CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BROCHAN
Leaving Lizzie in the car, I was determined to finish up quickly whatever the hell it was Gerard had been ringing me about nonstop for the last hour. I thought Mac had been insane settling down, but he had it right. He gave up the ugly for beauty. Maybe it was time for me to do the same. Strolling to my office, I pulled out my phone and called Gerard.
“Fucking hell, Brochan, keep your fucking phone on.”
“What’s so damn pressing?”
His hesitation had the hair on my nape stirring. I stopped moving. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. “Gerard?”
“Fuck man, I hate to have to tell you this but…”
My blood iced.
“It’s Mac. Shit…he and Ava, they’re dead.”
It felt like a gunshot to the heart, the pain that exploded in my chest. I stumbled, hitting the wall as I nearly lost my balance. “Say again?”
“I’m sorry, man.”
That lightness was swallowed by the shadows. Mac was dead. Ava. He was out, he was happy; he had made it to the other side. “When?”
“Two hours ago. A hit. One shot each.”
My hand curled around my phone so tightly it should have crushed in my palm.
“Who?”
“I’m still working on it.”
“Why the fuck would someone come at him now?”
“Grudges man, in your line of work there’s always someone gunning for you. Retired or not, doesn’t matter.”
I thought of his pretty wife, teasing him, wanting his children. Her only crime was falling in love with a monster. That pain grew stronger. Lizzie.
“I’m heading to his place now.”
“I’m sorry, Brochan.”
I disconnected but I didn’t move. He had thought his karma was good, that he could mark his soul and end with the fairy tale. But karma had just taken a little longer to come back around. That was the fate for monsters. Believing otherwise was fucking foolish. The last few days, I had been foolish, really fucking foolish. Her taste was still on my tongue and for the first time I regretted the path I had taken.
The police had already been through. I ducked under the crime scene tape and down the hall I had walked only months earlier with Mac. His face changing, shifting to what I understood now was love when he saw Ava. Someone took that from them. I moved into the living room, my legs going a little weak seeing the bloodstains, two, right next to each other. Did he make him watch as he killed her? Was the last thing he saw his wife, his love, staring back at him with dead eyes? At least they died together and if there really was a better place after this one, maybe they’d get a second chance.
Outside I stood in his drive staring at what should have been his happily ever after. Rage and sorrow burned through me as I dropped to my knees and roared to the heavens. I would make it right; I would avenge Mac and Ava. My head hung as the tears welled. We’d come to the end of the road; it was time for me to let Lizzie go.
In less than twenty-four hours after their deaths, Gerard had found both the assassin and the one who hired him. I took out the hitman first, one shot to the head, but I took my time with the one who hired him. The brother of one of Mac’s marks, a man who had beaten and killed his girlfriend for the crime of not having his dinner on the table. Her father hadn’t gotten justice in the courts; he had found it with Mac. I enjoyed the pain I inflicted on him, enjoyed watching him break until he was nothing but a whimpering, broken man. I shot him in the forehead, on his knees like Mac and Ava. No one would claim him; no one would find him. The cleaners took care of that. Boomer and Champ were being held at a shelter. I collected them, both looking for Mac and Ava, their tails wagging in anticipation, jumping around me and each other, thinking I was bringing them home. My chest grew tight as I kneeled down next to them. They licked my face, unconditional love, even for a stranger.
“They’re gone. You’re stuck with me now.”
I had let it in, those fucking feelings, but it was a double-edged sword. You couldn’t feel joy without misery. It was better to not feel at all.
LIZZIE
I was trying to recapture that cottage Brochan had showed me. I wasn’t getting the colors right. I was close but I was missing a dimension. As I blended paint, I heard the heavy footfalls. I didn’t hide my joy when I saw Brochan strolling into the solarium. Joy turned to lust at the look on his face. I’d called him a predator and that’s what he was, and I was his prey.
He didn’t say hello, just grabbed my hand and pulled me from the room, out of the castle and down the path leading into the woods. I didn’t speak either; I was too busy thinking about all the things we were only moments away from doing. I thought maybe we were heading to the lake, but he pulled me deeper into the woods until we reached a little cabin. It was charming from what I saw. The door closed and my shirt was off, my bra followed. I liked his form of hello when his mouth closed over my breast, hot and hungry. He worked the snap of my jeans, his hand slipped inside my panties, two fingers slipped inside me. My eyes closed on a moan and my head fell back against the door. His free hand cupped my breast, rolling the nipple as he tugged on the other with his teeth. He dropped to his knees and yanked my jeans and panties off. His mouth replaced his hands. Digging his fingers into my thighs, he lifted me, pressing me back against the wall, holding me in place with his mouth. Curling my fingers into his hair, I ground my hips into his face. Another growl rumbled in his throat when I came. He didn’t stop eating. Somehow he carried me to the bed. My back hit the mattress and he was pulling his shirt off. His jeans followed. He moved like a big, sexy cat when he climbed onto the bed. My focus moved from his cock up his body to his eyes. They were distant. Something was wrong, but then he lifted my hips and buried himself deep.
We both moaned. His focus was on where we were joined. Mine was on him as he moved harder and faster. It scared me, when I reached the edge, the intensity of the orgasm. He pulled out, flipped me onto my stomach, lifted my hips and slammed into me again going so deep. He didn’t stop as he moved so fiercely I felt my body climbing again. I didn’t think it was possible, but I crested and rode another wave of pleasure. His arm wrapped around my waist as he drew me even closer, his cock sinking right to the heart of me. Then he froze. The sound he made when he finally came was the sexiest sound I’d ever heard. He pulled out, his cock sliding between my ass cheeks. He was still hard. I couldn’t believe I felt my clit quiver.
He flipped me over and thrust a hand in my hair; he wasn’t distant now. He looked vulnerable as if he was letting the mask slip when the only sound in the cabin was our labored breathing. Love swelled in me. I grabbed his head and pulled his mouth down to mine; filled the kiss with all I was feeling but didn’t think he was ready to hear. I tasted myself on him and went slightly wild. Sliding my hands down his back to his ass, I squeezed while rubbing myself against him. He assaulted my mouth, like a hungry man. Lips, teeth and tongues warred, our bodies moving together, finding that perfect harmony. I needed more. I dragged my mouth from his and shimmied down the mattress as I kissed my way to his cock. He stood; I sank to my knees and swallowed him down my throat. He’d have bruises on his ass, but I couldn’t get him deep enough, couldn’t suck hard enough. His body tensed. Working the sac between his legs, his control slipped. He cradled my head, pressing his fingers into my scalp, as he fucked my mouth. My clit ached to the point of pain; I touched myself to ease it. When we came it was together.
Several orgasms later, I was on my stomach and Brochan was lying on top of me. We were too tired to move.
“That was a fantastic way to say hello,” I mumbled into the mattress.
He said nothing as he climbed from the bed; I turned to watch him. The man wasn’t shy about being naked, moving to the fireplace to start a fire without a stitch of clothing. And as lovely as the sight was, the distant look in his eyes was back. Something was wrong.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.” But he wasn’t.
“Did something happen while you were away?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
As intense as he’d been during our lovemaking, he was retreating back into himself just as thoroughly.
“Brochan, talk to me.”
He glanced at me from over his shoulder. “When are you going home?”
In the fireplace an orange flame sparked to life but as the cabin warmed, I grew cold. “The cottage or New York?”
“New York.”
“I need to visit, but I was thinking about staying in Tulloch Croft.”
“Why?”
The word hit like a slap across the face. Sitting up, I covered myself with the sheet. I felt exposed and not just because I was naked. “Why?”
He glanced back at me. His eyes were empty. “Yes, why?”
“I thought that was obvious.”
His sardonic laugh sliced through me. “I knew you were innocent, but not that innocent.” Who knew words could eviscerate. “It’s lust, sweetheart, hot sex, not the fairy tale you’re looking for.”
“Why are you doing this?”
He wouldn’t look at me. I yanked the sheet from the bed and got toe to toe with him. “What just happened wasn’t lust, it was so much more and you damn well know it. Why are you doing this?”
Looking into his eyes, Brochan wasn’t there. The man who sat with me when I was sick, the one who encouraged me to eat haggis, the man I had fallen in love with. He was gone.
“What happened when you were away?”
“Nothing. I told you going in, this was a dead end. You walked into it with your eyes wide open.”
The first true pang of fear hit then because he really was ending us.
“Please think about what you’re doing. Another voice in the dark, remember? I don’t want you to go back to the silence. I don’t want to go back to the silence either.”
I understood Fergus’ comment about empty eyes, because there was nothing looking back at me.
“Why are you shutting me out?”
His reply was no louder than a whisper and cut as efficiently as a well-honed blade. “Miss Danton, you were never in.”
I closed my eyes as his callous words pierced my heart, not a fatal blow, but a slow agonizing bleed. I’d lost him and I had no idea why. I walked to my clothes. I didn’t speak because I couldn’t. The only sound in the cabin was the crackling fire. I dressed. At the door, the tears started but he wouldn’t see them. “I didn’t imagine it. Despite your callous words, you felt it too. I would have been that voice in the dark for you. I would have fought for you, Brochan, because I do see you, but there’s no point when it’s you I’m fighting.” The click of the door closing behind me was so final, the end of something that could have been the best thing to ever happen to either of us.
“I’m sorry to hear you’re leaving. Will ye be coming back?” Fergus and I were at the pub having lunch. I was going back to New York, but I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. I hadn’t touched my soup. I hadn’t eaten in two days. It was a different kind of hurt I felt, far more devastating.
“Yes. Once the lawsuit is decided.”
“What will you do with the cottage?”
I didn’t know. I had thought to sell it but I couldn’t. A part of me still wanted to live there, but I wasn’t so sure how that would work with Brochan being so close. Despite knowing there was no future for us, that wouldn’t stop me from wishing for it.
I didn’t want to get into that with Fergus so I was vague. “I’m not selling it. My hope is to live there.”
“I’m happy to hear that.”
“How are you?” He looked tired.
“Every day it’s the same, waking up, remembering she’s gone, and learning to find the happy even when I feel like shit. She’d want me to, would be quite angry if I was lamenting on her loss.”
I couldn’t help think of Finlay McIntyre and how he hadn’t just lamented on his wife’s loss, he’d taken that loss out on his son.
“I’m thinking I might do a little travel. Brianna and I wanted to see Hawaii. We never made it, maybe I’ll see it for both of us.”
“Hawaii, that sounds like fun.”
“I’ve never left Scotland. She and I traveled throughout Scotland when we were younger, but I think I’d like to see a bit of the world.” His eyes lowered to the table as he picked at a knot in the wood. “I wish she could see it with me.”
I reached for his hand. “She is with you.”
“Aye, lass. She is.”
“Oh, Lizzie, I wish you wouldn’t go. You were reaching him.” Fenella hadn’t stop crying since I told her I was leaving. I hated causing her more pain, but staying wasn’t an option. “You said you wouldn’t give up on him.”
I had called a cab. My bags were already loaded and my paintings had been shipped home. I hugged her, her body shaking as she cried. “I didn’t give up on him. He gave up on us.”
“You’ll come back?”
I wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Yes.”
Finnegan wrapped an arm around me and pressed a kiss on my head. “You’re a good lass.”
“Something happened when he was gone. He was different that day, looking for an excuse to end it. I can’t stay, but I would hate to think he was drawing even more into himself.”
“I’ll look into it.” Finnegan promised.
“Please visit us again,” Fenella pleaded.
“I will. Oh wait.” I hated seeing the hope in her eyes thinking I was changing my mind. I reached into my purse and pulled out the medallion. “I found this in the rubble.”
Her hand curled around it. “St. Margaret. This had been Abigail’s. I gave it to Brochan.”
I felt guilty for holding onto it for so long. “I’m sorry. I should have returned it sooner. I found it oddly comforting.”
“I’ll make sure he gets it.” She touched my cheek. “Have a safe trip home.”
“Thank you.” I looked behind them at the castle. I didn’t see whimsy when I looked at it now. Dark, isolated and lonely, but it was still beautiful. Just like the beautifully damaged man who owned it.