Merciless Saints (St. Monarch's Academy 1)

Cillian lets out a chuckle. “Only you’d call it boring.”

“Not every meeting will be that easy,” I grumble. Still, I’m proud of how Winter held her own. She didn’t bristle under pressure. Not that I expected her to.

“When will we do the drop?” she asks.

“Next month.”

“Will Alexei meet us in New York?” She closes the tin and hands it to Cillian, who places it in a briefcase.

“Yes.”

Winter’s eyes settle on my face, and then she smiles at me. “We should celebrate our first successful run.”

“A barbeque, a bonfire, and a pint of beer,” Cillian mutters.

It makes Winter chuckle. “Just like father did every time he got home.”

“Sounds good,” I agree, just relieved nothing went wrong. God, I hope it will get easier with time having Winter along on the runs because I know for a fact my wife won’t back down.

Chapter 27

WINTER

Seated around the bonfire pit, I have a soft smile on my face as I watch Cillian down another beer. “Nectar of the Gods,” he muses as he sets his beer mug down.

Dana immediately fills it again, to which Cillian says, “Are you trying to get me drunk, woman?”

“Of course,” she teases him.

“Oh.” His eyebrows lift, then he gives her a lopsided grin. “Will you take advantage of me then?”

I let out a sputter of laughter. “Eww. I’m right here.”

Looking awkward, Cillian mutters, “Sorry, poppet.”

Damien sits down next to me and places his hand on my thigh, his grip tight. He just showered, and with his hair damp and his aftershave filling the air I breathe, I say, “I should get you drunk, so I can take advantage of you.” My eyes drop to the black shirt that spans tightly over his chest, and then I drink in his muscular legs.

Cillian lets out a groan. “Payback’s a bitch.”

Damien turns his gaze to me, and seeing my desire for him on my face, his lips curve up. “You don’t have to get me drunk.”

“Christ have mercy,” Cillian mumbles as he lifts the beer to his mouth.

I let out a burst of laughter which makes Damien smile.

“This is nice,” I murmur.

Dana goes to get the steaks from the kitchen and puts Cillian to work so he’ll grill them. Soon the aroma fills the air, and I let out a happy sigh.

Damien presses a kiss to my temple, and wrapping his arm around me, he pulls me into his side. “Are you happy?”

I nod, my cheek brushing against his shirt. “Very.”

I watch as the flames dance, shooting embers into the night sky. Dana and Cillian’s flirting and chuckles drift from where they’re barbequing.

God, what more could I want from this life? I have Damien Vetrov as my husband. I have Dana and Cillian. The business will continue to thrive.

Life is perfect.

In the week following the run, we all find a routine. Damien and I plan the future runs and sales for the coming month, while Cillian keeps an eye on the guards and grounds.

“Congo’s next?” I ask to make sure as I sift through my father’s documents. I decided to clean out the office so Damien and I can make it our own. I’ll pack away Dad and Sean’s personal belongings at some point, but I’m not ready for that yet.

“Yes, next week. We’re meeting on Thursday,” Damien answers from where he’s setting the code on the new vault he installed today.

“What’s the code?” I glance up from the papers in my hand.

“Our wedding day. The year, then the month, and the date,” he murmurs as he locks the code in. When he turns to me, I reward him with a smile.

I turn my attention back to the documents and let out a sigh. “Lord only knows why my father kept these. Receipts for coffee? Why?”

“Who knows,” Damien murmurs as he takes a seat. I have everything on the encrypted laptop so just throw the documents away.”

I shove it into a box. “You’re right.”

Damien begins to help, and then he freezes. He drops the papers he was holding and picks up a photo. His lips curve up into a smile I haven’t seen before. “What are you looking at?”

He turns it so I can see. “Oh, I was ten.” It’s a photo of Mom, Sean, and me from when we still lived in Ireland.

Damien stares at the photo again. “Little Winter.” He sets the photo aside, then asks, “Do you miss Ireland?”

“Sometimes,” I answer as I load another stack of documents into the box. “And you? Do you miss Russia?”

Damien shakes his head. “It hasn’t been home for a long time.”

“Same,” I agree. “This is home. The island.” Damien only smiles, and it has me asking, “Does the island feel like home to you?”

His eyes lift to mine. “You’re my home, Princess. I don’t care where we live.” He continues to sift through the documents, and then he opens a folder, and a frown forms on his face.