Page 16 of Conor
A tear splashes against my plate, and I realize that I’m crying again. It’s humiliating how much I’ve cried in front of Conor already, but when I look up at him, there is no more judgment in his eyes. All that’s left now is rage.
“I would kill that motherfucker,” he growls. “If he were still here, I would have made him pay for ye, Ivy.”
I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. He’s gone, and I’m out. I get to see Archer now. That’s what I have to focus on.”
“What about the others?” Conor presses. “Did they ever touch ye?”
“Not if they wanted to live,” I laugh dryly. “Muerto didn’t share me. But I’m fair game now that’s he’s dead. That’s why I can’t let them catch me.”
“You won’t ever have to worry about that,” Conor assures me. “Those shitebags won’t live long enough to touch ye again. I’ll make sure of that.”
Ivy’s been in the bathroom for over a bleeding hour, and I can’t figure out what she’s doing in there. The whiskey has leached from my system, but I’m bristling with an edge I haven’t felt since Brady’s death. I want to go kill every one of those Loco fuckers and string their bodies from the streetlights in downtown Boston as a warning to anyone else who thinks about fecking with a woman.
I make a mental note to speak to Dom so I can thank him for killing that scumbag Muerto and ask him if he suffered. I need the details. It’s the only way I can feel any peace after Ivy told me her story. I already feel like a big enough shitebag as it is, accusing her of being a street rat and a drug whore.
I have every intention of making some sort of amends, but when she comes down the hall with her hair and makeup all done up, that notion goes right out the window. My cock springs to attention as my eyes drift over her body. Even when she had nothing but a plain face and shabby clothes on, I couldn’t deny she was beautiful. But now she’s clean and smells like vanilla and her eyes are all smoky, it’s a different fucking animal. I don’t know what the hell she thinks she’s doing.
“What’s the craic with that getup?” I ask.
She chews on her lip and glances down at herself. “I have to go to work, remember?”
Christ. She’s right. Crow’s expecting her.
“He gave ye the night off,” I lie.
I’ll deal with Crow later. I don’t know why it fecking matters, but I don’t want her dancing tonight. Not after all the things she told me this afternoon.
She frowns. “Why would he do that? Did he not like my work?”
“It isn’t that.” I tear my eyes away from hers. “It’s just a scheduling mishap.”
I feel like an arsehole for lying to her, even though I shouldn’t. If I’m going to make the best of this situation, I need to remember that her feelings aren’t important. That’s the only way we can make this work. It needs to be a business arrangement. That’s what I try to remember as I catch my gaze roaming the subtle curves of her body again.
“You can make yourself at home in my room,” I grunt. “I haven’t done much with the spare room yet.”
“What about you?” she asks.
“I don’t often make it past the couch. I won’t be bothering you.”
She seems to consider this for a minute, and she still isn’t getting how bad I just need her out of my sight right now before I do something stupid.
“You’ll probably want an early night,” I add. “We have a big day tomorrow.”
“What’s happening tomorrow?” She frowns.
My jaw grinds down so hard I can barely get the words out. “We’re getting married.”
When I wake up in Conor’s bed, it almost seems surreal how much my life has changed in the matter of twenty-four hours. I went from sleeping behind a dumpster to a warm bed, and after today, I’ll be married.
I spend an hour scribbling in my journal, thinking that if I can somehow see my thoughts written in ink, it will make me feel better about the situation. But it doesn’t take the edge off. Not this time.
When I finally manage to swallow down my nerves and face the day, I find Conor sitting at the kitchen table with two fresh cups of Dunkie’s coffee and more donuts. He wasn’t kidding when he said that’s what they usually get.
“Good morning.” I sit down across from him.
His attention flicks from his phone to me, and I wonder if he’s even aware that his eyes are wandering over my body again. From the first time he opened his mouth, I was dead sure he didn’t find me attractive. In fact, he made a point of letting me know it, several times. Other than the slight sting his words left behind, I was okay with that. After Muerto, I couldn’t imagine I would ever want a man’s attention again.
But right now, with Conor’s eyes on me, something feels different. My stomach is all fluttery and my cheeks feel too warm, and maybe there’s a small part of me that does like it. Maybe there’s even a small part of me that wants it, as crazy as that might be. And it is crazy. So crazy that I need to bleach those thoughts from my mind before they can leave a stain.
