Page 29 of Sweet Deception (Irish Kings #4)

Chapter Twenty-Six

I pray Darren can’t see the way my entire being quakes when he reveals they’ve discovered my communications with women from mob families. God only knows how damning the evidence against me must seem.

I never imagined the Kings might be researching me the same way I’ve been researching them. I never once dreamed they’d be good enough to hack me back.

My mind spins out of control in a merry-go-round of frazzled, fragmented thoughts. I force myself to focus on Darren’s eyes. His strong hands grip mine, and I inhale, hold, and exhale to ground myself. “I can prove it.”

Gulping down one last knot of panic, I attempt to square my shoulders and sit up tall.

“Prove what?”

“That I only helped them disappear. That I know nothing about their pasts.” I want to stand up and pace, but I’m still frozen to the spot. “I have records showing exactly what services I provided. They’re back at my apartment.”

An almost accusatory silence falls between us.

Darren must believe I’m making this up to try and trick him into taking me home.

His hands squeeze mine. “We still have time.”

Wait, what’s happening right now? Does that mean…he actually believes me?

“Come on.” He stands and pulls me with him, lacing his fingers through mine while folding the laptop underneath his other arm. “We’ve got to get to your apartment and get the proof before Shane and my father arrive. That’s our best bet at keeping you alive and unharmed.”

Before I can agree, Darren picks up Piro and leads me to the front door.

Out in the evening light, the sun dwindles through the trees. We hasten to his Aston Martin parked haphazardly in the driveway, and just like that, we’re gone.

The trip back to Bushwick takes less than an hour, especially since Darren drives like a damn lunatic. I spend the trip cuddling Piro in my lap and sneaking glimpses at Darren’s serious features. Every glimpse restokes the fire from earlier.

I glance away quickly, heat pooling in my cheeks.

Bozhe moy , I could slap myself.

Darren’s boss and father , of all people, might be coming to kill me within the next few hours, and I need to give them a reason not to.

Instead, I’m busy reminiscing about the way Darren held me so close that I cried.

How he melded his body into mine with such tenderness that the connection we share became undeniable.

I want to fold my knees to my chest, bury my face, and scream.

This is so nerve-racking.

I’m in so far over my head, I’m suffocating.

I know I’m going to drown. But I can’t allow myself to fall apart.

I won’t. Not until I find Lucy and bring her home.

She’s my lifeline, the only thread left that ties me to my sanity, to the person I was before I crashed that wedding and free-fell into Darren’s life.

Eventually, he slides into a parking space on my block, and we’re both out of the car in seconds, jogging toward the entrance to my building with Piro tucked under my shirt.

The sun isn’t visible anymore, though darkness hasn’t yet fully swallowed the colorful sky above us.

The streetlights are just blinking to life, and honestly, I hardly recognize the place.

Seems impossible that the last time I was here, purple fog filled the air and men with guns wanted to drag me off to whatever hell awaits the women who fall into their clutches.

I take the stairs with Darren hot on my heels. He catches up, and I can feel the tension in the arm he snakes around my back as we climb. He’s supporting my weight, probably to relieve pressure from my ankle.

The thoughtfulness of that gesture overwhelms me.

I’m so stupidly touched that I can’t even thank him.

The door is splintered near the knob where Darren kicked it in. As soon as we cross the threshold, the familiar scent of my two-bedroom space washes over me.

My tiny square foyer only fits a few people, with the archway that connects to the kitchen on our left and my living room on our right. Past the living room, a short hallway leads to the guest bedroom, the bathroom, and my bedroom.

I make a beeline for the guest bedroom, and Darren sticks to me like a shadow.

“Is that a biometric scanner?”

“Yes,” I breathe while pressing my thumb on it. “I keep all my high-security files in here.”

The scanner beeps, I open the door, and we both step into my official home office. Teal walls. A small circular rug in the center. Two filing cabinets. An extra-long desk, and a multi-monitor setup.

“I’m guessing this is your command central.” Darren does nothing to mask the amazement in his voice as he peers around.

“Right again.” I hurry to the cabinets, unlock them, and carefully pull free the files I need.

He follows me to my desk as I lay the folders flat. “This is proof?”

“Yes.” I spread them out and hold one up, opening it for him to peruse. “Carefully anonymized records of women I’ve assisted. The digital trails I erased, the new identities I created, everything.”

He thumbs through the pages, eyes scanning at laser speed.

“Nothing about family operations,” I continue while he skims. “Just escape routes and fresh starts.”

Darren lifts another folder from the desk and checks through it. “This is good, Nika.” He rifles through another one, and one more after. “Really good. This definitely proves your innocence.”

Do I hear relief vibrating in his voice?

“Darren.” My heart thumps against my ribs. “Why are you trying to help me?”

He glances at my monitors. “Do you have digital versions of these files?”

“Of course.”

“Download the evidence to this.” He produces a small flash drive from his pocket. “Now. We don’t have much time.”

I nip the drive from his fingers, fire up my mainframe, and do as he instructs.

Seeing him so matter-of-fact and businesslike only puts me more on edge.

We must really be in trouble here.

Of course we are. In trouble.

The head of the Irish Kings Mafia wants to interrogate me, and Darren’s father does too. I wonder what the man’s like. If he’s an even more terrifying version of his son, I doubt I’ll survive whatever’s next unscathed.

Just as the download finishes, Darren’s phone shrills, making me jump out of my seat. He’s standing so close to me that when he answers the call, I can hear the person on the other end.

“Son, where the fuck are you?”

My eyes snap to Darren’s face. Even Piro pops out of my shirt to gaze at him. Something in his father’s voice tightens his jaw as he quickly explains the situation and insists we’re on our way back.

On that last sentence, he shoots me an easy-to-read look. We’re out of here.

I hand him the drive, now fully loaded with the proof we came for, and we duck out of my office. Darren marches toward the door, but without knowing how long I’ll be away from home, I rush into my bedroom for my grandmother’s music box next to the bed?—

Out of nowhere, an enormous hand slams over my mouth.

A strangled scream escapes me as I’m dragged backward by an assailant I can’t see, his heavy breath hot on my shoulder.

Darren positions himself in front of me. “ Don’t move ,” he warns.

I hold still and clutch Piro to my chest as Darren whips a gun from his waistline. He fires. I don’t even have time to flinch before the bullet whizzes past the left side of my face and connects with its target.

The hand on my mouth and the arm coiled around me fall away as the man collapses to the floor. I stand paralyzed yet trembling.

A huge thud shakes the apartment’s foundation when my assailant hits the ground. Trembling, I stare at Darren with unblinking eyes. He lowers his weapon but doesn’t put it away.

Before a single coherent word passes my lips, alarm rearranges his features. “Nika, get down and run!”

Gunfire erupts through my bedroom window. I dive into the hall toward my living room. Adrenaline blinds me as I smack into the glass-top side table next to my couch.

With a cry, I crumple, protecting Piro as the table comes down with me, shattering against the ground. I sprawl out on the hardwood floor, head spinning. Agony sears through me, but I’m too disoriented to clock the source.

Sights and sounds reach my mind in slow motion.

In the hall, Darren exchanges gunfire with a second assailant, maybe more. I’m not sure because I can’t see.

They must be the same guys who came for me the last time.

And Darren’s rescuing me again in this horrible déjà vu scenario.

The skirmish doesn’t last long. Soon, my protector comes flying into the living room and finds me on the floor. “We have to leave. Troy and his goons have returned.”

“Let’s go.” I start to push myself up, but my leg buckles and I cry out in pain.

My left leg. My sweats are ripped, and glass shards from the side table cut up my thigh. I’m not bleeding much yet, but walking might prove difficult.

Darren must be thinking the same thing, because he scoops me up in his arms princess-style and hoists me off the floor.

Instinctively, my arms circle his neck. He carries me through the front door and into the hallway.

“Emergency stairwell?” His eyes dart down the hall, probably searching for anyone else who’d like to kill us this evening. Maybe they took numbers, like my grandmother used to at the deli counter.

I tighten my arms, wondering if my mind’s starting to grow hazy. “Around the corner to your right.”

Darren jogs down the hall toward the big, partially rusted metal door with the red EMERGENCY EXIT sign hanging overhead.

He kicks it open, and then we’re descending through the dim, muggy darkness of the stairwell, faulty motion-sensor lights flickering on as he takes the steps two at a time with his long legs.