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The regret that night was like the stones the priests put under our knees during mass at St. Brigid’s. And I promised never again. I wouldn’t be a killer.
There was wrong and then there was wrong, and my da was never proud of me, but now I was some kind of monster.
Ronald came over with a bottle of the good stuff and he ignored the tears on my face and the puke on my collar and told me it would get better. The regrets didn’t last forever and after a few more jobs I’d have callouses built up so I didn’t feel a thing, like.
And then he handed me an envelope with a thousand pounds in it.
More money than I’d ever seen in one place. The kind of money that changed a stupid fucking kid’s life. And so I built up callouses. I did the job, I made the money and I moved on, allowing myself only one thing: the comfort that the men I killed were monsters. And you needed a monster to put down monsters. There was a logic to that and, I can admit it, a nobility to it that I liked. That allowed me to sleep at night.
Sort of.
But Poppy…sweet, innocent, reckless Poppy…my wife. My wife. I regretted her. From the second I met her and understood her fate.
From the moment I realized how Caroline used her and would keep using her.
I regretted tonight.
Even as I was getting hard again at the memory of her laid open for me in Eden’s arms. Even as I thought about how she felt around my cock and wanted with every single breath in my body to get back inside of her, I regretted having been inside of her.
She had some perception that I was a good man. Worth saving. Worth loving.
Daft fucking princess.
All I have ever wanted, since she stepped out into that side yard, was to keep her safe. To keep her away from the worst of Caroline. The Morellis. Me. And now we were married.
She was in the shower and it was impossible not to imagine her body under the hot spray. Impossible not to imagine how I could go in there, strip off my clothes and climb into the shower with her. And she would fight.
Fuck, I hoped she would fight.
She might smack me and shove me. Call me something vicious and true and I would pin her back against the tiled shower and put my hand between her legs and find her wet and swollen and so fucking ready for me I could make her come just by saying her name.
I stood and pulled on my clothes, disgusted with myself.
She might be pregnant. Right now. A baby. The shame was nearly as profound as my pleasure.
Not so high and mighty now, are ya, eejit? My father’s voice could be counted on to keep track of my mistakes as I made them. I stood still in the quiet of the cabin, the hum of the engines all around me, listening for Poppy.
To hear if she was crying. Another wedding night for her that ended in tears. My plan had been to get her out of this marriage clean. And six hours in I’d already fucked her and possibly gotten her pregnant. When it came to Poppy, I was miles past regret. She was a whole different kind of torture.
In the cabin Poppy’s clothes were folded and stacked on the edge of the banquette and Eden looked put back together. Red lipstick, tight black dress, fur coat, and a glass of champagne in her long-fingered hand—all of it armor. I met her eyes, and if Poppy were here, she would apologize for the way we left her, but I was not a man for apologies. She made her bed and she could manage herself just fine. “Is she okay?” she asked.
I laughed and poured myself a scotch, resisting the urge to drink it straight from the bottle where it was clipped in the bar. “Something about your concern doesn’t feel genuine, Eden.”
“She’s a sweet girl,” Eden said, and I found myself shaking my head. She had been a sweet girl. Years ago. Now…she was something else. Too reckless to be sweet. Too angry. She was dangerous. And I’d liked that sweet Poppy. The malleable Poppy, with her wide, blinking eyes and her shit self-esteem. I’d liked the way she looked at me out of the corner of her eye, the way she weighed a situation before deciding what to do or how to act.
But this woman? Who charged in blazing, demanding her due and fuck anyone in her way?
I would die for her.
And she could never fucking know or she would tie herself to me as I sank to the bottom of the world.
“Bryant received the photographs I sent him,” Eden said, tapping on her phone.
