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“It means don’t hit on her.”
“How do you even know she’s in there?” I nod towards the door that leads to the lounge.
Paddy shrugs, knocking. “It’s just a start. Maybe she isn’t.”
I grumble, ignoring the pain in my arm. Paddy is fucking around and doesn’t even know if she is working at this point. “Just let me bleed out, why don’t ya?”
Footsteps pat down the hall and a man’s voice comes into earshot. “That’s amazing, Haley. I am so proud of you.”
“For doing my job?” They round the corner and she almost slams into me. She gasps and drops the cup in her hand, and the man she is with bends to scoop it up. Fucking copper, he is. Wearing the stupid fucking hat and all. I’m going to kill my brother for dragging me here. At least I had the good sense to cover up with a coat, so my wound isn’t visible.
“Sorry,” she says then her eyes meet with mine. Golden brown with speckles of green look up at me in wonderment. Her mouth parts and she sucks in a breath. She closes her eyes and shakes her head. She feels it, too. The forceful presence, drawing me to her. That’s the only way I can explain it. But there’s sadness in her eyes. I want to take it away, which makes little sense because I kill people for a living.
She glances behind me at Paddy, and her narrowed eyes focus on him. “Murph?”
“Hey, Savi.” Paddy’s voice is taut.
“How do you know the Murphy boys, Haley?” The policeman’s voice is agitated.
I pull my gaze from Haley, eyeing up the man. He’s in a Boston PD uniform. He isn’t one I recognize, so I’m sure he isn’t on our payroll. The way his eyebrows scrunch with protest, and his hand immediately falls at the gun on his hip, confirms he knows exactly who we are.
“Haley?” The copper asks again.
“What?” She snaps back, her head whipping around, and I smirk. I’ve always enjoyed a woman with an attitude. She’s got a spunk about her tonight that wasn’t there when we first met. We’re still so close that when she turns her head, pieces of hair flutter in my face. I catch a whiff of coconut and inhale to keep it lingering.
“You shouldn’t hang around these guys.”
She crosses her arms, and though her back is to me, I imagine a scowl placed on her face. Her leg moves, popping her hip out. “I shouldn’t hang around someone that served in a war beside me?” The copper doesn’t respond. “Exactly. I’ll see you around, Drake.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow at the restaurant.” He doesn’t move for a moment, then glances between me and Patty, scoffs and walks away.
She turns back to us. Paddy is by my side, and she embraces him in a hug. “Why are you here, Murphy?”
“I was hoping you could help me out. My brother—” he pauses, pointing to me. “This is Callum, by the way. He had a little firearm accident. We were hoping you could treat him under the radar?”
“No.” Her voice is stern, but her eyes train on me, landing on my upper arm. I glance down. I’ve bled through my jacket.
“We can pay. Very well,” I say.
Her gaze holds mine and forms her lips into a firm line. “I’m well off in the money department. Bribes won’t work.” Haley glances back to Paddy as she folds her arms. “I’ve worked too hard. I’m not about to throw it all away for a simple bullet wound. Go down to the ER and have it checked the proper way. Or let it be, and he bleeds out. It’ll probably take a week, but he will bleed out if it’s not sewn properly. Maybe get a nice infection. Sepsis is a real killer.”
“Savi. Please. We’re brothers in arms. We were together in a war. Remember?”
She huffs, shaking her head. “So what? That means I owe you? Go away, Patrick.”
I stumble back, catching myself against the wall. My head is pounding suddenly. “Gee, boyo. What’ve ya done to piss off the lass?” I chime in, hoping that maybe my accent can charm her. I press my hand to my eye, trying to relieve the pressure of a headache. Since when the fuck have I ever said boyo?
It must have worked because her head whips back to me again. She steps forward, her hands coming to the nape of my neck. She tugs my jacket off the one arm. Her fingertips brush against my skin, and I shrug at the warm sensation, taking a step back. Her hands are firm and she yanks my coat all the way off. Now that her touch has left, my skin feels cold. What the fuck is this and why is it happening?
“Stop moving.” Her voice is tight and her brow furrowed as she squeezes my arm and tugs me closer to her.
“It hurts,” I groan, her fingers digging into the tender flesh around the wound.
“How are you brothers if one of you is Irish?” Gently, she pulls back the shirt I used to cover my wound. I smirk. So the accent wins. All that talk about a rabid dog, yet she seems so amiable. Though, I suppose most dogs are loyal until one day they decide to turn on you.
“We moved here when I was a lad. Before my other siblings were born,” I say.
“I was born in Ireland,” Paddy chimes in.
