Page 20 of Conor
“Chrissakes.” Crow yanks another chair out and gestures for her to sit down too. “By all means, don’t listen to me.”
He slams the office door shut and pours himself two fingers of whiskey. “What have ye done, Conor? Just fucking spit it out. I already know I’m not going to like it.”
The disappointment on his face is worse than the possibility of confronting my own death. I hate that I’ve gone and trampled all over his trust. If it weren’t for Crow, I wouldn’t have anything. I’ve thrown it all away for a woman. But when I look at her, hands trembling in her lap while my jacket practically swallows her whole, I know I’d do it all over again. And Crow might say otherwise, but he would too.
“The thing is, I know what ye asked me to do,” I tell him. “And I had every intention of following through on that. But there was a complication.”
Crow narrows his eyes. “What sort of complication?”
“She has a son. A wee one. And she’s the only parent he has left.”
Ivy shoots me a look like I’ve just betrayed her, but she doesn’t get how this works. This syndicate is a family, and we protect our own. Especially the wee ones. Family is something Crow understands, and I recognize that when he drains his glass in a hurry.
“Fecking Christ. Goddammit motherfucking—”
Ivy flinches as he begins to pace around the room. She’s jumpy around him for good reason. I just can’t figure out why she isn’t like that with me. Crow glances at her and for a split second, he looks sorry for scaring her. But Crow isn’t one to let his emotions get in the way of what’s best for the brotherhood.
“Tell me what ye know.” He points at her. “Whatever it is you saw, and don’t leave anything out.”
Ivy chews on her lip and looks to me for reassurance. I won’t have her lie to Crow. There’s no sense in that. I signal for her to go ahead, and she jerks her attention back to him.
“I was in the house that night your guys came. When the shots started, I hid in the closet. I didn’t see anything, but I heard it. All I know is that when I finally came out, Muerto was dead.”
The vein in Crow’s neck pulses. “Conor, I’m going to need a word with ye in private now.”
“It was the best day of my life—” Ivy blurts.
Crow cocks his head to the side and studies her carefully, looking for any sign of weakness or dishonesty.
“I know that sounds crazy,” she admits. “But it really was. If it weren’t for your guys killing Muerto, I would still be there. I would still be his prisoner.”
Crow glances at me for confirmation. “It’s true. She told me her story.”
“And you believe her?” His voice is caustic.
“Aye,” I growl. “I do. Kind of like you believed your wife back when you were in a situation not so different.”
His mouth pinches into a hard line, and I know I shouldn’t have brought it up. But he shouldn’t have accused me of being ignorant when it comes to Ivy.
“What exactly are ye getting at, Conor?”
“I’m just reminding ye that we’ve all done things that don’t necessarily fall in line. I know what ye asked me to do, and I had every intention of proving myself, since it seems like I never get the bloody chance. This was it for me. And you aren’t going to like what I have to say, but I’m going to say it anyway.”
He takes up the seat behind his desk again, and if I didn’t know any better, he almost looks amused with this shite. “By all means, if ye have a point to make, then get to it.”
I look to Ivy, and to drive it home, I reach for her hand. She takes mine without hesitation, and warmth fills the space between her fragile fingers in mine. Crow’s eyes flick between us, searching for the answer I have yet to give him.
“I haven’t got the rings yet, but it’s legal.”
“Fack off with this shite, Conor,” Crow bites out. “You’ve got to be joking me. Don’t tell me ye actually went and married her.”
My hand tightens around hers. “Aye, I did. She’s my wife now, and according to our laws, that means none of the brothers can touch her.”
There’s a full minute of silence in which Crow doesn’t move or speak. He just sits there, staring at the both of us like he’s trying to sort out who to murder first.
“What do you make of this?” he asks Ivy.
The question comes out of left field, and it’s something I didn’t prepare her for. I have no bleeding idea what she’s going to say, but I’m almost dead certain it won’t be anything good.
