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HAMISH: u working as a stripper bby?
HAMISH: u can strip 4 me if u lyk
HAMISH: u ignoring me?
My phone beeps again. I almost drop it, I’m feeling so jumpy. But it’s not Hamish. Mellie, the tanned, blue-eyed brunette I met at Oracle, Lauren’s friend, has sent me an Irish stew recipe because I want to make it for Connor tonight.
Trying to put Hamish’s confusing messages out of my head for a moment, I focus on the ingredient list. I have all those things here, so I don’t need to go to the store.
Moving to the fridge and pantry, I throw myself into making dinner. But in the back of my mind, I can’t help but have a constant thread running through it, wondering why the hell Hamish is trying to get back into contact with me. I don’t for one second believe the “miss you” text. He must want something. Thank God I didn’t tell anyone back in Dot where I was moving to. Can you imagine if he showed up here?
While the stew is happily bubbling on the stove, I take myself and a glass of wine upstairs for a long soak in my lovely tub, styling my hair carefully, and picking out a pretty dress for when Connor comes home for dinner and our now daily sex session.
Feeling fresh and pretty, I return to the kitchen, stirring the stew and meticulously setting the table, selecting a bottle of wine. Is that too much? Putting the wine away, I make sure there is cold beer. I don’t want it to feel like a date or something. I don’t want to freak him out.
I have no delusions that this is anything but a fling, and I’m honestly okay with that. It’s a very nice fling, and I have only recently been badly burned by men and relationships. A fun, flirty fling with my boss is perfect. When it ends, if things are super uncomfortable, I’ll find another job. Maybe Lauren has another mobster I can be a housekeeper for. Or perhaps I could set up a house cleaning and cooking service for her mobsters.
After a while, I start to fidget. Connor would usually have been home a few hours ago, so I’m not sure what’s going on. It’s not like he texts me his movements.
At about eight o’clock, I give up waiting. Serving up two bowls of stew, I place one in the oven to keep warm and put the rest in plastic containers in the fridge. I slowly eat my stew, my eyes glued on the driveway outside. No headlights sweep in, and eventually, my bowl is empty no matter how slowly I eat.
Stifling a sigh, I tidy up the kitchen. The clock on the microwave reads almost ten o’clock. It’s late. I’m tired. I hope Connor is okay, but I’m not going to text him and ask – that’s not what we do.
I’m about to shut off the lights and head to bed when the headlights of his SUV sweep up the driveway. Thank goodness. No matter what I told myself, I was starting to worry something had happened to him.
My feelings of relief dry up wicked quick when Connor steps through the door, and my lungs feel like the air is being squeezed out of them.
CONNOR
I’m about to head home, my head full of what delicious dish Andie will have made for dinner and which surface in the house I’m going to fuck her on.
I’m slowly working my way through the house. The kitchen is almost done, so maybe I’ll eat her out and fuck her on the antique dining table. Yeah. A smirk tugs at my lips. That’s what I’m going to do tonight.
Sliding into my SUV, I pull out of the Oracle parking lot, turning for home. Unfortunately, my pleasant thoughts are disturbed by my ringing phone. It’s Seamus, so I quickly hit answer, his sharp tone ringing through the Bluetooth.
“Lucky, there’s been an issue with an arms shipment. Get the fuck down here to the warehouse right fucking now,” he snaps before hanging up.
Christ. There go my delectable evening plans. It’s my night off from the tables, so I was going to take my fucking time too.
The tires of my SUV screech as I pull into the parking lot at our warehouse, where we usually accept all our arms shipments. It’s otherwise empty because we don’t keep the guns there, but it’s a hotbed of activity at the moment.
I first see Paddy knocking some Eastern European-looking fuck out with a sharp uppercut. Beside him, Ronan has some cunt in a headlock while the fucker tries to elbow him in the gut.
Throwing myself out of the SUV, I tackle the asshole with the knife, attempting to sneak up on Niall while he cuts up someone else's face.
Jesus fuck. I groan as the butt of the knife connects with my jaw. Thank fuck it wasn’t the pointy end. I can hear Seamus swearing, so he’s clearing fucking fine. Liam isn’t here because he’s probably watching over Tiggy.
That’s a shame. We could use the fucker right now. I grunt as I take a fist to the gut. The lad is handy with his fists and not too shabby with a knife.
We finally manage to subdue the lot of them. Only two of them are dead, which is a fair outcome. With Niall, you never can tell which way it will go, but he’s restrained himself tonight, which is a blessing.
Ronan and Paddy are tying them all up, and Seamus is on the phone with his father, organizing for them to be picked up and taken to Oracle so Niall can work them over one by one.
“What the fuck was this all about?” I groan, holding a handkerchief to my face, where I’m sporting a busted lip and a bleeding nose.
At least I didn’t get cut or lose any teeth. Both of those things would have fucking sucked.
“I have no fucking clue,” Seamus growls, “but it felt fucking personal.”
