Page 16 of Duncan (Irish Mob of Boston #1)

Freyja

“Get. Out.”

With Duncan’s hand on my throat, he pushed me back enough to close the bedroom door. I stood there staring at it. Willing him to open it and let me explain.

When I heard the second door slam, I knew he wouldn’t come back. Not while I was still here. My hand reached out to touch the door. Reaching out to Duncan. Reaching out for something that wasn’t mine.

A tear slipped down my cheek as I gathered my coat and purse and walked to the door.

Looking back at the room, I remembered the way he held me.

The gentle way he stripped me of my defenses, like he stripped me of my clothes.

The feel of his lips on my shoulder, the way he punished me for hanging up on him.

It turned out not to be a punishment at all, but the single greatest orgasm of my life. I didn’t want to leave. When he asked me to stay, I wanted to say yes, more than anything. But Lucille’s voice in my head had me blurting out the words that took him from angry to explosive.

My hand went to my throat, and I thought about the measured control he had as he gripped my neck. As I stared into his eyes, hurt replaced his anger, then quickly turned to revulsion.

That was a look I would never forget. The way he looked at me with disgust. Like I was lower than the sewage that flowed under the city. It was a look I never expected someone to give me. It wasn’t how I wanted him to remember me.

But I had no control over how he felt. Only my actions that caused him to feel that way.

I considered leaving him a note. Explaining why I couldn’t stay. That the ‘someone else’ wasn’t someone I had met. But it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t understand. And it would only be an excuse.

And excuses wouldn’t change what happened. They wouldn’t change that my heart had fallen for someone that wasn’t mine. He would never understand why I had to walk away.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered as I closed the door behind me and made my way to the elevator.

My phone rang as the elevator doors closed. I couldn’t talk to anyone right now, but when I looked down and saw my sister’s name, the tears fell in earnest.

“Freyja, are you ok?” Phoebe asked before I said hello.

“No.”

“What’s wrong? What happened? Do I need to send Shaw to kick someone’s ass?”

I laughed at that. Not because it was funny. Shaw Dalton, my sister’s husband, was a force of nature. Former FBI profiler, former military, and current biker. If I needed help, he would be there.

No, I laughed because it was so Phoebe to think the help I needed was physical and not emotional.

“No need to send Priest. This was my own doing. I should have listened to Athena.”

“What happened?”

“I think I fell in love.”

Silence hung between us, and I knew what was coming. Phoebe was a romantic. Her husband left her shortly after they lost their child in a horrific attack, but she never gave up on him. She held onto that love for years until he finally came back to her.

She knew who her soulmate was, and she never wavered.

“Freyja, love doesn’t hurt.”

“You were hurting for years, Phoebe.”

“Shaw hurt me. Not our love.”

“But if you didn’t love him, he wouldn’t have the power to hurt you.”

“That’s true, but if I didn’t love him, I never would have had Adam for the few months that I did,” she whispered, and my tears continued when I thought about everything my sister had lost.

“I’m so sorry, Phoebe.” Standing on the street outside the hotel, I wanted to go back up. I wanted to beg him to forgive me and let me explain.

“Talk to me, Freyja.”

“How is Sarah doing?” I asked, avoiding my pain for a little of my sister’s joy.

The happiness I heard in her voice overtook all the pain I was feeling. “She’s doing great. Said her morning sickness feels like nothing after the triplets.” Phoebe was quiet for a moment before she added, “Enough avoidance. Tell me what happened.”

Inhaling the cold winter air into my lungs, I told Phoebe everything as I walked. She knew about Lucille and Mardi Gras. I told her about meeting Duncan twice, about dinner, our night together, and how I ended it.

With my coat pulled tight against the wind, I strolled without direction. Having a sister was like having a best friend for life. I was blessed with two sisters. They weren’t as different as night and day, but they each had their own unique way of looking at things.

Like I did.

Together, we helped each other see what was right in front of our eyes but invisible to us. When I reached the coffee shop, I ducked inside and sat at a table.

“It sounds to me like maybe you were supposed to meet this man.”

“That’s what Mom said. Even Dad agreed that maybe I needed to learn something.”

“So, what did you learn?” she asked.

Staring out the window, I watched as Maxim Federov and Illyria Valentinetti walked arm in arm. Maxim’s words at the restaurant washed over me. His warning about Duncan surprised me.

Maxim was Russian Bratva. His past had come back to hurt his wife and her family. They had survived the horrific things his brother had done, but the collateral damage had been substantial.

Was the Boston Mob any different? Or was it personal against Duncan himself? Would being involved with Duncan hurt my family or others that I loved? I watched the couple until they were out of sight and then answered my sister.

“I learned not to tempt fate.” My voice was filled with resolve.

“Freyja...”

“Thanks, Phoebe. I can’t tell you how much this helped. But I must go. Love you!” I disconnected the call without waiting for her to respond.

If I’d never accepted Duncan’s invitation, I wouldn’t know what I was missing. And since I knew my soulmate was waiting for me at Mardi Gras, I should never have tempted fate with someone else.

I had no one to blame but myself.

My selfishness had hurt Duncan, and I hated it. But nothing could change that now. I had to forgive myself. And I hoped that he would forgive me as well.

Not that I would ever know. I didn’t plan on ever seeing Duncan Murphy again.

I entered the house with a new outlook. I wouldn’t say I was happy. I wasn’t. Not with the way things had ended with Duncan.

But I was content.

Content to wait the six weeks until I went to Mardi Gras. At least that was what I told myself and others.

“You’re home.”

Athena stopped halfway down the stairs. She tilted her head to look at me.

“Stop reading my mind. I’m fine.”

“You aren’t fine. You’re hurting.”

“I already talked to Phoebe and worked everything out in my heart. No need to go over it again.”

Moving down the hall, I tried to slip away from Athena’s knowing gaze. My sister read me like a book on good days. One look in my eyes and she would know I was lying not only to her, but to myself, too.

“Would you like to watch a movie?”

I stopped and turned to look at her. “A movie?”

“Yea. Whenever you’re upset, you watch movies.” She shrugged and continued, “We’ll load up the snacks and watch movies while we snark at how awful the characters are.”

“You’re the best sister in the world,” I said as I hurried forward to give her a hug.

“And yet you spoke to Phoebe first.”

Her fake offense had me smiling. “She called as I was getting in the elevator. You know how she is.”

“I do.” She nodded. “So, was it awful?”

We walked arm in arm toward the kitchen. She went to the pantry while I opened the fridge.

“I hurt him,” I said, facing the open refrigerator. She didn’t need to see my face to hear the anguish in my voice. I never wanted to be the cause of someone’s pain.

“He’s a big boy. He’ll get over it.”

“Thanks,” I deadpanned over my shoulder. I shook my head at her tinkling laughter.

“You know what I mean. It will all work out the way it is supposed to.” Her muffled voice from the back of the pantry was right. I knew that. But it would take time before I let her words settle into my heart.

When I turned around, her arms were filled with bags of chips and sugary treats. It was a secret stash kept only for emergencies. One our brother had never discovered.

We quickly made our way to the media room, snuggled up together on the couch under a thick blanket, and turned on the first movie. We took a selfie and sent it to Phoebe, telling her how much we missed her and wished she were here.

She sent us back a picture of her snuggled up on Shaw’s chest and said she was glad she wasn’t. Athena and I both smiled and sent her back emoji’s with heart eyes.

We were so happy for our baby sister. She’d had so much tragedy and heartache, but now she was exactly where she should be. With the love of her life. And a child on the way.

After the attack she suffered in college that took their little boy, my sister was left barren. She had needed a hysterectomy to save her life. But the extended family she found among the Sons of Hell in Virginia was something none of us expected.

Sure, Dimeter loved his brothers, and they were there anytime he needed them. But their wives were a different breed. Sarah Montclair, wife of the vice president Cord Montclair, known as Gunner, had offered to be a surrogate for Phoebe and Shaw.

She was pregnant with their second child. A child that would never replace the son they lost but would fill their lives with something that had been missing.

My hand went over my belly and I wondered if I would ever experience that same joy. Would my soulmate want children? Did Duncan? Releasing a heavy sigh, I laid my head on Athena’s shoulder and settled in to watch movies.

“Everything will work out the way it is supposed to,” she reiterated.

“I know. I just can’t help but wonder if what is supposed to be will line up with what I want.”

What I wanted was a family of my own. I wanted a husband who looked at me the way Shaw looked at Phoebe. The way Dimeter looked at Henley.

The way my dad still looked at my mom.

And I wanted children. Lots of them. I wanted a house full of love and laughter.

I wanted to carry on the Malpas legacy. Our last names would be different, but the love of my family wasn’t in our name.

It was in our ways. It was the way we raised our children with love and support, and the encouragement to follow our own paths, whatever they might be.

“Trust in your path, Freyja. It won’t always be fun, or happy. Sometimes it will be hard. Sometimes it will hurt. But everything we do, everything we experience, makes us who we are. And who we are gets us to where we need to be.”

Athena was right. I knew everything she said. Had given those same words, in my own way of course, to others. Why was it so hard to take comfort in the words that comforted others?

Why was it hard to accept that my path was my path, whether I veered from it or stuck to it religiously? It was still my path and it would take me where I needed to go.

The problem was, I wanted it to take me back to Duncan.