Page 27 of Velvet Chains (The Dark Prince of Boston #2)

Chapter Twenty-Two: Kieran

I didn’t hear from her.

Not that day. Not the day after. Not the one after that.

I knew better than to expect anything else, but it still fucking gutted me.

I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything…

but it still made me angry. I hated how she could act like I hadn’t touched her, hadn’t bled for her, hadn’t made her come better than any other man possibly could.

I watched her meet with her ex-husband and I thought about all the ways I could make him hurt.

I considered picking up Rosie from school and telling her everything.

But I waited.

Because I knew.

Ruby wasn’t pulling away because of me. It wasn’t just about the sex or the history or the damage. It was strategic. Controlled. And that scared the shit out of me more than any shouting match ever could’ve.

She knew danger was coming…and she probably knew it was coming from my brother. Which meant that torturing Julian to death or kidnapping Rosie wouldn’t do a damn thing.

I needed to deal with Tristan.

I stood on the balcony outside the top floor of my house, smoking a cigarette I didn’t really want and which wasn’t doing anything for me, watching the lights of the city flicker on like they were trying to convince me the world was still turning.

It didn’t feel like it. It felt stalled.

Tilted. Like something was about to go wrong.

Again.

I ran a hand through my hair and looked at my phone. Nothing. Just the same silence she’d left me with.

I could’ve called Liam. Could’ve called Tristan. Could’ve started asking around about what the DOJ was sniffing after, or who was putting pressure on who.

But I didn’t want strategy.

I wanted her.

I wanted to bang on her door and ask her why she let me touch her like that if she was just going to walk away again. I wanted to scream at her for inviting me back into her bed just to shove me back out of her life.

I wanted her to be safe.

And I wanted to be the one who kept her that way.

The phone rang. I looked at it for a second, hoping to see her name. But it wasn’t her; it was Liam.

“Hey, little brother,” I said, picking up the phone. “What are you doing?”

He sighed heavily. “You know…cleaning up loose ends. Standard,” he replied. “What about you? Are you coming to the club tonight?”

I should have. Going to work kept me sane and less preoccupied with her and distro was profitable work, even when the cops were watching me like a hawk.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I haven’t thought about it.”

“Need me to pick you up, bonny lad? Head to the club together? You could really use some perspective, right? You’ve been cooped up in your place for way too long. I can get you and then we can stop for a drink before business. Might be a good idea.”

“Aye. Aye. I’ll be there,” I replied. “Not sure when, but I’ll be there.”

“I’ll see you, Kieran. And don’t fucking bail. I’ll be furious at you if you do.”

“Ah, well, we wouldn’t want that.”

I hung up, my pulse raw and twitchy. I knew I should go. I knew I should get out of Boston for a minute. Go up to New York or Jersey…check the ports there. Make sure nothing was getting too close. I knew I should stop being Kieran and start being a Callahan for a while.

But I knew she was still scared. I knew she was still trying to figure out her next move. And I knew she was still mine, whether she admitted it or not, whether it was a smart fucking idea or not.

So I stayed.

And I waited.

And next week, if I didn’t hear from her, I would be at her place again. Maybe not fucking her—though, God, I really wanted to—but just to make sure she was safe.

It was Saturday, five days before Christmas, and she still hadn’t called.I let my head fall back and let the dry air steal the last of my breath.

Then I stubbed out my cigarette and went back inside.

I didn’t turn on the lights, didn’t even ask my home assistant to do it for me.

Just walked through the empty house, up the stairs, through the shadows and silence and the smell of her that refused to leave.

I poured myself a finger of scotch, sat back on the couch and tried to think of other things. Things that didn’t involve old ex-lovers who happened to be DAs. But it was no use. She had taken over everything. And if I wasn’t careful, that was exactly how I’d let it all fall apart.

Coconut.

Vanilla.

Guilt.

None of those matched the Christmas tree I had set up in the living room in a sad attempt to make it seem less empty.

It was decorated sparsely, probably because I had always thought of myself as better at other things.

Probably because I hadn’t done it since I was a kid.

Ornaments on one side and bare on the other, lights winding unevenly, garland draped too low.

But I had a child now, right? And I needed to do these rituals: these things that I didn’t get to do when I was a child myself. Ruby might’ve been right to keep Rosie away from the Callahans, but I wasn’t my father. I wasn’t going to hurt Ruby. I sure as fuck wasn’t going to hurt our daughter.

And the mere thought of it was excruciating. The mere thought of it undid me.

I fell asleep on the couch, the scotch untouched, and didn’t wake up until the sound of a notification startled me awake.

Liam, telling me to get my ass down to the club right now.

By the time I finally dragged myself into the shower, I didn’t feel any better. Maybe Liam was right; maybe I needed to get out of here. The house was already full of ghosts, and I didn’t want to see what it looked like when it was full of regrets.

I stayed in the shower longer than I needed to. Let the water scald my skin, let it sting my eyes, let it wash away the hollow. But some things don’t wash off, no matter how hard you stand in it.

It was an hour later when I finally got to the club.

I went in through the back, ducking under the sheet metal gate that was still pulled halfway down over the loading bay.

Sawdust and stale booze lingered heavy in the air, and Liam waited behind the bar, head bent over a thick stack of ledgers.

He didn’t look up when I came in, but I saw the telltale flick of his gaze.

Good to know I could still make him nervous.

I poured myself a drink, settled onto a stool, and watched him squirm. “You look sober,” I said.

“Aye, too much for my own liking. Are you buying me a drink?”

“Nah, you own a third of this place. Buy your own drink.”

He tutted, a smile on his face. The club was loud, so we had learned to read each other’s lips a while ago, and catch subtle changes in our expression. Even then, it was hard sometimes to communicate in this environment. “At least one of us is working.”

“Don’t start,” I said.

“Too late,” he replied. “You missed a fun night.”

“I’m having fun now.”

“Freak.”

“I take offense to that,” I said.

“No, seriously. I need a social life that doesn’t include this shit.”

“Hm,” I said, with mock concern. “When is the last time you had sex?”

“Shut it,” he said, then turned back to the ledgers, pointing an accusatory finger toward them. “You see this? We need a better front. We’re spending more than we were a month ago, and even though you’ve been lurking behind closed doors not answering your phone, I’m assuming this gets worse.”

“Way to call me out,” I said.

“You deserve it. You’ve been, forgive me the cliché, ghosting everyone.”

“Not everyone. Just you and Tristan.”

Liam pointed at a printout. “Last week.”

I peered over his shoulder. “That’s what I think it is?”

“Yeah, standard glove. Fentanyl,” Liam said. “You need to get back on distro, Kieran. Feds or no, it’s time. I know you’re worried about the lady friend, but it can’t wait.”

“Give me more than just a week,” I said. "That's tight. Real tight. And it’s not your usual decline of shipments."

“No joke,” Liam said. “It’s off the charts. And I mean bad off the charts.”

I exhaled through my nose. “Okay. Fine. I’ll figure it out.”

“Will you?” he asked, leaning forward. “Because it doesn’t look like it from where I’m sitting.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“You’ve been off-grid. Radio silence. That’s not how you handle pressure.”

“You think I’m distracted?”

“I think you’re compromised,” Liam said flatly. “And I’m not the only one.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You talked to Tristan.”

He didn’t answer. Just took a long sip of his drink, then looked me dead in the eye.

“He told you to keep an eye on me.”

“No, Kieran,” Liam said. “He told me to clean up the mess if you don’t.”

That hit like a punch to the gut, but I didn’t show it. Couldn’t.

“Tristan wouldn’t hurt me.”

“No,” Liam said after a minute. “Tristan doesn’t want to hurt you. That’s not the same thing.”

I stared at him for a long second, then knocked back the rest of my drink. It burned going down, sharper than it should have been, but I didn’t flinch.

“Okay,” I said. “Say it. What aren’t you telling me?”

Liam hesitated, which meant it was bad. He only paused when he knew the truth would hurt.

“The DOJ’s been asking questions, mate. Not just about you. About the club. About the properties tied to Callahan Holdings. About shell companies. About names on bills of lading from three years ago. They’re not playing around.”

My stomach dropped. “And Tristan knows.”

“Of course he does. He’s two moves ahead, like always. He’s trying to plug leaks and shuffle assets, but if they start tying this to you—”

“They won’t.”

“They might,” Liam said flatly. “Especially if you’re still hanging around Ruby fucking Marquez. Don’t look at me like that. I don’t care how in love you are. She’s the DA. She’s either going to be a target or a tool.”

“I’m not using her,” I snapped. “And did you forget she’s my daughter’s mother?”

“I didn’t forget,” Liam said. “But Tristan doesn’t know. And that? That might be the thing that gets you both killed.”

“I’m not telling him,” I growled. “You think he’d show restraint if he knew she was mine? That she’s the one thing that could break me?”

“I think it doesn’t matter what I think,” Liam said, quieter now. “I think you’re already past the point of keeping her safe. And Tristan’s circling. He smells blood. You’re protecting her—and that’s exactly why she’s in the crosshairs.”

I shoved back the stool so hard it screeched across the floor. “I’ll handle it. I’ll find out what the DOJ has. I’ll get ahead of it.”

Liam tilted his head. “How? You think they’ll hand over classified case files if you show up looking pretty?”

“I’m going to the source,” I said. “To someone who already knows what’s in them.”

Liam frowned. “Who?”

I pulled out my phone and scrolled until I found the name. Tapped it. Turned the screen to him.

“Alek Ivanov,” I said. “Special counsel to the DA. Ruby’s closest friend. Been in her ear for a decade.”

Liam blinked. “You’re serious.”

“He’s on the contact sheet you gave me. He’s the only one close enough to know what the DOJ is actually building—and maybe stupid enough to say something if he thinks it’ll help her.”

“You’re gonna flip a federal witness?” Liam said. “Jesus, Kieran. That’s not damage control. That’s lighting a match and tossing it in a barrel of gasoline.”

I grabbed my coat off the hook and headed for the back door.

“Kieran,” Liam called out. I stopped, just long enough to hear him say, “You don’t come back from this one if it goes sideways.”

I looked over my shoulder.

“It already has,” I said.

Then I walked out—because if this was the end, I sure as hell wasn’t going to meet it standing still.