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Willa flashed a bright smile. “Pleasure to meet you, Keegs. I’m Willa.”
Keegan dipped his chin in acknowledgment. Rarely was he rendered mute.
I felt my scowl deepen.
“What about you, Satan?” Her slender finger prodded at my shoulder, not once but three times. She was looking for the fucking bullet hole from yesterday. “Are you gonna live too?”
I looked up, and her glassy eyes settled on my face. Her cheeks were tinged pink, and the vodka fumes only confirmed Liam’s debriefing about the evening.
Willa’s mouth twisted into a tiny smirk. She blinked lazily, then sighed. “Fine—leave me in suspense. But if you do die, you can go to your grave in peace. I’ll make sure there’s hell to pay for whoever poked a hole in your back. I can handle the Russians.”
I think she tried to wink, but it didn’t work out for her. She was a hot fucking mess tonight.
Maybe it was because I had long since surpassed exhaustion, but a smile edged the corners of my mouth.
Based on the way Willa’s face lit up, she’d noticed. Her blue irises danced with mirth, pupils expanding. There was no denying that Willa had grown into an attractive woman.
Then she reached out and pinched my pec.
What the fuck?
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered through my shock.
She cringed. “Sorry—just making sure this is real and not a dream.”
“Is this one of those times you’re being super serious?” I asked, returning to our brief exchange in St. Patrick’s before I was fucking shot.
Her eyes widened in recognition. “Yes!” She jutted a hand into the space between us. “You! You’re ... you know ... just not being ... as ... weird ... as usual.” She hitched one shoulder. “I had to pinch you to make sure I’m not dreaming.”
Her beautiful, flustered state created the capacity for entrapment.
I quirked an eyebrow at her. “I think it’s yourself you’re supposed to pinch in this scenario.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it, looking like she would have been embarrassed, but the alcohol coursing through her veins wouldn’t allow it. Instead, she offered me a cheesy grin.
A throat cleared.
Fuck.
Willa and I snapped our heads around at the same time to find Keegan and Liam staring at us. Keegan bit back a smile and then he resumed his work, but Liam and I shared a look that I could read like the back of my hand—it was a warning from one brother to another. He knew Raphael.
Before Liam was Raphael’s head guard, he was one of my best mates. I was tighter with Liam and Keegan than the brother I’d shared a womb with for nine months.
Liam’s phone chimed, and he glanced at the screen. His brow furrowed.
I knew that look as well. “What is it?”
“Boss is headin’ out—told me to take the rest of the night off.” Liam’s jaw twitched. “Been doing that a lot lately. Not sure why suddenly he doesn’t want me drivin’ him to his latest wh—”
The needle plunged deep.
“Fuck me!” Liam barked.
Keegan inclined his head toward Willa. “Present company, bro.”
Willa claimed a suture packet off the table, seemingly unaffected by Liam’s insinuation that her fiancé was about to get his rocks off elsewhere.
She tugged on the shoulder of my Henley. “Let’s go, tough guy. This operating room is taken. I’ll take you to Willa General, where I can stitch you up—good as new. You’ll be back to cracking heads again in no time.”
