The Monster (Boston Belles 3)

“Look, can I come in?” She rubbed at the column of her neck, her posture slackening all of a sudden, like a deflated balloon. It dawned on me my not wanting to fuck Dani had nothing to do with her age or ability to bore me to the point of a clinical coma and everything to do with Nix.

God-fucking-dammit.

“No,” I said flatly.

“I really need to talk to someone.”

“I suggest you turn to a person who cares.”

“You don’t care about me?” she asked, surprise and hurt marring her voice. Was she asleep the last fucking decade? Did I care about anyone, myself included? No. Troy, Sparrow, and bigmouthed Sailor were the exception. I supposed I could toss in Rooney and Xander now, too. Obviously, they had the advantage of not being able to talk fluently and therefore were in low danger of pissing me off.

“Not even a little. Go away.”

She licked her lips. “I need to vent. It’s about my parents. Everyone else has a horse in this race. My brothers, Mother, and Da … even my best friends are married to my siblings, so they can’t be clearheaded about it,” she explained.

She had a point.

Furthermore, if she had important information about Gerald, she could help me bring him to his knees and get a confession. So while it was true that I never, under any circumstances, brought a woman over to my apartment, it was time to make an exception. For her.

For the first time since I moved in by myself at eighteen, I opened the door and let another person who wasn’t Sparrow or Troy into my domain. Even my cleaning lady only had the vaguest idea where I’d lived. She was driven back and forth from my place in tinted-windowed cars.

“Fine. But I’m not gonna fuck you again,” I warned.

I could always count on my pride to win over, and Aisling was a constant reminder of the fact the Fitzpatricks saw fit to do business with me but not allow me to date their daughter.

“Well, that’s a relief.” She smiled politely, her chin barely quivering as she tried to contain her emotions. “And I promise not to try to seduce you again. Now, shall we?”

Aisling took a seat on the plush black leather couch, spine erect, her hands demurely resting in her lap.

“May I have some coffee?” she asked shakily.

“Would you like a fucking full English breakfast along with it?” I cocked an eyebrow, still standing up. “No, you can’t have coffee.”

“I think we both need a few moments to gather ourselves before this conversation.”

“The only part of me in need of gathering is getting my cock into someone’s mouth, and since I don’t want you anywhere near it, I suggest you cut to the chase.”

We held each other’s eyes for a few seconds. She didn’t waver.

“You’re not going to talk until I get you a coffee, are you?” I suppressed a groan.

She shook her head. “’Fraid not.”

Reluctantly, I went into the kitchen to make it. It occurred to me midway the journey to the counter that:

One, I didn’t know how to operate the coffee machine; I always grabbed Starbucks on my way out in the morning then spent the rest of the day loathing myself for consuming burnt coffee that tasted like an overflowing sewer water, and—

Two, my house, my rules, my drink of choice.

I grabbed a Macallan 18, poured two fingers into two tumblers, and made my way back to the living room.

My apartment was neatly and minimally designed. Bare concrete walls, black leather everything, high barstools, and chrome appliances. Notably missing from my apartment were any paintings or pieces of unneeded furniture.

Also currently missing from my apartment right now was Nix.

I frowned at the coffee table, confused.

I looked at the massive glass jar in the center of it.

One of the bullets I kept inside was rolling on the floor. It bumped into one of the table’s legs.

Shit.

I dropped the whiskey, bolting out the door, catching Aisling punching the elevator’s button hysterically, her eyes wildly scanning her surroundings. Her cheeks were wet, and she was shaking all over. I grabbed her by the wrist and tugged her toward me.

What the fuck happened? Why was she so scared?

“Let me go!” she yelled, trying to shake me off. “Coming here was a huge mistake.”

“Couldn’t agree with you more. Yet you’re here, so you’re sure as hell going to see this through. I know the Fitzpatrick clan is used to other people finishing shit for them, but this time you’ll have to pull through.” I hoisted her over my shoulder, stomping back into my apartment, my fingers digging into the back of her thighs with possessiveness that surprised and disgusted me.

She is not yours to keep.

She is the enemy’s spawn.

She is the woman you are paid to never touch.

And she is not worth the fucking headache.