“Fuck no. I couldn’t risk losing you.” I wiped my cheeks, though it was no use. The tears fucking streamed, and it was weird. I wasn’t physically upset in a normal sense. It was more like the time he’d massaged me in that dark room. My body knew it was time to just let go. “I’m not scared or apologetic by nature—you know that, Shan. But you’re the exception to every rule. Finally being with you—being able to show you how I feel…? I’ve never been freer.”
He exhaled and rubbed my arm. “An inmate feels just a bit more free in the courtyard compared to being locked in a cell. You and I want more than the courtyard, don’t we?”
Damn, that was a good analogy.
I chewed on my lip, knowing there was only one response. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Let’s try complete honesty.” He kissed my hair again. “We have to lie enough in our line of work. I don’t want to bring that into our relationship too.”
We were in a relationship.
I smiled and wiped away the last of my tears. “You’re right,” I said. “Is this where I confess that Pat and I stole your Jaguar in high school?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “You’re supposed to confess things I didn’t already know, you little shite. But cheers for the reminder. I hear your Daddy got you a sweet Audi R8 last year. Maybe he’ll borrow it.”
I recoiled from his arms and stared at him in sheer disbelief.
He laughed. Hard.
Epilogue 1
After lying low “for a while”
It’s time to come home, brother. Ireland’s calling.
I didn’t know why that text from Finn had made such an impact, but I’d read it a dozen times since I’d received it yesterday, and I felt every word reverberating through me, the truth of them settling in my marrow.
With a blanket wrapped around me, I stood on my balcony and took a sip of my coffee while I looked out over the snowcapped mountains.
It was fucking frigid, but I wanted to drink in the view one last time. Savor the moment, revel in the healing we’d done here, bask in the confidence that we were leaving Andorra with the strongest foundation underneath our feet.
Strictly speaking, as one of Finn’s closest in the syndicate, with the job I had, my responsibilities, and my work perspective, I still didn’t see the point of Shan and me staying away for so long. The police sketch that’d been released a couple days after we’d left France barely bore any resemblance to me. The left side of my face, as predicted, was taken up by a giant tattoo. Bigger than it actually had been. They’d gotten my eyes and nose all wrong, not to mention thicker eyebrows that made me look angry. And a tad Eastern European, to be honest.
I was a suspect—but first and foremost, a person of interest because I’d been spotted nearby the crime scene fighting with a man who “could’ve been” the victim. They couldn’t actually tie me to the murder.
Even so, Finn had felt it best I stayed in Andorra for a few months, and Shan and I hadn’t objected—for personal reasons.
Now it was time for the Sons of Munster to come out of its hibernation, though, starting with a Christmas celebration in Ireland before we went home. We’d been careful. We’d covered our tracks. We’d finally finished off all the Italian threats.
With three exceptions. Eric had tracked Louise to her uncle’s estate in the British Virgin Islands and had sent two of our guys from Chicago to deal with her. But after a couple weeks’ surveillance, it was clear that she’d really run out of contacts. She had nobody—and very little money. So it’d been decided that she would stay alive under our surveillance, only because her son was so young. He was Autumn’s age.
Finn called it an investment toward the future, and I was inclined to agree with him. If we robbed the boy of his mother now, we could imagine the rage he’d hold on to until he was of age and could unleash it.
We hadn’t killed his brother either, though we were working on that. It was only a small matter of finding a fellow prisoner who wanted to make some money. Or a lot of money. We’d been shit out of luck so far.
The door opened behind me, and Shan stepped out. He’d been smarter. He was bringing the whole duvet with him.
“Morning.” I smiled. “I thought old people got up at five.”
“I have a very young soul.” He came up behind me and engulfed me in the duvet, and I was instantly wrapped in warmth. “Happy birthday, my darling.”
My smile widened as he pressed a kiss to my neck. “Thank you.”
More and more lately, he added “my” before every term of endearment.
My darling.