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LOCHLAN

S itting behind Draco's huge desk with his responsibilities weighing on my shoulders isn't exactly my idea of a mission, but after losing my cool one too many times in previous assignments, my brother, the chief, thinks I need to take a step back. I scowl at the mess of files on the desk and massage the bridge of my nose. Who'd have thought I'd be the one benched? I'm the only one professionally trained to do the jobs Ronan needs done.

"Evie!" I boom and sit back in the chair with a sigh. The first thing I am going to ask is who the fuck is responsible for cleaning up this mess, because a man in Draco's position shouldn’t be pushing paperwork like this. He should have people for that. And I should be out there on the street where the O'Leary boys are headed to do the real fighting, not stuck behind his desk covering his ass.

The door pushes open, but instead of it being Evie as I expect, it's Draco himself, Ronan's new right-hand man, a replacement after his last one was gunned down in cold blood a few months ago. I swipe my hand over my face to mask the frustration I've let creep back into my expression and stand.

"Ready?" he asks, and I nod as I stand.

"Can't be that hard, right? I'm not actually making decisions, just being a talking head in this office to make sure they all do their jobs." I glance around the small office feeling very out of place. The wood paneling with bulletin boards chalk full of notes and flyers make this place feel straight out of the nineties. It's like Draco runs an old-school setup even with all the latest technology at his fingertips.

"Well, come on, then." He gestures at me to follow him, and I round the desk. Pretending to be okay riding a desk is harder than I thought it would be. My days of hunting down criminals in Afghanistan are long over, and even as an enforcer here in Dublin since I've returned home, I've been on the prowl, pushing back my family's enemies and keeping our territory safe. Until now.

"We'll go through the offices first and then the warehouse, so you can get a feel for everything." Draco speaks as he walks, passing through the main office space where heads are down or staring at their computers. I'm in charge of fewer than a dozen people here, but also more than seven hundred other staff and union members across the city. While I don’t know the ins and outs of how unions work, that's not really why I'm here.

Evelyn, Draco's only daughter, will handle the bulk of the legitimate work being done. She knows what's going on and can handle that. What I'm here for is to keep the rest of the operation running smoothly, which is why I'm taking this little tour.

"Of course, you met the gang here," Draco says, pausing near the doorway that leads out to the outer office and the elevators down to the warehouse. "We have fourteen more staff, recruitment offices downstairs, and three other offices around the city to handle member affairs." He nods at Evelyn, who is timidly standing by her desk, probably on her feet to heed my call.

"I'll be right back, and then you can help me go over the files on my desk." My eyes lock with hers as I speak, and I still sense the hints of attraction in her gaze. It's there every time we bump into each other, but I'm not surprised. There isn't a woman alive who doesn’t check me out, except the ones who are off limits anyway. But Evie is the daughter of my good friend, and I've watched her grow up over the past five or so years since getting home. It's tempting, but probably a bad idea.

Turning, I follow Draco through the outer office where he mentions a slew of names I forget before he even presses the elevator call button. He rambles off the different functions of the union and what each of his staff does to keep the organization running smoothly—fundraisers, education for workers to advance their careers, publicity and marketing, and legal defense, which is the department that sees all the real action.

Then he leads me down to the warehouse where the less well-known work is done. The massive open room is dark, so he flips the light switch and steps inside. Following, I rest my hands on my hips and let my eyes scan the crates, some of them with lids nailed in place, others still open, waiting to be filled and transported.

"We'll get a shipment later this afternoon, but of course the team thinks they're all laptops for government security…" Draco heads toward one of the crates that has its lid cockeyed, not yet full of the merchandise. He pushes the heavy wood to the side and leans in, taking out one of the heavy steel-grey cases by its handle, and sets it on the lid. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you that you have to be present when these are being loaded. They're not locked, so anyone could open one."

His thumbs press the buttons on the front at the same time and the case clicks open, the top popping up a few centimeters. Then he glances over his shoulder at the open door, and when he's assured the coast is clear, he lifts the lid to show me what's really going on.

"Four hundred of these will come in from Alberta later this morning. They'll be delivered to dock nine and brought here in their own crates. They have to be taken out, the labels replaced, and then transferred into these crates for shipment to Glasgow this evening." Draco narrows his eyes on me as I examine the weapon in the container, encased in black foam for protection during transport.

The stolen Glocks probably originated from somewhere in the States and were stolen enroute to their expected destination. It's how O'Leary works, why Ronan partners with him. No matter what our customers need, he finds it and produces it for us. We get the cut, and he does the shipping, and everyone makes a penny on it. Meanwhile, we have happy customers and all the while, no one is the wiser. Union workers think they're doing a service to the union for laptops being sent toward government and military causes.

"Got it," I tell him, slapping the case shut. It clicks into place, and I look up at him. "So, the men working in this warehouse aren't in the know?" I ask carefully.

"Neither does Evie, so you have to keep her busy or send her home before the shipment arrives." Draco takes the case by the handle and sets it down gently into the crate, then readjusts the lid. I help him position it. It's heavy but not overly so for a two-man lift.

"And I'm assuming these records are somehow hidden?" I raise my eyebrows at him while I brush the sawdust off my palms, and he purses his lips.

"Why do you think I have that much shit on my desk?" Shaking his head, he scrubs a hand over his face. "I'm gonna be real with you, Loch. This situation on the picket line is getting tense. They’ve been getting hammered out there. We're trying to keep our guys out front so when Doyle moves in, it's our men taking the brunt of it, but a few loyal laborers who aren't part of this game have gotten hurt pretty badly."

My anger flares and I clench my hands into fists. I should be on that front line pretending to be a picketing worker just like my brothers who are there to defend our territory. Instead, Ro took me out of the game and I'm babysitting Draco's gun running operation and his little girl.

"Well, I'm not afraid to fight," I tell him, but I know he'll never go over Ro's head and put me out there. He needs someone making sure the shipments get out on time, and I've burned Ro's trust in me after my last fuck-up. Lost my temper one too many times and it cost me.

"You know what you can fight for?" Draco asks me, pressing his hand to my shoulder. "Fight to keep us on schedule. It's harder than you think. And make sure Evie doesn't sniff around out here." He pats my arm once and walks off toward the back exit.

Scowling, I return to the hall where I flip off the light and shut the door. I know this is a lesson in self-control, but I think Ronan is wrong for locking me down. So who the fuck cares if I split one of the Doyles’ head open for looking at me wrong? He deserved it.

I, on the other hand, don't deserve to be sidelined, but here I am.

Back at my office, which feels weird to call it that, I pass by Evelyn's desk. She's focused on responding to member emails when I tap her shoulder and curl my finger at her. She looks up at me as I beckon her back to the back office where I have a mountain of paperwork, which apparently is all the information I need to organize myself. It makes sense that Draco would keep it off his servers, but what a shitty way to do things today. Has he never heard of cybersecurity and firewalls?

"Yes, sir?" Evelyn stands in the doorway of the office wringing her hands, biting her lip when I turn around.

"What sort of stuff do you handle around here?" I sit down and thumb through a few of the files. There are names I recognize and those I don't. She watches me as she answers.

"I, uh…" She clears her throat and continues. "I help Da coordinate new members, follow up with current ones. I handle complaints and dispatch them to the right department, mostly legal. And I?—"

"The shipments?" I ask, interrupting her. Draco thinks she knows nothing, and she probably does, but in a place this small, word gets out. I need to know how ignorant she really is about this business of gun smuggling. I'm sure he's cooking books too, probably laundering, maybe some drug smuggling. I'll get into it more as I pore over these files, I'm sure.

"We accept donations for our educational wing from time to time, and our members at the docks also help track and monitor shipments. There are four shipping companies we contract with, so we?—"

"I mean your father's shipments?" I ask pointedly. I narrow my eyes at her, and she scowls at me.

"Look, Mr. O'Rourke, I'm not stupid. I know who you are and what you and your family do for a living. If you're insinuating that my father runs some sort of crooked business out of his labor union, you're wrong." She huffs and crosses her arms under her tits, making them push out slightly. She's cute when she's pissed, and I like the way her cleavage peeks out of that cream-colored top she's wearing.

Now the attraction that's typically in her doe eyes as she stares at me is masked behind defensiveness. She's naive. I'll give her credit for that. And she's loyal. It's just like Draco to raise a family loyal to him, even if they are ignorant of whom they're defending. It's a good quality to have.

"I'm not insinuating anything." My hand rests on the evidence that would show her exactly who her father is, but I'm under strict orders to keep her little innocent mind free from worry. "I'm asking what he ships." But now that I know she really is as ignorant of his real work as he says, I know where I stand. "When do his shipments go out? The schedule?" I raise my eyebrows and she blanches sheepishly.

"My God, I'm so sorry," she rushes, then walks over to the desk to lean over my shoulder. Her hand reaches for the mouse, and she presses her tits on my shoulder. She smells good, like flowers or something. It makes me wish she'd look at me the way she normally does. "Here…" Her clicks on the mouse bring up a shipping roster and she straightens. The way she brushes hair off her face in a flustered manner catches my attention.

She smiles nervously and then nods. "If you need anything else, I’ll be at my desk." Evie backs away, flustered again, probably feeling the charge of chemistry between us that I feel.

So maybe riding a desk isn't all bad. At least there's some eye candy, and I can see the merchandise Draco ships for our family up close and personal. I watch her walk out thinking it will be much easier to tolerate this task of overseeing Draco's work and keeping his daughter out of the know. Especially if she gets that flustered every time she comes into this office.