I turned to look at her as she sat down in the chair. “Favor?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said to Eden.
“What favor?”
“My sister didn’t pay her for that information I got about you,” she told me.
“And,” Eden said with a shrug. “She refused to sleep with me. So, she still owes me.”
“That’s bullshit,” I said.
“What if I sleep with you now?” Poppy asked, and both Eden and I turned to look at her.
“Well, isn’t that interesting?” Eden crossed her legs. “I’m intrigued, but as much as I’m willing to see past that haircut of yours, it won’t do me much good. You need to get married and you both need to come back with me. It’s the only way we’re all getting out of this.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket. “But the clock is ticking. Fuck. No service? Really?”
“Ronan?” Poppy said. “What do we do?”
“I’ve made it pretty clear,” Eden said, and I grabbed Poppy by the elbow and pulled her outside, away from Eden.
The wind was a relentless howl.
She looked at me, and I took it for as long as I could before turning away.
“Are you all right?” she asked, concern oozing off her. It would be so easy to rest in that concern, to gather it up and let it do its job. To pretend for just a bit longer that we were still in the fantasy of the cottage. But reality was cold and hard and brutal and here.
“Fine.”
She laughed at my brusque answer, but I didn’t smile in return.
I reached out and touched the scratches on her neck the men had left on her. She would have a terrible bruise on her stomach too. She could have died. Again.
Another brutal truth? I’d taken shit care of her, distracted as I’d been by wanting her. By how she made me feel. I could have her or I could keep her safe, and I’d tried too hard to have both.
That’s right, lad, my father’s voice was back in my head. That’s the way of it.
“We’re getting married,” I said.
She backed up a step, taking her comfort with her.
“There’s got to be another way?” she asked. “Some window we can jump out of?” That she tried to smile tore me right in half. Enough. Enough of that fecking mess. Enough of feeling anything.
“We’re out of windows.”
I saw the dust first. Off the back of a car coming from town. And my blood froze. Ice filled me from head to toe and I welcomed it with open arms. I let it invade me and put me to rights.
“See that car?” I asked, turning her, grabbing her face so she was looking at the threat that was barreling toward her. “Who do you think is in that car?”
“I don’t . . . I don’t know.”
“Right. So you can sit here and hope for the best and catch a bullet between the eyes or get snatched up by the Dubrassi Brothers who will delight in raping you six ways from Sunday before dropping you “alive” at the feet of the Morellis. Or maybe you’re right and it’s nothing.” I feigned indifference. “But this is the feeling you’ll be living with all day. Every day. So you can do the smart thing and take care of shit. Or you can do what you’ve done your whole goddamned life and put your head in the sand. Because it’s worked out so well for you and your unborn—”
She smacked me. Hard. Which was good. Right. I’d crossed a line, but she needed to wake the fuck up.
From the boot of the car, I grabbed my bag of weapons and money.
“Come on,” I said and grabbed her arm, pulling her back into the cottage. I locked the doors. “Get down on the ground.” I barked and stood with my back to the wall, looking out the side of the curtains at that car coming up the road. It came closer. And closer. Turned down the drive toward the house. I had three guns with enough bullets to fill each of them up twice.
“What have you got?” I asked Eden.
“Six bullets,” she said.
Not enough. Not enough if it was the Dubrassis. They could tear this place down with firepower. But they want Poppy alive.
“I thought your guy was going to take care of anyone else looking for us?”
Eden actually looked scared. All she could give me was a shrug.
If I snuck out the back, circled around wide enough to get behind them. Yeah. That was what I could do. I ran to the kitchen and smashed through one of those old windows. Glass fell into the sink and out onto the stones.
Sorry, Sinead.
“It’s Father Patrick,” Poppy cried, having taken my place along the wall. I froze, about to climb through the jagged hole in the window. “It’s just Father Patrick.”