Chapter Two

 

A delicious scent wafted through the house. Roast beef? Rogan’s stomach growled. He’d missed lunch. Fighting off his fatigue and the urge to drag himself upstairs and into bed, he walked down the hallway and into the kitchen, following the delicious smell. A plate covered with foil sat on the counter, a small note on top.

For Rogan.

Hands off or else.

Rogan smiled. Only one person in the house would write such a note. Hell, no one else would think to leave him dinner.

Usually, he ate on the run when he remembered to eat at all.

He took the foil off. Roast beef, mashed potatoes, green beans, and gravy.

Placing the plate in the microwave, he grabbed some cutlery.

“It’s the only thing I know how to make.”

He turned to find Miller standing in the doorway. At least she wore more clothes tonight. Her fluffy, pink dressing gown covered her from her shoulders to her toes.

“What?” How could he possibly find her dressing gown sexy? What was wrong with him? She was his guest. She was here to recover and recuperate. He was supposed to protect her.

Not dream of stripping her naked, throwing her on top of the counter, and fucking her brains out.

“Roast beef.”

“You didn’t have to cook for me,” he told her, opening the microwave door. Distracted, he reached for the plate without using a towel. He jerked his fingers back and shook them to ease the sting.

“Are you okay? You need to be more careful.” Rushing over, Miller grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the sink. She turned on the tap, pushing his sore fingers under the water. “Do you have some burn cream?”

“My fingers are fine, Miller.” Christ, her scent. Peaches and cinnamon. It drove him insane. Miller moved closer to him, her warmth pressing against him, and his balls tightened. His cock pressed against his pants, the urge to lean in and kiss her so great it drove out all other thoughts.

“Rogan? Are you okay?” She placed her hand on his arm.

He drew away, shaking the droplets from his hand.

“You should leave your fingers under the water for longer,” she said, reaching for him.

“I’m fine,” he bit out.

“But—”

“Miller, I said I’m fine.”

She took a step back, lower lip trembling. He felt like an asshole.

“I’ll leave you to eat your dinner.” She turned and walked away.

“Thank you,” he called out.

She stilled then turned back, her expression guarded, shut down. Something inside him broke a little. She’d been through hell and back. She’d cooked him dinner. Fussed over him.

And how did he repay her? By being an asshole.

“For the dinner,” he added. “I can’t remember the last time I had roast beef.”

She shrugged. “It’s probably dry by now. There’s some leftovers in the fridge.”

Inwardly, he sighed. Miller liked to throw up this mask of indifference to the world. She was tough and smart. Didn’t mean she didn’t have a vulnerable side. But she hid that side of herself behind a thick, defensive wall.

“Well, dry or not, thank you.”

She nodded. He thought she would leave, so he was surprised when she moved toward him. “Tilly didn’t make it for you while she was here? She’s the one who taught me to cook.”

“No. Although she baked a lot of brownies.”

Miller’s lips twitched. “She has a sweet tooth. And baking helps keep her calm.”

“Come sit; tell me about your day.”

She gave him a wary look, but moved over to the counter and sat on one of the stools. He took a seat on the opposite side. Physical distance was a good idea. He prayed she hadn’t felt his cock pressing against her. Although it would be hard to feel anything through her fluffy robe.

“Is that new?” He gestured at her robe.

“Yeah, Natalya and I went shopping today.”

A friendship had quickly developed between the women. They seemed an unlikely pair. Natalya had a more innocent view of life. Miller had grown up with a criminal for a father and a mother who’d left her to live with a gang leader.

Her view of the world was decidedly more skewed.

“I didn’t know you planned on going shopping today.” Someone had failed to mention those plans to him.

Miller eyed him carefully. “Don’t get mad at Colm. It was a spur of the moment thing. Mateo went on a playdate and Natalya needed something to occupy her. Otherwise, she was going to stress about being apart from Mateo.”

Rogan didn’t blame her. Mateo had been kidnapped by some enemies of his father, Diego Mota. The kidnapping had brought Natalya and Aedan back together. But it wasn’t something either of them would have ever wished for.

“Natalya let Mateo go on a playdate alone?” Rogan frowned. If Mateo were his, he couldn’t imagine leaving him with someone he didn’t know and trust implicitly.

“Declan was guarding Mateo. Caden came with us. We were well-guarded.”

He would still like to know when she left the house. She wasn’t a prisoner. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her. But he needed to know she was safe.

“You’ve got that look in your eyes.”

“What look?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“The one saying someone is in trouble. It was an impromptu thing, Rogan. Besides, I’m not in any danger so I’m not sure why I need a guard. I guess…unless…” She stared down at her hands, which were clenched together.

“Unless what?”

“Unless it’s because you don’t trust me?”

Rogan reached over and clasped her hands between his. Screw keeping his distance. He’d worry about that later.

“Of course I trust you.”

“I think about it, you know,” she whispered. She raised her head, staring over his shoulder.

“Think about what?” he asked, staring at her, his dinner forgotten.

“Oblivion. I think about how easy it would be to sneak off and buy something to help me find oblivion again. Then I wouldn’t be in this constant battle with myself. It’s like I’m two different people sometimes. One half of me keeps repeating how everything is too hard. How much easier life would be if I could find that happy place where I didn’t worry or care about anything. How much better I would feel if I gave in. The other half is saying how weak I am for thinking that. It’s the coward’s way out. I’m supposed to be a fighter, not a goddamn loser.”

God, her pain clawed at him, demanding he fix this. But he couldn’t. Only time, therapy, and Miller could fix this. But he could support her. Whatever she needed, he would give her—well, within reason. He would never enable her to harm herself. Or put herself down.

“First of all, you are not a loser. Nor are you weak. Next time you call yourself either of those, I’m going to get strict with you.”

She gave him a small smile. “What are you going to do? Take away my pocket money?”

Inwardly, he winced. Her lack of money was a sore point. For her, anyway. He had set her up with a bank card and an account. But she hated using his money.

“You know I don’t see things like that.”

“Why not? I haven’t done anything to earn the money. In fact, all I do is sit around here and mooch off you.”

He scowled. “You do not mooch off me.”

“No? Then what would you call it? I already owe you more than I can probably ever repay for all the therapy and the rehab. Not to mention room and board.”

Room and board? She wasn’t his goddamn lodger.

“I’ll be lucky if anyone hires me again. Who would want a druggie?”

“You are not a druggie. You were held and drugged against your will.”

“So I’m a victim. Great.” He didn’t like the bitterness in her voice.

“Way I see it you can sit around and feel sorry for yourself. Think your life is over.” He shrugged. “I guess you’re entitled to the pity party.”

“Pity party?” She bristled with anger. God, she was gorgeous in a temper. Her eyes sparkled, her face flushing.

She was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

“Or you can take charge of your life. Learn from what happened and move on.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Yeah, it is,” he agreed. “But I believe you’re strong enough to do it.”

She studied him for a long moment. “So can I work for you?”

Over his dead body. “What?”

“I used to be a personal assistant. I could help you. Take some of the load off. I’m organized, reliable, and I can be on call 24/7.”

“No.”

She frowned. A hint of hurt flashed across her face before she closed down on him. Okay, maybe he’d been a bit abrupt. But, seriously, what was she thinking? She knew what he did for a living and she wanted to be part of that?

Not happening.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she told him in a guarded voice. She watched him warily.

He sighed. Earning her trust wasn’t an easy thing. Sometimes it felt like two steps forward, one step back. Who could blame her? She’d been abandoned by those supposed to protect her. Used and discarded.

It was a wonder she could trust at all.

“What’s that?” he asked. He doubted she had any idea what he was thinking half the time.

Because if she knew the things he thought about her, the things he wanted to do to her, she’d run a mile in the opposite direction.

“That you can’t trust me with your business. But I know you have a lot of legitimate interests. I could be involved with the legal side of things.”

Someone had been talking. He had a good guess who, too.

“How do you know about my businesses?”

She blushed slightly then sighed. “You’ll get angry.”

“Have you ever seen me get angry over anything?”

Miller watched him carefully. “Not really. You don’t yell or act mad. But you get this cold look in your eyes. It’s not obvious unless you know what to look for.”

Well, maybe she knew him better than he thought she did. He wasn’t sure he was comfortable with being so easy to read.

“I’m good at reading people. When I lived with my father, I learned to quickly figure out which of his business associates were the dangerous ones. Who I needed to avoid.”

He clenched his hands, furious at her father for not protecting her better, for allowing ruthless criminals to come into contact with an innocent child.

“See, there it is,” she told him. “You’re angry. Furious.”

“Your parents should have protected you.”

“Like you would your child?” she asked.

“I will never have children.”

She tipped her head to one side. “Because you think they’d be at risk.”

“Anyone close to me is in danger.”

“Really? Because I feel the safest I ever have. Think about my offer, Rogan. I want to help. I want to feel useful.”

“I cannot allow my life to touch yours, Miller.”

She smiled sadly. “But, don’t you see? I’m already in that world. There’s no way out.”

“You could leave. Start a new life. Find a guy like Dylan. Lead a life like Tilly’s.”

Miller shook her head. “No. Once I thought I could lead a normal life. But I don’t even know where to begin. I’m not like Tilly or Natalya. I can’t trust easily. I’m always waiting for people to let me down, to leave me. I had a boyfriend once. Normal guy. Good job, nice manners. He was sweet.”

Rogan ground his teeth. The last thing he wanted was to hear about her past love life.

“But I drove him off. I couldn’t let him close. I couldn’t talk to him. Funny, I don’t have that problem with you.”

Because she was right. They were alike. There were less than a handful of people he trusted. Even fewer he opened up to. And since Brandt’s betrayal, he even doubted his relationship with those few.

Brandt hadn’t agreed with his decision to make them more legit. To not sell Fizz for the Fuerte cartel. It would have been a lucrative deal, but Rogan didn’t hold with pushing drugs to kids. So he’d refused.

Now, Brandt was dead. But Rogan was left feeling his instincts were off, wondering who he could really trust.

“Think about the offer.”

He could think all he liked. But he’d never take her up on it. Protecting Miller was as vital to him as breathing.

“What did you want to do when you were a child?” he asked.

She pursed her lips, thinking.

“I wanted to be a pilot. Then a firefighter. And a hairdresser. Then a singer. Unfortunately, I sound like two cats fighting when I sing.”

“But if you could do anything in the world?”

“Besides be president?” she asked dryly. “I don’t know. Something creative, maybe. Like photography.”

He raised his eyebrows. Unexpected. “Maybe you should consider taking some sort of photography course.”

Miller narrowed her gaze. “You’re trying to keep me busy.”

Yep. Then she might forget about her crazy idea to work for him.

She shrugged. “Whatever. I only offered to help you because you’ve helped me. If you don’t need my help, it’s no biggie. I’ll find another job.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“Can’t sit around getting fat and lazy.”

Fat and lazy? Despite the weight she’d gained, she was still so tiny he feared a strong wind would push her over.

“You don’t want me under your feet forever. The sooner I get a job; the sooner I can start moving on with my life.”

Without him.

The thought of her leaving left him panicky. Nothing panicked him.

The door to the kitchen opened and Cillian walked in. He nodded at Miller. Cillian was more close-lipped than Colm. Maybe he should swap their duties. He’d assigned Colm to Miller because she felt more at ease around the large Scot. Cillian wasn’t as friendly or approachable.

“Boss. Miller.” He stood there and waited.

“Umm, I guess I’ll go to bed. Night.” Miller left the room.

Rogan waited until he was certain they were alone before turning back to Cillian. “What did Bishop have to say?”

“The cops have made an identification on the body pulled from Lake Medina,” Cillian told him. “It’s Gerard Callahan.”

Fuck. This was all he needed.

“Are the police releasing the information?” Bishop was their police informant. He worked as a detective for the Chicago PD and collected a nice fee from Rogan as an informant.

“Not yet. But his son knows. They told him this afternoon.”

Step Callahan was Gerard’s son and the current leader of the Seven Sinners.

“Do they know how he died?”

“Gunshot wound to the chest. Damned if I know how they figured the cause of death out after all these years.”

Crap. It didn’t surprise him Gerard Callahan had been murdered. Callahan had been an asshole. The former leader of the Seven Sinners had made some enemies in his drive for power.

There were a number of people who could have killed him. What worried Rogan was that his father was one of those people.

And if his old man had offed Gerard Callahan, then his sonwould be out for retribution. He wouldn’t let this lie.

“What do you want to do?” Cillian asked.

“Wait.” Callahan didn’t know for sure what had happened or he’d have come for him. “Bishop knows to keep his ear to the ground. He’ll tell us if anything comes up.”

Like evidence linking his father to Gerard’s murder.

 

Miller threw the ugly dressing gown on the floor of her bedroom as she paced back and forth. The gown had been useless as a barrier. She still wanted Rogan. Badly. When he’d pulled her close, she’d felt his warmth and the scent of him had surrounded her, making her nearly succumb to her need and beg him to take her to bed.

Shit. Perhaps she better brush up on her cooking skills.

Sleeping with him would be unwise. Sleeping with him would change everything. She wouldn’t be able to live here anymore.

But it was getting harder and harder to live here anyway. To see him day after day and not touch him, kiss him, tackle him to the floor, and have her way with him.

She held her hands over her hot cheeks, trying to cool down.

She prayed he had no idea about her feelings for him.

How humiliating would that be?

He’d been right to turn her down. Working for him would have been disastrous. She wasn’t sure what she’d been thinking.

“You thought you’d still have a tie to him when you had to leave here. You thought it was a way to see him every day.”

She couldn’t stay here forever. Eventually, Rogan would ask her to leave. He’d grow sick of her. Everyone did. Well, except for Tilly. She was the only person Miller could rely on. The only person who had never abandoned her.

Miller needed to prepare herself to stand on her own two feet. Find a job, get some money.

Time to take charge of her life again.

Time to stop being a victim.