Page 8 of Beautiful Trauma (The Irish Rogues #5)
A fter a quick ride from the airport, we hit downtown Boston.
On the drive over, I took out my phone and once again went through the layout for Bandia –the Gaelic themed club which each Kavanaugh brother owned a stake in.
I especially knew where Kellan’s office was as well as the route he would take when he did his “walk-throughs”.
During that time, his bodyguard would hang back, which would enable me easier access to ambush him.
Most of all, I mentally highlighted all the exits, but I especially took note of the ones closest to Kellan’s office. Those would be the ones I would need to use to escape after drugging him.
The closer we got to the club the more I had to fight the anxious twist of my stomach. After passing Bandia , we turned into a side alley about a block from the club. Turning around in his seat, Dima asked, “Ready?”
With a roll of my eyes, I replied, “You act like I haven’t done this multiple times.”
“It was different then, Mila. You were always in Philly and within our territory. We’re exposed and vulnerable here.”
“Like Kellan would hurt me.”
He shook his head. “While he wouldn’t lay a hand on you, his men would.’’
When I started to protest, Dima said, “Trust me when I say, this is a different ball game.”
Although fear crept up my spine, I sniped, “If that’s your idea of a pep talk, you fucking suck.”
A growl rumbled through his chest. “No wonder Father loses his patience with you.”
I fought the tears that pricked my eyes. “Low.Fucking.Blow,” I whispered.
Regret filled Dima’s face. “Mila, I–”
Ignoring him, I threw open the door and hopped out. Without another word to him, I slammed the door and started making my way down the sidewalk.
Dima’s voice echoed through the piece in my ear. “Dammit, Mila, would you let me apologize?”
Turning back to the van, I met his gaze through the windshield. I dug the piece out of my ear before shoving it in my purse. After extending the middle finger at him, I then started jogging down the sidewalk.
His words had pierced my skin the same as the sharp point of a knife. I could’ve taken those words from Aleks or Anton or fucking anybody else.
But not Dima.
Each and every time he sided with our father wounded me, and the sting remained.
When I reached the club, the line wasn’t too long. I’d barely taken my place in the crowd before a hulking bouncer did a slow sweep of my body. With a flick of his pointer and middle finger, he said, “Inside.”
I plastered on a grateful smile while ignoring the jealous sniping of the women in front of me. After flashing my ID to the doorman, I headed inside. The thumping bass rumbled through me the instant I walked through the door.
Since I knew Dima would be losing his mind, I took the earpiece out and put it back in. “I’m inside,” I said.
His relieved breath echoed over the line. “And I’m fucking sorry.”
The sliver of softness that remained within me bloomed under his words. Although small, it somehow reigned in the raging bitch within me. That side of me wanted to tell him he could stuff his apology up his Bratva loving ass.
But I didn’t.
Sometimes from that small sliver, I could almost hear my mother’s voice begging me to keep fighting for him.
When I didn’t respond, Dima asked, “Mila?”
“I’m here.”
“Are we okay?”
“You owe me.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Good because I’m going to grab a drink on you before getting in place at the bottom of the VIP stairwell.”
“Copy that. From hacking the security cameras, he’s still in his office.”
I snorted. “ Copy that ? Are we playing at being cops now?”
“Shut up,” he replied, but I heard the humor vibrating in his voice.
“Copy that, Big Brother. The Happy Hooker is about to grab the best vodka these Irishmen carry.”
At Dima’s chuckle, a smile curved on my lips as I made my way through the crowd. I ignored the appreciative male gazes that drifted over me. When I reached the bar, I flagged down a bartender outfitted in nothing but gold lame shorts. Gold glitter flickered across his bare chest and arms.
“What can I get you, love?” he asked in a perfect Irish accent.
“A shot of your most expensive vodka.”
A sexy smirk spread across his cheeks. “You need a little Irish in you, not Russian.” He winked. “Let me get you some strong Irish whiskey.”
I’m sure most coeds would’ve creamed their panties over him, but I wasn’t in the mood. I took a crisp hundred out of my purse and waved it at him. “If you want a tip, sweetcheeks, you’ll cut the bullshit and get me vodka.”
While Aleks’s amused howl echoed in the background of my earpiece, Dima grunted. “Jesus, Mila.”
Although the bartender’s expression sobered slightly, he still smiled. “Gotta love a lady who knows what she wants.”
“And I appreciate a man who realizes that.”
After pouring a large shot, he handed me the glass. “Enjoy yourself.”
I handed him the hundred dollar bill. “You, too.”
With my glass in hand, I started over to the VIP section. Turning my gaze upwards, I took in the decor. Light pinks, blues, and purples gave it an ethereal quality. The word Bandia meant goddess in Gaelic, so it made sense that it would have an otherworldly feel.
I’d just taken a burning sip of my vodka when I felt eyes on me. Slowly, I flickered my gaze around the crowd. When my eyes fell on Anton, he gave a slight nod of acknowledgement.
A flutter reverberated through my chest that everything was now ready to enact our plan.
Everything except our guest of honor.
Swaying to the music, I continued sipping on my vodka as I waited. Just when I thought I couldn’t bear waiting any longer, Dima’s voice caused me to jump.
“Target is on the move.”
The nerves in my body grew taut as I craned my neck to gaze at the employee hallway.
At the sight of him, a shudder went through me, and it sure as hell wasn’t from fear. The pictures of Kellan hadn’t done him justice. As he moved across the dance floor, he appeared like the main character in an action movie.
His blonde hair was buzzed short on the sides while it was longer on top. Under the club lights, you could see slight streaks of red, which had to come from his Irish heritage. His crisp, white shirt stretched across his broad chest. Instead of a tie, the top buttons were undone.
Like the vapid coed I was supposed to be playing, I bit down on my lip at the sight of his arm porn on display.
I don’t know what it was, but men’s arms were my kryptonite, and the veinier the better.
With Kellan’s sleeves pushed to his elbows, he showcased not only his muscles, but the multicolored ink that decorated his skin.
As I blinked at the absolute Adonis before me, my traitorous body spun into a tailspin. A pulsing ache reverberated between my legs, which dampened my panties. I hadn’t been attracted to a man so quickly in a long, long time.
Dima’s voice brought me out of my fantasy of climbing Kellan Kavanaugh like a tree and fucking him right here on the dance floor.
“Ready, Mila?”
I swallowed hard. “Ready,” I whispered into the universe.