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STAR

PLEASE DON’T SAY YOU LOVE ME - GAbrIELLE ARLIN

I’d known we’d be able to pick them off quickly, but there was always a fear that something could go wrong—it had before—and there was always a fear when you had someone you loved in on the action that they could get hurt.

In this instance, not only was Conor on the ground with me, the only man I’d ever loved, but D was too. She was my BFF and the singular person in this world, until Conor, who accepted me—warts, verrucas, zits, and all.

Knowing we were safe for the moment, I sagged with relief against the wall where I was positioned beneath a window. But the relief was quickly replaced with amusement.

From this vantage point, as the men started rolling around on the ground, trying to put out the flames— seriously, only Troy —I watched them shriek as the fire tore them apart.

Was there a more satisfying sight than seeing men who’d wanted you dead burning alive?

Nope.

D cackled in my ear, clearly enjoying the show as much as I.

When we had two barbecued Sparrows in the front yard, I asked, “Conor? Visuals?”

“Both sets of gates are blown apart. There’s no way of securing them.”

“We need out of here then,” Troy grumbled. “Fucking serve your country and this is the thanks you goddamn get.”

Ignoring her mutterings, because, hell, each of us had served in our own way so she wasn’t the only person to have made sacrifices for Uncle Sam, I inquired, “No one else is incoming?”

“Nope. She’s got cameras along her perimeter and the only area that’s busy is the party out front.”

“Good.” Acknowledging that we were safe for the moment, I let the news sink in. “Troy? Get your ass in here and pack whatever you need. You’re coming with us.”

“I’d prefer to go deep undercover.”

“I’m sure you would,” D said smoothly. “But can you go in deep if you’re hauling a kid around with you? Seeing as you apparently have a daughter…”

Technically, you could . I’d done it myself but not everyone had an ex in an MC that had severe authority issues. I was just lucky that way, I guessed.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Troy’s response told me two things. One, that she did indeed have a daughter, which was insane to me. Christ, not just insane, but impossible.

Second, that she wouldn’t give us any shit about coming with—the woman could bicker at her reflection in the bathroom so I wouldn’t have put it past her.

We were allies and had worked together in the past, but she was so far down the rabbit hole that even friends were foes.

I got it.

So, I didn’t judge and wanted to help, but you could only help people who wanted it and Troy rarely did.

Stomping into the house like a five-year-old, grumbling with each step, I watched her until she disappeared, then I climbed to my feet and leaned against the wall.

We were safe.

Conor was safe.

Relief made the starch in my knees disappear.

“Come to me, Star.”

The words were whispered for me alone, and amid D and Troy’s sniping, I heard them and felt them settle in deep.

Straight to my bones.

Etching them with his name.

Giving me the strength to hunt him down.

I strode from the bedroom that I’d selected as my secondary nest and I rushed into the hall. It was a big place, so it took me rounding a few corners before I found him, a gun, and his computer gear scattered on the floor nearby.

Beside him, Troy was knocking on the door to what I assumed was a safe room, and his curiosity had him watching her while also looking down the hallway for me to show up.

When he spotted me, his curiosity faded and he gravitated toward me as quickly as I did him.

We rushed into one another’s arms, holding each other tightly, enough that it hurt. Tight enough that I’d bruise. Tight enough that I’d still feel his embrace when he let go.

“We’ll see tomorrow,” he whispered in my ear.

I closed my eyes and nodded. “I knew we would but…”

“But…,” he agreed.

We both knew nothing was guaranteed in this life.

My cell buzzed.

“Mom!”

The pair of us slackened our embrace at the sound of a little girl’s voice.

Head whipping around, I watched as Troy, the woman who could lure any mark in like a siren before snapping their necks, sank to her knees and clung to the child as fiercely as the girl clung to her.

“Troy can’t have children.” It was the only thing I could think to say. Not when she didn’t have the computer skills like I did to fake an ID to foster/adopt a kid and definitely not after Beijing.

“Why can’t she?” he asked, his gaze on the child who’d come from somewhere .

“Accident in Beijing,” D stated, stepping up beside us to watch what, I had to admit, was a touching display of affection between a very small, undersized almost, little girl and a woman I considered to be a psychopath.

Yes, that was the kettle calling the pot black, but that was how bad Troy was—she made me look sane.

The kid was sobbing in Troy’s embrace, and I winced at the sight because it reminded me too much of Katina.

My sister-in-arms hushed and soothed her, then she shifted back and cupped the girl’s cheeks before saying, “You did so good, LyLy. You stayed where I wanted you to stay, and you only came out with the code word.”

Shivers rushed down my spine at the nickname.

LyLy—abbreviated for Lyra?

“I was so scared,” the little girl whimpered, sniffling as she shuddered with fear.

“I know and I’m so sorry you had to experience that. I told you, no one, no one , will ever take you from me, didn’t I?”

I got the feeling the words weren’t just for LyLy, but for us too.

“You did,” she whispered, her bird-like arms scooping around Troy’s neck who hauled her into her chest and hefted her up so she was carrying the child.

With a stony glare, she turned to us and stated, “I’m going to assume you have somewhere you want us to stay?”

Us .

“Troy, who is she?” D inquired, her tone calm.

“My daughter.” Then, defiantly, she growled, “Lyra.”

Conor gently squeezed my hip as we got our confirmation.

“Why did they want the girl?” D continued, her questions gentle.

“You already know why. Don’t pretend that you don’t know what happened in Ohio,” she snapped.

“Why didn’t you change her name?” I inquired, perplexed.

“Outside these walls, she’s Lee, LyLy to her friends. She’s mine now. Mine , do you hear me, Star?

“No one will take her from me. Not the goddamn Sparrows, not fucking Jorgmundgander.”

Lyra shivered in her arms, hearing the words, her fear becoming a visceral thing—and I needed to ease that.

“I have no intention of taking her from you, Troy. I’m neither with the Sparrows nor Jorgmundgander,” I told her softly. “But the girl in Ohio, in that car, I am her cousin and…”

Troy’s mouth firmed into a stark line of rejection. “No.”

“Yes, I am. Our grandfather is the reason I’m here. I didn’t know about him or her until this week.”

“He can’t have her,” she spat, shuffling back a step, but she was hemmed in, and I had to reckon that that only augmented her fear.

“He can’t have her,” I agreed, watching as some of the tension in her shoulders relaxed. “He only wanted to know if she was being looked after. He was scared that she was in a foster home or something. That she was without a family when family wanted her.”

“And he only started searching for her now?” she hissed. “Some fucking grandfather he is. He cares , does he?

"Who was the one who held her through the nightmares and who comforted her when she wept? Who got her through her surgeries and who?—”

“Her surgeries?” Conor questioned tensely. “She’s ill?”

“No. After her… after ,” she said, tone blunt, “she ran into traffic to escape. She got knocked over.”

“They tried to find her in the hospitals.”

“I have contacts,” she muttered, telling us without words that a black-site hospital had been used to help Lyra through her injuries.

Black-site hospitals were only accessible while serving in the CIA actively, which she hadn’t been doing because she was working with Jorgmundgander.

I frowned at the news though, asking, “Since when did you have those kinds of contacts?”

She scowled at me. “Since when were you so nosy?”

D tilted her head to the side. “I thought that was bullshit about you being involved with the ?elas.”

Troy stiffened. “Don’t even think about saying that name under this roof.”

“?ela,” D taunted, hands plunked on her hips as if she baited a pissed-off lion.

The other woman growled, but I snapped, “Less of the infighting. Who are the ?elas?”

When Conor chuckled, I scowled at being the only one left in the dark. “You are Helen, aren’t you? Elena ?ela?”

I demanded, “Who’s that?”

“Albanian Mob. Big in Kentucky and have been for the last twenty or so years.”

Kentucky ?

He heard my unasked question. “Massive presence in racehorses but small fry in the scheme of things.”

“Race fixing?”

“That, but deeper too. They own massive stables and have a stud and everything.” I sensed his curiosity at this revelation. “Elena was the daughter of Altin ?ela. It was like that whole Shergar situation in Ireland.”

“The what with the what now?” I queried.

“Shergar was a horse who got stolen by a gang of armed thieves in County Kildare. Well, the same thing happened here. Only Kelmendi, a prize-winning stallion, got snatched but the daughter did too. The horse was found dead; the daughter was not found.”

Troy, who’d grown steadily more stony throughout this conversation, ground out, “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“The things you freakin’ learn about people,” D muttered, shaking her head in surprise. “Anyway, we need to get going just in case a host of Sparrows come flocking once they realize we’re not dead and their dudes are.”

“I don’t want to go,” Lyra wailed, clutching desperately at Troy.

Troy’s gaze collided with mine and I appeased, “We wish neither of you any harm, Troy. If anything, we came here to help.”

“Sounds like you helped Ovianar,” Troy rumbled.

“You don’t know what happened there,” I spat.

O's passing was going to be an open wound for a very long time and now, barely an hour after I got the news, wasn’t the moment to be shoving it in my face.

“I know that you left her to fend for herself because if you hadn’t, she wouldn’t be dead.”

The guilt—fuck, the guilt had me leaning back into Conor for support.

As he always seemed to, he gave me that without any question, without any hesitation.

His hand, still on my hip, was a gentle pressure, and I whispered, “I-I didn’t think…”

“You don’t, do you, Lodestar? That’s your problem. You don’t think.”

“That’s enough,” Conor snapped. “We did let Ovianar down. I accept that. We shouldn’t have left her unprotected, and that’s on us, but we’re trying to do the opposite here and you giving us shit is just wasting time and putting you and your daughter in danger.

“If you can’t see that, then you’re the one with the problem. Let’s stop what happened to Ovianar from happening to you.”

Her nostrils flared but she dipped her chin in reluctant agreement.

“Go and get packed,” D prompted. “We have no way of knowing when/if you can return.”

Lyra started sobbing again at that, keying us into the fact she was absorbing shit she shouldn’t be listening to at her age.

Clucking her tongue, Troy soothed her as she escaped to a bedroom. Inside, I heard the sounds of doors opening and drawers rattling and banging as if suitcases were being dropped onto the floor.

Turning to them both, I rasped, “We did let Ovianar down.”

Conor graced me with a sharp nod. “We did.”

Dead To Me sighed. “Wish I could disagree, but I can’t.”

My heart hurt. Literally hurt. Ovianar and I hadn’t been the best of friends, but she’d been there for me when I needed her and I’d failed to do the same. Failed in the most basic act of friendship.

“Is Minerva in danger?” D asked, watching as Conor squatted down to double-check the cameras on Troy’s estate then dug around in his pocket, which rustled with every tweak of his fingers.

Only fuck knew what he kept in there along with the dozen packets of candy he had in storage ‘just in case the world tasted too bitter’ for me.

At that moment, I could have drowned in sugar and it wouldn’t have been enough.

“Could be,” I muttered. “We should get someone to help her. She has the Four Horsemen as backup…”

“Once they learn Ovianar is dead, they’re going to be pissed and I’m sure they’ll help her out,” D agreed. “But I think Reggie is there, isn’t she?”

I rubbed my brow. “I don’t know. I haven’t kept in touch with the old crowd as much as you.”

“Want me to see if she’s in London and if she can help?”

“Thanks, D. I’d appreciate it.”

She squeezed my shoulder. “This isn’t on you, Star. This BS has been a festering wound since it happened, and you know how it rolls. Just because you survive a job intact, doesn’t mean that it won’t come and bite you on the ass at some point in the future.”

“She had a kid,” I whispered miserably.

“And it sucks. But it’s not on you. It’s on the Sparrows. In the future, we’ll work hard to make sure that there’s no collateral damage.

"However, in this, Ovianar’s been a dead woman for a long time.” Her gaze drifted to the open door of the bedroom where Troy was packing up her things. “So’s Troy if she won’t stop being stubborn and won’t let us help her keep those addled brains of hers inside her skull.”

Not allowing me to reply, she strode a few steps away, pulled out her cell, and put in a call to Reggie, AKA Regina. Before my forced sabbatical back in Afghanistan, she’d been our CO.

Remembering my cell had buzzed earlier, I checked my notifications.

Savannah: I need you

Fear burrowed into my soul.

Me: What’s wrong?

Me: Is it Kat? Is she okay?

Savannah: Sure she is. She’s eating with Shay and Victoria.

Thank fuck for that.

Me: Then what’s the problem? And don’t scare me like that!

Savannah: Didn’t mean to. I need you to tell Aidan that you won’t get Conor killed.

My brows lifted.

Me: Are you drunk?

Savannah: Maybe a little.

Me: FML

Me: I won’t get Conor killed.

Me: He’s still alive.

I snapped a shot of him and sent it to her. At Conor’s frown, I muttered, “Apparently, Aidan thinks I’m going to get you killed.”

“They have such little faith in me,” he grumbled.

“I think I’m the problem.”

Me: See? Alive.

Savannah: Then why is he telling Aidan that Dagda’s been shot?

Me: Because he has been.

Me: But Conor hasn’t. Look, I have to go. Sober up or you’ll have a killer headache in the morning.

Savannah: I don’t know why but I’m glad you’re back.

Me: I can feel your love across the state.

Savannah: Good. Bitch. Now, answer my other texts.

Ignoring her last message and turning to Conor, I let loose a heavy exhalation. “Everything okay?”

“No one’s incoming. We’re still safe.”

“Good. That’s a relief.”

He snagged my hand and, with the other, tucked something into my fingers, saying, “Here.”

My lips twitched at the candy corn he’d slipped me. As I eyed the bag that he rattled like a maraca, I asked, “This is to keep me perked up?”

“Fitting considering what just happened.” Something slithered into his eyes, something that had me accepting the candy and popping it between my lips.

“I don’t want you to say yes or no,” he murmured. “I just want you to wear something for me. Would you do that?”

“What is it?” was my wary reply.

Conor snorted. “It’s not a gimp suit or anything like that.”

I rolled my eyes. “Good to know.”

His hand was back in his pocket but this time, he retrieved a small box. A very small, very velvet-covered box.

Eyes wide, I watched as he opened it and without any ceremony, took my hand and slipped the ring onto my finger.

My mouth worked as I studied the unusual piece of jewelry, a very unobvious engagement ring, then I whispered, “Why now?”

“Because we’ll have a tomorrow and I don't want to spend it with anyone but you.”

The words were simple, and in his eyes, there was a warmth that blasted some of the frost settling in my bones that had started to form after learning of O’s death.

Heartburn.

Major fucking heartburn.

I rubbed my thumb over the emerald in the setting. “You were just carrying this around? By chance?”

“Not exactly by chance,” he dismissed. “Da gave it to me in his will. It’s been in the family for a long time.”

“It was your ma’s?”

“No. My grandmother didn’t like Ma.” So, she had great taste then. “Normally, she would have given it to Da when he proposed, but she didn’t give it to him until she died as part of her estate.”

That had my brows lifting. “He gave it to you? Not Aidan Jr.?”

“No. He seemed to think…” His words waned, then he shrugged. “It’s mine and I want you to have it.”

I stared at the strangely antique setting. It was a cabochon emerald with a woman’s face etched into the stone. The cameo was still fresh despite its antiquity, while the yellow gold had scratches from wear and tear.

It wasn’t me at all.

Yet… I loved it.

“Who’s the woman?” I asked softly.

“There’s a story there,” he promised, “and one day, I’ll tell you. But not yet, okay?”

“Why not? Was she the first highwaywoman in Ireland or something?”

His lips curved. “No, nothing like that.”

“That smile says it’s exactly like that.”

Glee flashed in his eyes but his words were lofty: “You’ll find out someday. Will you wear it?”

I could have leveraged the story for a promise to wear the damn thing, but no part of me wanted to hand it back to him.

We both knew what it meant. We both knew that it represented the future. We both knew that I was nowhere near ready for marriage. Yet, it bound me to him in a way that would cement ties with his family.

“Why didn’t you give this to me earlier?” I rumbled, not annoyed, just intrigued.

His brothers’ third degree hadn’t been painful, had, in fact, made me respect them. Not only because they cared for Conor, but because they were aware of my past and knew that it made me as slippery as an eel.

I appreciated a smart man—Conor was proof of that—but I enjoyed it more when men knew to tread carefully around me. Especially deadly men like the O’Donnellys.

“Because it wasn’t the right time.”

Frowning, I shot a look at the laptop screen where mangled corpses lay out in Troy’s front yard for the whole world to see. “And this is the right time?”

He shot me a grin. “I think it sums us up perfectly, don’t you?”

“I’ll—”

“Some women get fancy meals at restaurants, some get elaborate proposals on bridges over a river in the springtime, but you get a bloodbath, Star,” D drawled. “He clearly knows you too well.”

My nose crinkled as I elbowed her, but my own smile was sheepish as I admitted, “He does.”

She snagged my hand and stared at it. “Who’s the broad?”

“An ancient O’Donnelly,” was all I said.

“How ancient?”

“The ring’s three hundred years old but she's not an O'Donnelly,” Conor answered as he started collecting his things and packing them in the case which he shoved at D. “Hold this. I don’t want to put my laptop away until we’re off this farm.”

“Smart thinking,” I agreed. “We need to make sure they can’t ambush us.”

“Fuckers,” he rumbled.

“I think this is proof that Garry Smythe and David Foundry know we’re onto them,” D concurred. “So, what are our next steps?”

“They need to die,” I said simply.

D nodded. “Affirmative. What about Dagda?”

“I sent my brothers a message before the siege?—”

“I know,” I interrupted wryly.

“—I haven’t received any updates yet, but I can call once we’re on the road.”

Troy interrupted our conversation by striding out of the bedroom and heading into a different one. Lyra’s hand clutched at hers as she tugged her along with surprising gentleness for a natural-born stomper.

Lyra’s chin was tucked into her chest, her face tilted away so that we couldn’t see her expression. The only thing I noticed was that her hair was a beautiful golden-caramel color.

My cousin.

My blood.

My fingers curled into fists, nails burrowing into my palms.

Conor’s hand cupped my shoulder. “No one will get to her or Katina, Star.”

“I know they fucking won’t.”

Not without losing their brains to my bullet first.