Chapter 6: Crown of Smoke: Chapter 6

Fuck.

I watched Lucy’s tail lights disappear around the corner, intending to let her go, never see her again. But of course, I can’t do that. Everything in me screamed to follow her, to make sure she got home safe. So, like the idiot I am, I’ve followed her home.

My brothers’ words echo in my head. We can’t afford any distractions. Not when we’re this close to avenging our family. This isn’t part of the mission. This isn’t what I’m here for. But something about Lucy Ketchum makes me break all my own rules.

Those Kean bastards got a good look at Lucy’s face tonight. They’ll want to know who she is, what she knows. It won’t take much digging to find out she’s a reporter asking dangerous questions. That’s the only reason I’m following her. To make sure she gets home safe.

When she pulls into an apartment complex parking lot, I cruise past intending to head home. Except…

I make a U-turn and park across the street in a shadowy spot with a clear view of her building’s entrance. Just until I’m sure she’s safe inside. Then I’ll leave.

The memory of her pressed against me in that alley floods back. The scent of her perfume. The way she looked at me with those fierce blue eyes, refusing to back down even when faced with death. Damn woman’s going to get herself killed with that stubborn streak.

Before I know it, I’m out of my car, heading to the apartment building because… well, I need to make sure she gets into her apartment.

Lucy fumbles with her keys at the building’s entrance, glancing over her shoulder twice before the door clicks open. I can’t tell if she’s being smart or if she’s spooked.

Once she’s inside, I move to the building’s door. It requires a key to access, but lucky me, someone else has entered the building and I’m able to catch the door before it closes. There could be cameras watching or not. I don’t care. Neither will O’Brian or Connor if they decide to hunt her down.

It’s a walk up, so I start my way up. My boots make no sound on the steps as I track her progress. Third floor. Fourth.

A door creaks open above. I pause, listening to the cadence of her movements. The soft jingle of keys. A door opening.

I peek around the corner noting which apartment she’s entering. When her door closes, I make my way to it. This is stupid. Dangerous. Everything I’ve worked for could unravel if someone spots me here. But the image of her boxed in by Kean’s men won’t let me leave until I know she’s safe in her apartment.

I press my ear to the door, hoping to hell that none of her neighbors appear. I can hear her moving around. Nothing sounds out of the ordinary. But I still don’t leave. Instead, I test the door knob. It’s locked. But I don’t see a deadbolt. Does she have extra locks on the inside?

I give my head a shake. I’d done what I came to do. I should leave. I’ve seen her home safe. But my feet won’t move, and I strain to catch any sound that doesn’t belong, any creak of floorboards or whisper of movement that might mean she’s not alone in there.

Ten minutes pass and I don’t hear anything. She must have gone to bed. Good. At least for tonight, she’s out of harm’s way.

I lean against the wall, running my fingers over the fresh scrapes on my knuckles from the alley fight. Those Kean thugs saw her face. I don’t think they’ll admit to Ronan or whoever they report to that they got their asses kicked, but on their own, they may hunt for her. If they find out she’s a reporter, she’ll be as good as dead.

Fucking hell. I need to kill them. Kill them all if she’s to be safe. Of course, that’s already the goal. The Keans have to pay for killing our parents. Eye for an eye. Life for a life.

Maybe I should find out what she knows. She could have a piece of information that could help me and my brothers put an end to the Keans sooner rather than later.

My phone buzzes. A text from Blaise.

Where are you?

Making sure our problem doesn’t become a bigger one, I type back.

Three dots appear as he types.

The girl?

Yes, now leave me alone.

You’re not fucking her, are you?

I roll my eyes.

I never fuck and text.

I pocket my phone, deciding this conversation is over. Next I have to decide how to find out what Lucy knows. I could come back tomorrow and ask her. I can see those big blue eyes getting excited. She’d see it as working together. I can’t have that.

I blow out a breath as I realize the only way to find out what she knows is to break into her place and read her research, all without her knowing. I don’t normally have a problem breaking the law if it’s in the service of justice for my parents, but I hesitate now. I’m uncomfortable with violating Lucy’s space.

But then I remind myself that I’m also trying to protect her. The end justifies the means, right?

I examine Lucy’s lock and it looks pretty basic. Anyone wanting to get in won’t have much trouble. She might as well hang a Welcome sign for intruders.

I don’t have anything to pick the lock. Instead, I take out my driver’s license and slip it between the door and door jamb just over the knob. I slide it down, pushing the latch bolt back. The door opens. I wait, listening for any sound. Hearing nothing, I slip inside, glad that the hinges don’t squeak.

The place smells like her, that mix of vanilla and something floral I caught earlier. Lavender maybe. Streetlight filters through thin curtains, giving me enough light to move around her small living space. There’s a small table off a galley kitchen. On top sits a laptop. Next to it, papers spill from a messenger bag onto the wood surface.

The computer’s locked when I try to access it. Irritating for me, smart on her part. I rifle through her bag instead. She has a yellow pad with notes. Newspaper clippings rustle under my fingers.

Headlines jump out, Ifrinn Family Estate Burns, Power Vacuum in Boston’s Underground, Keans Rise from the Ifrinns’ Ashes.

Rage builds from my gut. Motherfuckers will pay.

Ifrinn Boys… Dead, Missing, or Running from the Law? My hands clench, crumpling the paper. I want to call this reporter and tell them the Ifrinn boys are back for revenge. Hell, I could tell Lucy that. No doubt, she’d think that was a great story.

But our success relies heavily on the Keans’ not knowing where we are. So I push back the urge to wake her and give her a story of a lifetime.

A file folder catches my eye, tucked beneath the newspaper clippings. Inside, photocopied police reports detail the night of the fire. I scan the pages. The official story, faulty wiring, tragic accident. But Lucy’s notes in the margins suggest she doesn’t believe it.

Accelerant found at multiple points of origin.

Emergency response delayed by minutes.

She’s pieced together more than anyone else has dared. I open a piece of what looks like butcher paper to find a labyrinth of red lines connecting photos. My parents. Me and my brothers. The Kean patriarch, Hampton. His son, Ronan. His daughter Kiera. And who’s this? Bridgit? Kiera has a daughter? I wonder if Phoenix knows that. There was a time he had a thing for Kiera. Of course, that’s long dead and gone since her family killed our parents.

I’m impressed by how much Lucy has put together. She’s mapped out the power structure that existed before everything went to hell. This isn’t just another puff piece about the Keans’ rise to influence and power in Boston’s legitimate business scene. Lucy’s hunting the truth about that night, about what really happened to my family. She’s trying to show the Keans were behind my family’s demise.

I replace the files exactly as I found them. If she publishes any of this, especially before law enforcement has proof or I and my brothers get our revenge, they’ll come for her. I admire her bravery even as I curse her naivety. I can’t think of anything more dangerous for her than poking at the Keans.

I need to decide—shut her investigation down, or use it to our advantage? I know what she wants. While she has a sense of what she’s dealing with, she doesn’t know the full depth of danger this puts her in. My brothers want to use her to help in our mission. I’m definitely outnumbered, but that’s never stopped me from fighting back before.

A sound, water jostling, maybe, echoes from down the hall. My muscles lock. Lucy’s still awake.

The smart thing would be to leave. Now. Before she catches me in her apartment like some deranged stalker. But my feet carry me toward the sound, drawn by an impulse I can’t control.

Light creeps out in the hall from a slightly ajar door. The scent of vanilla mixed with lavender, the scent that’s been driving me crazy all night, pulls me closer. The door’s cracked open just enough for me to see inside the bathroom.

This is wrong. I’m here to protect her, not… whatever this is. Another splash is followed by a quiet moan that shoots straight through me.

Before I can stop myself, I edge closer to the gap. Lucy’s in the tub with her back to me. Her head is tilted back, eyes closed, one hand beneath the water’s surface.

Holy fucking hell. She’s touching herself.

My breath catches. I shouldn’t be watching this private moment, but I can’t tear my eyes away. Her lips part on another soft sound that makes my whole body tighten. My dick is harder than a rock. It’s a wonder it hasn’t busted through the zipper of my jeans.

I stand frozen, transfixed by the sight through the cracked door. Steam curls around Lucy’s bare shoulders, her wet hair darkened to honey-gold where it clings to her skin. I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t watch, I tell myself again. But the way she moves, the little gasps that escape her parted lips… I’m helpless to look away.

Her hand moves beneath the water, creating gentle ripples. Those blue eyes that challenged me earlier are closed now, dark lashes fanned against flushed cheeks. Her bandaged hand grips the tub’s edge. Water laps higher, matching the quickening rhythm of her movements. I press my palm flat against the wall, fighting to keep silent as she arches slightly.

I want more than anything to join her. To replace her hand with mine. To take her out of the tub and thrust inside her on the bathroom floor. Each breathy moan threatens what little control I have left. Leave, Flint. I chant the order in my head. Leave now before you do something unforgivable like push this door open and show her exactly what she does to you.

But she’s close to coming. Her breath is coming in harsher gasps, her hand moving more quickly.

She arches back and moans, “Flynn.”

The false name hits me like ice water. She’s thinking about me while she touches herself, but it’s not me. I’m Flint. She doesn’t know who I really am, who she’s fantasizing about.

I back away from the door, disgusted with myself. What kind of man watches a woman pleasure herself without her knowledge? A creep, that’s who.

My feet carry me silently through her apartment. The sound of her pleasure follows me. I know it will haunt me. In the hallway, I quickly make my way to the stairs and down. Flynn Tine. A convenient lie. A mask I wear to get close to my family’s killers. But hearing that name fall from her lips twists something inside me.

I want her to whisper ‘Flint’ in that same breathless voice. I want to tell her everything about who I am and why I’m here. In some ways, she does know me. She’s been studying my family. But her information, her photos are ten years old. At seventeen, I was a cocky, clean-cut kid living the high life. Life has hardened me and my look. She doesn’t see the man I am now in the images she has of me then. I should be glad. The Keans don’t recognize me, either.

I can’t tell her the truth without putting her in even more danger than she’s already stumbled into. Better she thinks I’m Flynn the undercover cop than Flint Ifrinn, the man plotting revenge against the most dangerous family in Boston.

It shouldn’t matter. She’s just a complication in an already complex mission. But somehow, in the space of one night, Lucy has gotten under my skin in a way no one ever has.

On the drive home, I try to focus on my next move, but all I can think about is Lucy in the warm tub, touching herself, coming because she’s imagining me. My dick, which had deflated when she said Flynn, is now rock hard again. Flint or Flynn, it was me she was thinking of. Was I fucking her? Maybe I was eating her out.

I slam my apartment door, the ghost of Lucy’s moans echoing in my head, my dick throbbing with need. I undo my belt, shoving my jeans down just enough to free myself. The first stroke pulls a groan from my throat. Her name falls from my lips as I remember the way she arched in that bathtub, how the water traced paths down her skin that I ached to follow with my tongue. My grip tightens, my rhythm matching what I imagine hers was.

It doesn’t take long. The memory of her breathy ‘Flynn’ sends me over the edge embarrassingly fast. I come with a curse, spilling into my hand.

The high fades quickly, leaving me hollow. Guilt and shame war inside me as I clean up. I’m a sick bastard for watching her like that.

I slump onto my couch. One woman. One night. And she’s turned my world sideways.

My phone buzzes, another text from Blaise. I ignore it. What would I even say? That I broke into Lucy’s apartment? That I watched her in a private moment like some perverted stalker? That I’m losing focus on the mission that’s consumed the last decade of our lives?

The truth burns in my chest. Lucy is more dangerous than any Kean soldier. Not because she’s digging into our past, though that’s bad enough. It’s because she makes me want things I can’t have.

I need to cut ties with her. Walk away. Maybe I can do something to make her editor pull her from the story. Or send her away to pursue a different story.

She needs to get as far away from the Keans and me as possible. That is my new mission.