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I’ve been standing by her side this whole fucking time we’ve been apart. I never stopped working to build her army. Never stopped loving her. Never stopped dreaming about her every fucking night, and thinking about her every minute of every day. I’m surprised my dick hasn’t dropped off from the amount of times I’ve abused it whilst thinking of her. That night in her bedroom where she’d spread herself for me and finger-fucked herself so perfectly has been on repeat in my head for the last two years. Even now, after all this time, thoughts of her make me hard. That won’t ever change.
Scraping a hand over my face, I mentally psych myself up, because if I was nervous about telling Kate about my feelings back in my tattoo shop two years ago, that’s nothing to how I’m feeling now.
I ain’t shitting a brick. I’m shitting a goddamn mountain.
Dom has made it perfectly clear that she’s not the same person I left behind, but then again neither am I. Truth be known, being away has changed me. I was never a spiritual man, and I won’t pretend that I am now, but a few months back I accompanied Connall on a trip to Ireland to visit his family and met a lad who has this uncanny ability to uncover a man’s secrets and capitalise on them. The little fucker got me talking about personal shit that I wouldnevershare with anyone. I can’t even blame my loose mouth on the pints of Guinness I knocked back, given I only had two. Pretty sure he pulled some voodoo shit on me.
All I know is if anyone has the heart of a criminal, the soul of a thief and the mind of a genius, it’s Arden Dálaigh, and I have no doubts we’ll meet again when he’s grown a few more chest hairs.
But that’s a concern for another day.
With a shake of my head, my gaze falls to Kate’s handprint tattooed on my chest, the outline of which is now completely filled with black ink. From there my eyes track across to the puckered scar that sits just beneath my right collar bone where Kate shot me. Both are a prominent reminder of the woman I love, and I will wear them with pride until the day I fucking die.
* * *
“Areyou sure you’re ready for this?” Connall asks, the second I slide into the passenger seat beside him.
I give him a look. “Not in the fucking slightest, but it’s time.”
“She might actually kill you this time.”
“She might, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take,” I reply, drumming my fingers against my knee in agitation.
The fucker of course notices. He’s been a good friend to me and I owe him so much more than I could ever repay. Connall has been my right-hand man through all of my travels around the world.
“Listen, mate, I love you, you know that right?”
I laugh. “If you’re about to tell me to run away with you—”
“We’ve been there, done that already,” he cuts in with a smirk, breaking sharply and swearing at a kid that suddenly dashes out into the road in front of us. She slams her fist against the bonnet, before giving us the middle finger. Beneath her hood I can see bright blue hair and a scowl that would rival the many Kate has given me in the past.
“Watch where you’re going, arsewipe!” she yells, then pelts it across the street chucking a spray can at the car for good measure.
“The little fucker!” Connall exclaims as we both watch her leg it down the street and disappear down an alleyway a little further up. “That one’s gonna cause someone a heap of shit in a few years.”
“Looks like she’s already causing a heap of shit,” I remark, as Connall puts the car in drive and moves on. We both laugh, the tension easing a little.
Ten minutes later Connall pulls up outside a gated industrial estate, manned by a security guard who looks very familiar.
Mark.
The last time I saw him, he was in the crowd at Tales whilst I was getting the shit kicked out of me by Derby.
Connall gives me a look. “Is he gonna give us trouble?”
“I guess you’d better roll your window down so we can find out.”
Mark steps out of the little hut he’s sitting in and strolls over to the car, ducking down to look through the now open window. It takes him less than a second to lock eyes with me.
“Well, fuck! Dom said you were back, but I didn’t believe it. Beast, as I live and breathe. How are you, mate?”
Not quite the reception I was expecting, but okay. I grin. “I’m good, you?”
“Head of security here these days,” he says with a wink, tapping on the walkie-talkie attached to his chest.
“That uniform looks good on you,” Connall says, jerking his chin towards Mark’s outfit. He looks like a cross between a copper and a bouncer in his deep blue shirt and trousers. The fact he’s got a handgun strapped to his hip and a knife slotted next to it just adds to the wholedon’t fuck with me vibehe’s got going on.
“Grim likes her soldiers dressing smart. Things have changed around here since…”
