Page 30 of Sweet Deception (Irish Kings #4)

Being carried downstairs in the dark is a different kind of scary than I’m used to, but for some reason, I trust Darren completely.

I squeeze my eyes shut whenever he does something especially dangerous, like jumping down the last several stairs onto the final landing before we reach the exit on the ground floor.

But otherwise? The man could pass for a hot firefighter, and I’ve never felt safer in anyone’s arms.

We sweep out into the night, Darren keeping close to the edge of the building as we creep around toward the car. Our heads swivel left and right, searching for more guests, but there’s no one.

“Troy must’ve had a small detail watching your apartment in case you came back.” Darren darts to his car, opens the passenger side door, and gently deposits Piro and me on the seat.

He hops over the hood in one fluid leap-slide and is back behind the wheel in seconds.

Darren is so mesmerizing… That, or I’m way too out of it, nerves fried from shock, fear, and maybe a concussion if I hit my head.

But either way, I barely notice the sharp pain in my throbbing thigh until he glances down and grimaces.

He whips us onto the street, and we hightail it out of the area, but it doesn’t seem like we’re headed back the way we came.

“We need to get you to a hospital.” Darren’s grip on the wheel tightens. His voice sounds rough and angry.

“No!” I blurt. His eyes find mine, and my heart leaps when I register tenderness folded into his harsh gaze.

“I’m okay. Really. I’ll be fine. We need to get back to the safe house and meet with Shane and your dad.

If we’re late, they might take it the wrong way.

” I’m not sure if the words tumbling from my mouth are coherent.

“I don’t want you to be in any trouble.”

Darren just gawks at me, ignoring the road completely for a few seconds, before he slides a graceful hand down his face and yanks the car into a sudden, sharp right turn. “How bad does it hurt?”

“Not that bad.” The lie comes easily.

The truth—that I hate hospitals, that they remind me too much of everyone I’ve lost—would’ve been far more difficult to admit, even in a situation as wild as this.

“Open the glove compartment,” he instructs as we merge onto an interstate headed away from the city.

I find a plastic first aid kit with more supplies than I’m expecting.Gauze, needles, medical thread, antiseptic, sterilization materials… The list goes on.

My mouth opens before I can think. “You must’ve had a lot of close calls.”

“Something like that.” His voice darkens. “Clean yourself up.”

As carefully as possible, I use the medical tweezers to remove the tiny punctuation-sized bits of glass dust stuck to my thigh and the sweatpants around it.

Then, I sanitize the cuts with disinfectant, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out from the burn.

Once that’s done, I apply balm and bandages.

Darren remains quiet, his eyes on the windshield.

Piro peeks his head out of my shirt again to watch, but the little guy instinctually knows he can’t curl up on my lap right now.

After I return the first aid kit to the glove compartment, Darren reaches for my hand and squeezes it.

Was he waiting to do that all this time?

I only have a moment to wonder before the safe house driveway comes into view.

Darren races onto the property, barely slowing down enough to get past the security checkpoints along the way. Once we’ve driven through the final gate, I spot an unfamiliar car parked in front of the house.

Ominous, dark, and outfitted with black-tinted windows that are completely opaque. I bet I couldn’t see inside it even with my nose to the glass.

My heart drops down into my stomach.

Darren parks without a word about what to expect. Maybe he doesn’t know either. He skirts the hood and opens the door for me, guiding me out of the car.

I’m limping a little because of my thigh, but he steadies me as we walk toward the entrance.

I start to whisper before he opens the door. “Darren?—”

“Just let me do the talking.” His voice is rough.

Maybe he’s afraid of what’s about to happen. I sure am.

Inside, we’re greeted by two armed guards.

They’re larger than life, both thick as tree trunks and overstuffed in their black suits. Standing side by side, they completely obscure the view of the rest of the house. Their stares are so stone-cold, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were born with them.

The guards scrutinize us for a few seconds before backing up just enough to allow us into the den. I let Piro out of my shirt so he can go eat or curl up on a couch and just relax after all that craziness.

My heart’s pounding in my ears when we walk into the room, where I lay eyes on Shane Gallagher and Darren’s father for the first time.

It’s impossible not to notice Shane first. He’s tall, wide, and imposing, sucking up all the air in the room like a vacuum.

His long, angular face is scarred and scowling.

His slate gray eyes shine even in the harsh lighting of this homey little den.

Rough stubble covers the lower half of his face, and hair that I suspect used to be red sits graying on his scalp.

He stands by the windows, hands clutching a long walking staff that I’m guessing he doesn’t need for anything other than intimidating his enemies. I’m also guessing that it works, every time, like a charm.

Even if I hadn’t researched the Kings before infiltrating that wedding, I would’ve clocked him as the head of their mafia at a glance. The palpable power he wields is evident even when he stands quiet and motionless, without an ounce of amusement or warmth on his face.

Seated on the couch behind Shane is, I presume, Darren’s father.

Donal. They share a few similarities but don’t really look all that alike to my eye.

Although, they’re both handsome men. A trim, shapely beard clings to Donal’s face as well, and when Piro leaps onto the couch, he traces my kitty’s spine while the furry little traitor stretches and shimmies against him.

Well, now I know where Darren gets his animal touch…

Donal sets Piro down on the couch and rises. Maybe I’m imagining the way Darren steps between us, almost shielding me from their view. Is he really trying to protect me? Even when the most important men in his life are watching?

This is the worst time in the world for butterflies to take flight inside me, but that’s exactly what happens.

I expect the men to greet us or appraise me somehow. To make threats. Something. But the awful silence drags on, Darren locked in some kind of silent exchange with his father. Finally, he shoves a hand into his pocket.

“I have the evidence right here.” He produces the flash drive and crosses the room to the television situated above the mantel.

He does a few techy things I can’t see, with impressive speed and precision, and soon, my secure files are on the screen for everyone here to peruse.

Piro hops down from the couch and trots toward me. Bless him. Maybe he can tell how much I need the support. I scoop the little guy up in my arms and clutch him close as Darren presents the proof to his boss and his father. I wasn’t gathering intel on anyone. Just helping women. End of story.

But the truth doesn’t seem to penetrate the men’s staunch, displeased states.

With terrifying gravitas, Shane swings toward me, his needling glare raking me up and down. Every instinct in me screams to back up, but I force myself to hold my ground.

“So, you make women disappear.” His voice is a gravelly, rough rasp. Lifelong smoker for sure.

I nod but don’t speak.

“You help women who aren’t yours to touch.” His accusatory tone is sharp enough to draw blood. “That makes you a threat.”

“With all due respect, women are people. Not property.” The words leave my mouth before I remember that correcting a leader of one of the most powerful crime families in New York isn’t the smartest idea.

Surprisingly, Shane Gallagher offers me a wide, wicked smile. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Veronika Kotova. You’re going to walk away. Get back to your life. We’ll handle Red Hill. And if you’re smart, you’ll stay the fuck away from this family. Or we’ll have to take care of you.”

His visceral threats cause my teeth to clamp shut on their own.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Darren start to speak, but the slightest shake of his father’s head stops him.

Shane slams the tip of his staff into the hardwood floor, recapturing all the attention in the room. “It goes without saying that you’re also going to stay away from my nephew.”

Nephew? My eyes slip to Darren’s. He’s this terrible, dangerous man’s nephew? And he didn’t think to mention that?

Darren’s intense eyes meet mine and a feeling of helplessness passes between us.

“Last chance, Kotova,” Shane growls. “Take the deal.”

Everything in me wants to object—these men don’t understand that Lucy’s life hangs in the balance—but Darren’s tortured expression convinces me to keep quiet.

I don’t nod, but I don’t argue either.

Darren pipes up after another moment of tense silence. “Until Troy’s dealt with, we should keep her here at the safe house. For our protection and hers.”

Shane doesn’t acknowledge his nephew’s request. “Let’s go.”

I step aside as Shane, Donal, and Darren funnel through the den’s entryway.

Wait. They’re…just going to leave me here?

The only people who don’t budge from their places are the armed guards in the hallway. I throw an anxious glance at Darren, but he only stares back at me for a moment before following his uncle through the front door.

Before the three killers disappear, I catch a stony-faced Donal studying his son.

A second later, I find myself completely and utterly alone.