Page 11 of Velvet Chains (The Dark Prince of Boston #2)

Chapter Eleven: Kieran

I t had only been a few days...I knew she was busy with work, but fuck, it felt like forever. I needed her.

I needed to see her.

I hadn’t.

Not in person, anyway. Not since she called me at one in the morning, breath shaking through the speaker like she wanted me to crawl through the phone and fuck her into forgetting.

I almost did—almost got in the car, almost knocked on her door.

Instead, I sat on the floor of Liam’s guest bathroom with my head against the cold tile and jerked off to the sound of her voice.

We both knew that couldn’t happen again.

I wasn’t supposed to be near her. She wasn’t supposed to be near me.

After the FBI brought me in, after I fed them enough to just keep the sharks fed and keep Ruby’s name out of it, we’d agreed—if you could call her whispering “we can’t do this” and me not hanging up fast enough an agreement—that distance was necessary.

I knew I had to protect her. I knew I had to protect our daughter. But I didn’t believe in distance. Not when it came to her.

So I started watching again.

I kept count. I kept track. I knew where she was most days—watched from across the street when I had to, lingered in alley shadows when I didn’t.

She went to work. She took Rosie to school.

She ran at sunrise on Tuesdays and sometimes again on Fridays, ponytail high and breathing measured like the world hadn’t caved in around her.

Like I didn’t exist. Like we hadn’t bled into each other not even a week ago through a fucking phone line.

I’d called her since. She’d blocked me.

It didn’t matter.

I was still watching.

That night, she left her office late. Alek walked her to the car, she hugged him…they laughed about something, their voices too quiet for me to distinguish them. I felt something in my jaw crack, because I should have been the one laughing with her, walking her to her car, protecting her .

She didn’t go home…which I knew because I followed her.

Because even if she had me blocked on her phone, she couldn’t keep me out.

I grappled with what I would do if she went to a guy’s house as I drove, wondering not if I would act, but how I would beat the hell out of him.

I had a tire iron in my trunk, a knife on my belt, a gun in the glovebox.

Would I make him beg for his life? Make him watch while I fucked her? Would she like it?

Luckily, she didn’t go to a guy’s house; she went to visit a friend.

A woman I’d never seen before, with blonde hair and big cheeks, opened the door for her.

They hugged briefly, then Ruby walked in with a brown paper bag.

Through the window, I could see them chatting, having a few glasses of wine together.

I looked up the address while they chatted.

The Eastie apartment belonged to a woman named Lana Fielder.

She was a case manager at a nonprofit that specialized in post-conviction services.

Nothing flashy, no direct political power…

but if you wanted to know who had a record sealed or why a certain file went missing, you called someone like her.

Over forty, never married. From her social media accounts, I knew she liked knitting and archery.

Weird.

I added archery to the list of ways to torture men Ruby had slept with.

The wine seemed unremarkable. They got Chinese food and Ruby left Lana’s apartment two hours later. She got in her car, alone.

That was when I saw the guy.

He stood across the street, hoodie up, hands buried deep in his pockets. His stance was too still, too intentional. Not like someone out for a walk. Like someone waiting for the signal to move.

Then he did.

He started walking, not fast, but with purpose. He kept his distance—just far enough that Ruby wouldn’t notice. Just close enough that he could follow her all the way home if he wanted.

I dropped my cigarette, ground it out with my boot, and crossed the street without breaking stride.

He took a turn down a narrow alley. I followed, heart thudding, every nerve on high alert. My boots echoed off the concrete. His didn’t.

He was almost to the end of the alley when I saw his right hand disappear into his coat pocket.

I didn’t wait to see what came out.

I lunged forward and grabbed him by the shoulder. He turned just as I slammed him into the brick wall. The force knocked the breath out of both of us. I felt something shift between us—glass on glass, or maybe just instinct.

Then I saw it. A bottle in his hand. Clear glass, the neck stuffed with a rag, already dripping.

The scent hit me hard and fast.

Gasoline.

A fucking Molotov.

My stomach dropped. Was he planning to burn her alive?

He twisted, trying to shove me off. I shoved back harder, pinning him with my forearm across his chest. His grip tightened on the bottle—his one chance to do what he came here to do.

I wasn’t about to let him.

He swung at me, wild and off-balance. The punch landed more with panic than force, but it caught me across the jaw and knocked me sideways. We both stumbled. He fell, and I went down with him.

The bottle stayed in his grip.

“You were gonna light her up?” I growled, grabbing the front of his coat. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

He swung again, this time with the hand holding the bottle. I caught his wrist midair. We wrestled on the ground, limbs tangled, my knee pressing into his ribs to keep him pinned.

The Molotov slipped from his grip.

It hit the pavement with a sharp crack.

Flames exploded from the broken glass, bright and fast. I jerked away instinctively, then kicked the bottle hard toward the far wall. It spun, flames trailing behind it, until it smashed again and fizzled against the bricks.

The fire was still smoldering, but I didn’t care.

I turned back to him, teeth clenched, blood pounding in my ears.

And this time, I didn’t hold back.

Because with Ruby…I would kill for her. I already had, and I would do it again.

Not only that, but I would enjoy it.

Fists, elbows, knees—I didn’t think, I didn’t hold back. I drove him into the pavement with everything I had. He tried to scramble, tried to kick me off, but I had gravity and rage and a face full of her in my head.

Her laugh. Her breath. Her skin.

“You piece of shit,” I snarled, shoving him back against the bricks. “You thought you’d get close to her? You thought you’d touch her?”

His nose broke with a sickening crack under my fist. He howled, tried to cover his face.

I didn’t stop.

“You’re fucking insane,” he wheezed, blood already spilling down his lips. “Tristan said scare her—what’s scarier than fire?”

That stopped me cold.

I had my fist twisted in his hoodie, the fabric bunched in my palm, my knuckles still buzzing from the last hit. “What did you just say?”

He spit blood into the gutter. His eyes barely focused. “Said make it look bad. Said make her nervous. Said no one’d miss a few documents if she started slipping…”

Red blurred the edges of my vision.

I grabbed both sides of his hoodie and slammed him into the wall so hard the back of his skull bounced. “Tristan sent you?”

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to.

I knew him now—Dominic something, used to run petty errands for Liam. But he’d never really been Liam’s. He was Tristan’s. Always had been.

And now Tristan thought he would take matters into his own hands, going right around me.

My whole body tensed with the knowledge.

“You were going to set her on fire,” I said, breath jagged, barely holding myself back.

“Just the car, man,” he coughed. “Just the fucking car.”

“She was in the car ,” I snarled. My voice cracked. “She was in the fucking car, you goddamn idiot.”

He had nothing for that. Just blood and silence.

I hit him again. His head hit the bricks with a sick thud, and this time, he slumped forward.

When I looked up, I caught the glow of Ruby’s tail lights disappearing around the corner.

She hadn’t seen.

She was safe.

For now.

Sirens were already swelling somewhere nearby. Someone must’ve seen the smoke, maybe the sparks of fire in the alley. I backed up a step, chest heaving, my pulse thunder in my ears.

The guy moaned, trying to roll over.

I stalked back and drove my fist into his side. “You do not fucking hurt her,” I said. Another hit. “You don’t fucking touch her.”

He grunted, tried to crawl away.

“Kieran, look—”

I hauled him back by the collar and slammed him down. “Do not fucking address me.”

I leaned in close, every word a blade.

“Do not touch Ruby Marquez. Do not follow her. Do not look at her. Tell Tristan’s men if they come within ten feet of her, I will burn their entire operation to the fucking ground. You hear me?”

He whimpered something, but I didn’t wait for a reply.

I stood there a second longer, fists trembling, blood roaring in my head.

I could’ve killed him.

I almost did.

Instead, I left him there, barely conscious, bleeding into the concrete as I darted back to my car.

I felt the adrenaline choke me with every step, knew it wouldn’t fade for hours, knew nothing would take the edge off until she was in my arms. I imagined her getting home just in time for me to be there, waiting, telling her I would’ve gone through hell to get her back.

Fuck.

We were supposed to be careful. Distance was supposed to keep her safe.

Supposed to keep her whole. Now my hands were shaking and I was sure she didn’t have time, that we didn’t have time, that Tristan’s people were already gunning for her.

I tried to breathe. Tried to think. Tried to decide if I should call… if she’d even answer.

Sirens closed in, flooding the street with blue and red, and I shot away from the scene, tires squealing. If Dominic wasn’t dead, he’d tell them exactly who they were dealing with.

They wouldn’t like that.

I rounded the corner, gunning the engine. I parked, just for a second, as I watched the police get to Dominic. The lights of the sirens lit him up as the police picked him up.

I had to get to her first. But more than that, I had to protect her. And if she didn’t want me around, I was going to do it from the shadows.

I punched in the number of one of Tristan’s lieutenants; he ran most of Tristan’s ops, and he would be the one to talk to about that.

“Kieran?” he asked, when he picked up the phone.

“Brandon,” I said. “Dominic just got picked up by the cops. I was there. He tried to go after the district attorney. It looks really bad if they find us doing that, so let’s back off for now, okay? You’re interfering with distro and Tristan is going to be pissed.”

A lie, of course. But I was wondering if he was going to pick up on it at all.

Brandon’s reply was slow, like he hadn’t quite woken up or was running through every possible answer before picking one. “Hang on. Dom did what?”

“Brilliant fucking plan, right?” I leaned against the dashboard and watched the pulsing lights. “He botched it. I don’t know if he’ll talk, but he’ll be lucky if he’s not pissing out his kidneys for the next two weeks. Maybe don’t send an addict if you want something done quietly.”

Silence. Then a laugh, clipped and not really a laugh at all. “Dom’s a fuckup, we all knew that. Where’s your skin in this?”

“Maybe I like not getting nailed by the feds for conspiracy to assassinate a sitting district attorney. Maybe I’m your fucking boss and I don’t need to give you reasons.”

Brandon sighed. “You’re right. You’re right. I’ll clean it up.”

“You better. And keep it quiet. You don’t want Tristan pissed.”

Ahead, two cruisers had cordoned the alley; Dominic, cuffed and bloodied but alive, was already bundled into the back of one. A cop stood nearby, swabbing glass out of his knuckles.

I wondered what Dominic would say about me—whether my name would even come up. If the next time we met, he’d try again to finish what he started, or if he’d be too busy spitting out teeth.

He was stupid, but not stupid enough to be a rat.

The city was so bright and small from here. I rolled the window down and the night air lashed my face, cold and real.

You did what you had to. You kept her safe. That was all.

It was after midnight when I parked two streets over from Ruby’s brownstone and killed the headlights.

I waited, watching the wide bay windows, but all the curtains were drawn.

On the stoop, a small plastic tricycle glowed in the lamplight.

The thought that the fire could have taken her away—taken my kid’s mom away—made my stomach curdle.

It was almost reassurance to see that, whatever else, Rosie’s evening had been spent playing.

Like there was a world in which things could be as simple as that.

So I sat. And I watched. And I waited.

Because I had to keep her safe. No matter what.