.

The way she says my false name, takes in my features, sends a shiver down my spine. She’s too close, making it impossible to think straight. Every instinct screams to pull her against me, to claim her mouth with mine. To mark her as mine so no one else dares lay a hand on her. What is wrong with me? Something about this stubborn, fearless woman is fucking my mind up.

‘Maybe I’m the monster you should be worried about.’ I mean it as a warning, but my voice comes out rough with desire.

Her fingers curl into my shirt, whether to push me away or pull me closer, I’m not sure. ‘You don’t scare me.’

But she should be scared. Of me, of what I’m capable of, of the darkness that runs in my blood. Instead, she’s looking at me like I’m a curiosity, someone interesting she wants to dissect.

The thought should send me running. Instead, I find myself drowning in those blue eyes, fighting the magnetic pull drawing me closer.

I give my head a shake. “Let’s get the fuck out of here before more of them show up.”

She stares at the groaning men, then at me. “Who are you really?’

‘Someone who told you not to go hunting monsters.’

I take her good arm and lead her out of the alley. “What the fuck were you thinking, coming out here alone with them?’

‘I had it under control.’ She knows she was a dead woman. Why is she trying to be brave? Perhaps dismissing reality is her M.O.

‘Under control?’ I tug her up the alley, my gaze scanning for more Kean Crew assholes. She wobbles, leans into me. My insides go hot. Not arousal. It’s anger at these fuckers. It’s a fierce protection of her. ‘They were going to kill you after they fucked you.’

Her chin lifts, defiant despite the tremble in her body. ‘Why do you care?”

Why do I care? I shouldn’t. Getting involved with her puts everything at risk. But watching those men grab her, seeing O’Brian’s intent with her… well, I couldn’t have that.

‘Maybe I just needed to hit something.’ I force a shrug, trying to appear casual even as concern gnaws at my insides. ‘Been a slow week.’

“I don’t believe you. Someone who claims not to care wouldn’t risk getting involved in a four-against-one fight.’

‘Look, sweetheart.’ I inject as much condescension into my voice as I can muster. ‘Don’t mistake boredom for concern. I saw an opportunity for some fun, that’s all. And if it saves your pretty little ass… it’s a bonus.’

“If you think I’m going to repay you by letting you have a piece of my ass, you’re sorely mistaken.”

To maintain my asshole bravado, I take a look at her ass. “Too bad.” I continue to lead her up the alley. “We’ve got to hurry unless you’d like to try your hand at controlling more Kean Crew goons.”

“Fine.”

“You should go home and get that wound bandaged. I’d avoid going to the hospital if possible.”

“What?” She looks down at her arm, dripping with her blood. Her face drains of color, her skin turning ashen. She looks up at me for a moment and then her knees buckle.

‘Hey—” I catch her before she hits the ground. Her body goes limp in my arms, head lolling against my chest. Shit. She’s not afraid of Kean dickheads but she faints at the sight of blood?

Now what? I could take her to a hospital, but questions would be asked. Questions I don’t want to answer. And if she’s smart, she wouldn’t answer them, either.

‘Damn it.’ Cradling her against my chest, I hoof it up the street. My apartment sits three blocks away, but I can’t take her there. I’ve already done enough damage to my mission. But hell, it’s the closest safe place I can think of.

As I move up the street, each step toward my place feels like a betrayal of my training, of everything my brothers have been planning.

Never bring outsiders to your home.

Never risk exposure.

Never let anyone close enough to compromise you.

But much to my utter confusion, with Lucy’s unconscious form in my arms, those iron-clad rules shatter. The need to protect her overrides years of planning and preparing.

I shoulder through the door of my apartment. The metallic scent of her blood fills my nose, mixing with her vanilla perfume in a way that makes my stomach clench.

I lay her on my bed, since the couch is lumpy, and go to gather first aid supplies, cursing at myself. Years of careful planning, of staying invisible, of hunting from the shadows, all of it compromised because I couldn’t walk away from a pretty woman with more courage than sense.

My brothers are going to kill me. If the Keans don’t get to me first.

I cut away her bloody sleeve. The wound isn’t deep, but it’s long, a defensive slash that caught her when she raised her arm. Fighting back, because of course, she did. Too brave for her own good.

I clean the cut, trying to ignore how soft her skin feels under my hands, how right it feels to take care of her. This isn’t part of the mission. This isn’t what I came back to Boston for.

“What is it about you, Lucy?”

As I watch her, I have a sense of drowning. I don’t understand it. Women are a dime a dozen in my life. I enjoy them but don’t get attached. So why do I feel like something inside has shifted? I want to lie beside her, gather her close, and protect her from the ugliness of the world she just stepped into. My carefully constructed, well-planned life is realigning itself around this woman, and I’m powerless to stop it.