CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Three Years, Three and a Half Months Ago
When Ash walks out the door, it feels like my world is spinning out of control. There are secrets hidden in the fragile tapestry that holds our lives together. Cullen kept calling when we were away. I kept expecting to wake up to see one or more of his goons barging into our room, guns blazing, knives held to our throats. I dreamt about it once, maybe twice. But instead, I woke up to Ash, his hands, his mouth, the heat of his muscles, the length of his cock.
He never said anything. We just carried on like we’d done the right thing, like we’d done the only thing we could do.
I kept telling myself this wasn’t like the movies. The Irish mafia in New York takes over businesses, runs gambling rings, and moves money from place to place. They keep politicians and cops in their pockets—and they’re far more about paperwork and intimidation than they are about violence.
That’s what I tell myself, even though I know what Ash’s job is. He doesn’t think I do, but I’m a smart woman, and I’ve seen the way he checks his pieces every night, cleaning them, taking them apart, reassembling.
He strapped both guns on when he left today, cold metal against his warm body.
The mere thought makes my stomach drop.
Restless, I slip out of bed and put on my sandals and a green dress that Ash says matches my eyes. Such a romantic thing to say, and this is a man who assures me he’s not romantic, that this marriage was the only way to save my life.
I think of the way his body works with mine, the way he looks at me in the morning when he wakes up next to me.
“Bullshit. This is a load of bullshit, Ash.” I say it aloud to his empty and weirdly immaculate apartment. I’d always thought men were supposed to be messy, but Ash is fastidious. When I walk into the kitchen, I smell coffee and see that Ash has left out coffee, cream, and a carefully covered pastry. It’s ten in the morning, and the French press is room temperature. I pour my coffee into a mug and drink it cold with the cream, wondering why the hell he bothered to leave this shit out for me.
What if he doesn’t come with me? What if I’m stuck, married to him, in limbo?
We’re not really married, right? That priest didn’t look like he knew how to find the way to the courthouse to file that shit. And a drunkard who sleeps in the pews when people aren’t around isn’t any kind of a witness.
Please God. Let us be really married.
The thought comes to me from nowhere, sweeping in and taking over the piece of my brain that thinks rationally. That rational part—it should be checking to see if I’ve got an email from Doctors Without Borders. It should be going online and buying bus tickets to North Carolina. It should be hiding out in Manteo until this all blows over.
But there it is.
I married Ash to save my life. And now if I lose him, I’m losing part of my life.
A jolt of fear sweeps through me, and I attack the pastry nervously. There are moments with Ash that make me feel absolutely sure of what we’re doing, that this relationship was worth it, that this was the only place for us to be. But here, right now, his tidy apartment feels just like a waiting room in a hospital.
The doctor will come in, I think. And he’ll have bad news for both of us.
Cullen doesn’t give a shit about his pacts or his rules. Ash pissed him off, and Bianca did too. And they’re probably both gone, throats slashed, left to hang, or shot, or tied up in a room to starve. Whatever the fuck mafia people do that’s not moving money around from place to place. Maybe it would have been a better idea to go to the police, like a fucking normal person.
In the pocket of my dress, my phone rings. I spill the rest of the coffee on my dress and all over Ash’s clean, white tile. I pick up before even looking at the number, my hand shaking.
“Hello?” My voice shakes as much as my hands, and I almost drop the damn phone when I hear the voice on the other end of the line.
“Sweetheart,” my aunt Bianca says, her voice slower, more methodical than usual. Strange noises echo in the background. It sounds like she’s in a subway tunnel, or somewhere deep and echoing and underground. But maybe I’m imagining things. “I’m safe,” she says.
“Jesus, B. I haven’t heard from you in two weeks—”
“I haven’t heard from you either. And watch your mouth, Summer,” she says, laughter in her voice. “You’re about to go home to your mother.” The last part is more command than statement.
She doesn’t know what I’m about to do or not do, regardless of whether she’s in danger. “Aunt B, where the hell are you?”
She doesn’t answer my question. “I know you married that boy to get off Cullen’s list.”
Shit. I can almost hear the eye-rolling in her voice. “B, listen. I’m staying in New York.”
“No you’re not. You applied to that doctor thing, and you’re going. There’s nothing for you here. You need to go.”
I swallow hard, and my throat grows tight and hot. “Because it’s not safe? I can go to Manteo for a few weeks and then come back—” I think of the way Ash looked at me when I woke, the way he touched my hair before I sank into the sheets and went back to sleep.
“You’re safe, Summer. Your mother is safe. I told you Cullen wouldn’t hurt you. I swear, child. You don’t listen.”
“But Ash said—”
“Ash doesn’t know this family’s history with Cullen Flood. I know, your mother knows, and Cullen knows—well, he knows the full of it now. I have a deal with this man, and if you stay in New York, you’ll be wrapped up in this, too.”
“How will I—” I feel dizzy and lean against the Formica counter. This explains why we didn’t have mafia soldiers coming for our idiot asses at five in the morning. Holding knives to our throats and—fuck, don’t go there.
“It doesn’t matter, but believe me. You’re in the family. There’s no getting out of it unless you’re gone.”
My hand is still shaking, the phone nearly rattling against my ear. “So there was no point—”
“No, love. There was no point. I’m sorry I got you wrapped up in this. That boy, he’s handsome. But he’s a soldier. You know what he does, don’t you?” Bianca pauses, and tears come to my eyes. I try to choke them back, but it’s no use. I barely hear her when she speaks again. “Your mother and I never meant to get you involved in this. You just needed a place to live, and neither of us have the money. You will, though. When we’re gone—”
“Stop—” I cry hard now. The life I built here, all so recently it seems, the stupid fake marriage—it’ll crumble even if it was temporary, even if it was stupid.
“No, you listen. Summer, I love you more than any person in this world. More than I have any right to. I made sure you’ll be safe. Tell me you understand me.” Her voice breaks, echoing with desperation.
“How did you—” I think of Cullen, the history that Bianca always said they had, and his voracious desire to take over every business in Hell’s Kitchen to reclaim it for the Family. “You gave them the bar, didn’t you?” I hadn’t thought of it until I said it, but this is what she was planning to do all along. If he got close to me or any of the people she loved, she was planning on a surrender.
“I gave him the bar. He’s the only one I’ll deal with.”
I clench my jaw, and tears fall harder. “B, you hate him.”
She’s silent on the other end of the line. “What I feel about Cullen Flood is extremely complicated, Summer.” There’s laughter in the background, the jangling of glasses.
“He’s the bad guy—you can’t do this.”
“Cullen’s no more a bad guy than I am,” she says with a sigh. “We’re just about matched in that department. It was time for me to face that piece of my history—of my history with him. And believe me, love, it’ll benefit you in the long run. I’ve got you taken care of for the rest of your life.”
“I don’t understand, Bianca. Please—” My voice is still hoarse from holding back angry, futile sobbing.
“You do as I say. You leave. Without that boy. Divorce. Be done. Move on.”
There’s a click on the other end of the line, and I’m left standing in Ash’s kitchen, wondering what the hell just happened.
Present Day
I wake up, and I don’t know what time it is. It’s still dark, and the light of the moon plays through the blinds. But I’m on the wrong side of my bed, and there isn’t a window on this side of my room. Also, I’m naked.
Naked, my body sore in a way it hasn’t been in the entire three years I’ve been away from the United States.
Fuck.
I sigh heavily and turn on my side. Ash is next to me, breathing deeply, the tattoos covering his arms and chest contrasting against his skin in the moonlight. Tentatively, I take my fingers and trace over his new ink: tribal designs under each collarbone, and symbols of the Irish mafia still uncovered on both forearms. He once told me that tattoos were another way to escape the life he didn’t want to have—the job where he hurt people for a living, the empty apartment he went home to every night, the places in his mind he didn’t want to go. He said that the five tattoos he had when I met him were all evidence of nights he wanted to gamble and lose himself in the rush of alcohol and money.
With the evidence I see here, it seems he had a lot more of those dark times in the years since I saw him last. My throat grows tight, and the unwelcome tears fill my eyes again.
There’s history here, Summer, even if you won’t admit it. Even if you don’t want to see it.
Priya’s words from before echo in my head.
This man is a distraction, yes. But if I came to the program, happily married, a clean cut husband in tow, would Priya have made the same pronouncement today?
Ash is scarred, and ink covers a solid quarter of his body now.
That’s not all of him. Maybe it’s not. Maybe the sex clouds my judgment, like it always does. I let it cloud me then. Or I thought I did. I might be doing the same thing now. I gulp when I think about it—his fingers moving inside of me, his tongue dancing over my clit, tasting me with unabashed need.
And the words he said. I’d never imagined him telling me that, never even wanted it. I just wanted someone to protect me, wanted his body to stay next to mine for the journey home. I didn’t think of love, not then, not even in my darkest moments away. I thought of the warmth of his lips, the feeling of his arms encircling me, holding me, making me feel safe against the storm rising around me.
I didn’t consider love, not because it wasn’t possible. But because it would hurt so much worse if it were a possibility. It didn’t seem real then because we’d never spoken those words.
I remember a thought I had then. Let us be married for real.
We weren’t then. Are we now?
Ash stirs and opens his eyes, blond-tipped eyelashes fluttering sleepily. Like it’s instinct, he turns and pulls me into his arms, pressing his lips to mine and kissing me, tongue glancing against mine. He groans with need, and I feel his cock growing hard against my thigh. In the darkness, this feels like a different story, a time and place completely separated from the life I so desperately wanted to create. His hand finds my breast, cupping it like it’s delicate.
He brings his mouth close to my ear. “Next time you wake me up, Sunshine, make sure you do something about this right away.” He catches my hand and brings it down to his length, groaning as I start to stroke it.
Now is not the time for thoughts or considerations. A jolt of electricity starts in my core, giving life to the flame of desire, the one that this man, and this man alone, was ever able to create. I’m sore, but I’m wet again, my sex pulsing as I feel him beneath my hand. I lick my lips and move down, pushing the white sheets away, bending over him to do what I’ve wanted since the moment I saw him again. My mouth waters for him, for the feeling of his hot skin, the taste unique to the man before me. I lower my mouth to his tip, licking away a salty bead of precum and then encasing him, taking him as slowly as he entered me with his fingers, a centimeter at a time until he’s groaning and tangling his fingers in my hair. My tongue moves down over his shaft, and then I take him into my mouth again.
“Stop, baby,” he moans. “I need—fuck—I need to come inside of you.”
A force takes over my body at the sound of his words. I feel an undeniable pull to Ash, to the fierce outline of his muscles, the strength of his hands. I moan against him and side up his body, positioning myself over him and lowering myself to his cock. I’m so wet I know he’ll slide right in. I know I should reach to his bedside table, rifle through his drawers and find a condom. I blush bright red thinking about it, still stroking him as I angle myself over him. I need this, I need to feel him bare even though I never have before.
Like he’s reading my mind, he brings his hands to my hips and squeezes me there, his gaze catching mine. “I waited for you,” he says. “I’m clean. I know you were always on—”
“I am.” On the pill. But it’s not here with me tonight, and I shouldn’t be doing this.
“I’ve always wanted this, Sunshine. I can’t imagine how good you’ll feel,” he says, eyes hooded with lust. The need inside me drives me forward.
We’re married. We have been for more than three years.
My mind feels clouded with lust, like I’m swimming through deep water and can’t quite find my way to reason. The center of my body tightens, arousal coursing through me, the tension and need growing tighter than it ever has. Slowly, tenderly, I lower myself onto his cock, taking the head inside and feeling the stretch of muscles and the heightening sensation of being filled. It’s better than I thought it would be. His skin is hot against mine, closer than I’ve ever been with anyone before. My sex starts to pulse as I move lower, powerful sparks moving through my core and undoing everything I came here for.
“Holy fuck,” I mutter. “It feels so good. God...” I feel light as air as I bring my fingers to my clit. Ash holds my body in his hands and grins, moving his hips, abs tensing, bringing his body up into mine, fucking me from below. Each time, he comes closer to filling me to the brim. I whimper and try to push myself further down onto his cock. The pulses coursing through my center become stronger, more tenacious, begging for release.
“You feel so good, my love,” he sighs. There it is, that word again. My face must change because Ash reacts, bringing me to meet the base of his cock and pulling my body into his. I moan, long and loud, my body moving against his in some kind of primal rhythm. He leans in and kisses my neck as his hands roam over my body. Every motion seems to drive him deeper inside me, pulling me closer to him. Frenzied, needy, I ride him with my arms around his neck, pushing my clit against the base of his cock and whimpering with need. All at once, the fire raging through me flares, and I’m lost in the sensation pouring through me, every cell in my body filled.
Ash leans in while I’m at my height and looks me in the eyes. “I love you, Summer,” he whispers, his breath ragged.
I come hard, harder than I ever have, my heart beating so hard it might fly from my chest. He rolls over on top of me, pinning my hands and slamming his cock into me, and the tension starts to build as he pummels me, taking his pleasure and riding my orgasm like it’s his own. I whimper. My body aches, but the pain beats in time with pleasure, and I come again, shaking. “I love you too.” I sigh the words, barely saying them.
The muscles in his stomach tighten, and he moans, angling his hips, thrusting hard into me one last time. His cock pulses inside of me, and he fills me with his warmth. A rush runs through my body as the aftershocks roll through me. My throat grows slick and tight, and I sob as he releases my arms. I throw them around his neck. He speaks to me then, his words blending together and relaxing me until I’m no longer racked with sobs.
“I don’t know why I’m crying,” I say, throwing my legs around him and drawing him in tighter. He nods and runs his fingers through my hair.
But I do know why. Because this is what I want—far more than my job, far more than my home and the simple, quiet life I focused on for years.
I want Ash, with his black eye and the angry red scar on his cheek. Despite my past. Despite his present. Despite anything and everything standing in our way.
This is everything.
The walls of my life feel like they’re crashing down around me. Before this, I’d only been kidding myself. And it’s only now, here with him, that the world seems right again. It feels like the pieces of my existence are being restored, like everything is finally coming together.
Like the life that crumbled down and broke could now be mine for the taking.