Page 29 of Irrevocably

But it meant I missed the beginning of their conversation. I only came in when she was asking him how the club made their money and he lied about his workshop. Astrid was getting desperate in the end, I could see, but the Hound was very clear about where his loyalties lie, and it’s not with her.

I’ve done my research on him.

Connor Black. Road name Wolf. Hellhounds enforcer, who joined the MC as soon as he left school. Works in the club’s motorbike repair business. He grew up with her, and they were inseparable until adolescence and Black’s shitty home life got in the way.

I don’t know what she thought about the club, but him laying out how the club comes before anyone and anything hurt her. I saw her expression flicker and her body get tight as if absorbing a blow. And I saw her rubbing at her chest, too, as if there was something painful there.

It’s been a difficult night for a normal girl, and I’m not going to make it any less difficult. Her Hellhound friend didn’t give her the information I need, and that’s unfortunate. I’d already anticipated that he wouldn’t, since club loyalties are like loyalties within the crime world. Family comes first, before everything. It’s the reason for everything you do, and nothing is more important than your loyalty to it.

Still, I’d hoped his loyalties would be torn, and that she might be able to take advantage of that. Apparently not. He’s a committed club member and he’s not going to tell her anything.

I wasn’t expecting him to cup her cheek, though, and all I could think was that he was putting his hand where mine had been earlier this evening. That he was touching her in the same way, and I knew that when I’d touched her like that, I’d kissed her. Strange how every muscle in my body tightened at the thought of the Hound’s mouth on hers. How a hot, slow anger stirred, winding slowly through my blood, and how I wanted to cut that hand off so he’d never touch her again.

I shouldn’t be getting so possessive with a target. I shouldn’t be getting possessive at all. I never have before, so these feelings are foreign to me. Kissing her was a mistake and its complicated things.

You think it wasn’t already complicated? You touched her mouth in the alley. You wanted to feel her softness.

I shove the voice in my head away. A momentary slip due to an unexpected physical attraction, that’s all, nothing more. Besides, what’s done is done, and I can’t take it back now.

Lifting my gaze from the laptop, I watch as the Hellhound comes out of Astrid’s house, gets on his Harley and roars up the street without looking back. Astrid goes upstairs to her bedroom.

Time to get what I came for.

I exit the car, lock it, and cross the street to Astrid’s house. When I first set up my cameras, I had a key cut to make things easy, so I use it now to let myself in.

It’s dark and silent in the house, a clock ticking on the mantelpiece in the living area. I go quietly up the stairs, avoiding the risers that creak, then down the hallway to Astrid’s room. She’ll scream if I come in unannounced and I don’t want her alerting the chief, so I stand to one side and knock on her door.

There’s a moment of silence and then she says, “Dad? One second.”

I hear her move, then the door opens, and I step silently out of the shadows, grabbing her around the waist and putting one hand over her mouth, before dragging her back into her bedroom as her scream vibrates against my palm.

She struggles as I hold on to her while pushing back against the door to shut it, so I say in her ear. “Relax, Tinkerbell. It’s me.”

She freezes.

“Are you going to scream?”

She shakes her head, silvery curls flowing against my chest and over my arm. Her body is very warm, and very soft, and unexpectedly the taste of her floods my mouth. Sweet, hot. Delicious. But I didn’t come here for that, so I ignore the pulse of heat that grips me, release her and step back.

I’ve been in her room before, when I set up my cameras, so I’m familiar with it. She likes pretty things and frills – and cats, apparently, since a whole collection of cats made of glass and metal, and wood sits on her bookcases. A pink scarf covers the bedside light on her nightstand, flooding the room with a soft pink light.

She’s dressed for bed in flannel pyjamas with kittens all over them, her hair loose down her back, and she hasn’t got her glasses on. In the pink light she looks insubstantial, ethereal, like a dandelion, the first breath of wind blowing her away. Vulnerable, that’s what she is. Vulnerable and unprotected.

Astrid seems oblivious to this, though. She’s breathing fast and those angry sparks are glittering in her eyes. Her delicate jaw is tight, and her fingers have curled into fists, her shoulders square.

Her stance is one of a boxer ready to fight, and again, a flicker of strange amusement goes through me. Does she think she can go up against me? I killed my first man at fifteen, and I did it with my bare hands. She’s no match for me, none at all.

“I didn’t get it,” she says before I can speak, throwing the words at me like stones. “Wolf wouldn’t tell me. Apparently, the club comes first.”

“That’s a shame.” I lean back against the door and fold my arms, making it very clear that if she wants to get out, she’ll have to go through me. “Why haven’t you gone to your father? I gave you two days. Plenty of time for a conversation.”

Her chin juts belligerently. “You think he’ll tell me anything? He barely speaks to me as it is.”

Interesting. While I was conducting my surveillance, I did notice that there was very little interaction between her and her father. Their conversations were minimal and about nothing of any importance, and certainly not about the subjects I was interested in.

“Why not?” I ask, curious.

“You should ask him,” she says.