Nya

“Where are we going?” I asked, frowning as I looked out the window.

Patrick chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m here to protect you,” he said.

“Looks like I’ll need it,” I said, frowning.

Patrick laughed again, then reached for my hand and gave it a quick squeeze.

That touch meant more to me than I wanted to consider, so instead of responding to it, I frowned even deeper then looked out the window at our surroundings.

To say the area was sketchy would be an insult to sketchiness. Desolate was the word I was thinking of as we drove past abandoned building after abandoned building, houses that looked like a stiff wind would blow them over, others that had already fallen or burned to the ground.

Not a place I would go, certainly not this late at night, but Patrick seemed unconcerned.

Then again, Patrick always seemed unconcerned.

I glanced out the window again, then sighed and leaned back against the seat. That was one unexpected benefit of having been shot at twice. No, the area did not look inviting, but I wasn’t as afraid as I would have been before.

Plus, I was with Patrick, and he’d already proven he would protect me.

“Almost there,” he said.

I glanced out the window again, no clue where “there” might be. Still didn’t have one when he came to a stop in front of a building that looked to be in better shape than the others, but certainly didn’t seem like a place where anyone would go.

He turned off the car and opened the door. When I made no move he paused to look at me. “You gonna stay out here by yourself?”

I didn’t bother to respond. Instead I opened the door, took off my seat belt, and got out, again frowning at our surroundings.

“You’re just going to leave the car here?” I said.

“It’ll be fine,” he replied as he circled the car and reached for my elbow.

“Come on,” he said.

His hand on my arm was more comforting than I wanted to admit, so I fell into step next to him, walking toward the building. As we got closer, I saw a small sign about waist high on the door.

“Boiler Room,” I said, looking at Patrick. “Sounds delightful.”

“Nya, you have to stop judging books by their covers.” Then a little smile lifted his face. “And technically, it’s Boiler Room Irish Pub and Bakery.”

I laughed, suddenly intrigued by what I might find inside.

Patrick banged on the door twice, and a moment later I heard the brush of metal against metal as what I presumed was the peephole was opened.

It slammed shut a moment later, and the door creaked wide open.

Despite my earlier trepidation, some of which was still present now, I found myself smiling, intrigued. This was so different, exciting. Dive bars and secret clubs had been all the rage a few years ago, but in just a few seconds I could see this place wasn’t some corporate creation. It was authentic, a little piece of the world I hadn’t known existed. A little piece of Patrick.

He casually looped his arm around my shoulder and led me inside. We walked down a flight of stairs that were steep but solid and went through yet another metal door.

I had barely looked at the person who had opened it, but he nodded at Patrick, seeming to know him, which didn’t surprise me.

We reached the bottom of the staircase and Patrick pushed the door open.

And I was transported into another world.

As we entered, a loud chorus of voices rang out, the sounds of laughter, what seemed to be jovial arguments filling the air.

I walked into the room, trying to look at everything.

The interior was dark, warm, a mix of stone and wood. It was also clean but not fancy, and smelled of booze and freshly baked bread.

“Pub and bakery,” I said, looking at Patrick.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Follow me, I want you to meet some people.”

He dropped his arm and grabbed my hand, leading me through the densely packed room. The outside had seemed almost deserted and there hadn’t seemed to be that many cars in the parking lot. Patrick’s admonition about books and covers was true, at least in this.

A chorus of hellos rang out, and Patrick responded to each in turn.

As we went deeper into the room, the crowd started to thin, and when we finally reached the back corner of the room Patrick stopped.

“Look who’s popped his head out of the sand.”

I looked toward the direction of the voice and saw a man approaching. He was tall, though not as tall as Patrick, and stoutly built with a barrel chest and red-gold hair, wearing a pair of dark-rimmed glasses that did nothing to soften his edge.

He pushed Patrick on the shoulder and then hugged him. Then he quickly turned his attention from Patrick to me.

His eyes were green, friendly, and he said, “What’s a lovely lady like you doing with the likes of him?”

“I, um…” I smiled but trailed off, not sure how to respond even though it was clear this new visitor was joking.

“Nya, this ass is my baby brother, Sean. Pay him no mind and come meet the others.”

“Yeah,” Sean said, “you’ve already met the most handsome Murphy, so I guess there’s no reason not to meet the others.”

After another quick smile, Sean weaved his way back through the crowd as Patrick pulled me forward to stop at a table in the far corner.

“Nya, this is Michael.”

He gestured toward the man sitting to the far left, wearing a suit jacket but without a tie and his collar open. Of all the brothers, he looked the most like Patrick, though slightly uptight and much, much more intense, which was saying something.

“Hi,” I said.

He nodded curtly but didn’t speak.

“And this is Declan,” Patrick said, nodding at the man who sat on the opposite side, one who acknowledged my presence with even less fanfare than Michael had.

Patrick gestured for Michael to stand, and when he did, I sat. Patrick followed suit and then put his arm around my shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

To me, it felt like it was.

Being here made me think of our first meeting at the lounge. How different it was, how different I had been, but how this, Patrick sitting next to me, close enough to touch, felt the same, and felt so right.

Even though I knew him so intimately, it didn’t change that feeling. In fact, it only intensified it.

Somehow, knowing what he felt like, knowing how it was to straddle his impossibly hard thighs, run my hands against his strong sides only made the feeling that much more intense.

“Drink?” Patrick whispered.

I lifted my lips in a smile, looked at him. “You know my favorite.”

He returned the smile, then nodded toward a young woman who walked closer to us. She was curvy, average height, with average features, but there was a gentleness, almost a fragility to her that made me want to protect her. I wondered what she was doing here.

“Four Balors, Grace,” Patrick said.

“Okay. Anything for Sean?” the woman replied in a hopeful voice.

“I think he’s taken care of,” Patrick said, nodding toward the distance.

I followed his gaze, saw Sean at the bar with a lovely blonde. I looked at Grace, saw a fleeting moment of disappointment on her face before she walked away stiffly.

Interesting, but I turned my thoughts from Sean and the girl to the bar—sorry, bar and bakery.

“What is this place?” I asked.

“It’s practically our home away from home,” Patrick said.

“You own it too?” I said.

“No, it’s Sean’s.”

I frowned, looked over at Sean, who seemed to be holding court.

“Yeah, I know it’s hard to believe, but he runs a good pub,” Patrick said.

“But it’s not as good as mine is. Or was,” Michael muttered.

He’d been so quiet, I’d forgotten he was there, but when he spoke, I looked at him.

“M. is yours?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he replied curtly.

“It’s beautiful,” I said.

He looked at me then. “Thanks.” He paused a moment, his eyes narrowing as he seemed to study me.

“Would you be willing to tell me more about it?” he asked warily, and I had no doubt that the “it” he was referring to was the shooting, but I played dumb.

“You want my impressions of the lounge?” I asked.

“That too,” Michael said, his eyes glittering. He seemed almost offended, but when Patrick squeezed my shoulder, I turned to look at him.

“He knows,” Patrick said.

My stomach loosened a little bit at the confirmation. I knew Declan knew, so it was no great leap to think the others did as well, especially given the closeness and comfort that was obvious between them. And it made me happy to know that Patrick had these men around him, the only three people in the world that he trusted.

I looked back to Michael. “Sure. I can tell you about it,” I said.

I got another curt nod and then Michael looked at Patrick.

“Move, Pat. I want to talk to Nya.”

A smile curved my lips as I looked at Patrick. “Pat?” I asked.

“I try to tell them, but these assholes won’t get the hint,” Patrick said. Then he stood. “I guess I’ll go pick up the drinks.”

The instant he was gone, Michael moved closer. From this distance, I could still clearly see his resemblance to Patrick, but I could also see the differences. Michael’s face was leaner and his eyes had a focus and intensity that was even stronger than Patrick’s.

“What do you want to know?” I said.

“Let’s start with the easy stuff. Tell me about your experience. What did you like, what didn’t you? What can we do better?” He spit out the questions in rapid-fire succession.

I smiled. “Well, I can tell you my least favorite thing was being shot at,” I said.

In the distance I heard a sound I assumed was Declan’s laughter, but I kept my eyes on Michael, who shook his head in disgust.

“Yeah. That was fucked up. Besides that, would you come back?” he asked, his eyes lasered on mine intently.

I started to laugh despite myself, and a moment later, a smile cracked Michael’s intense expression.

“Sorry. I take things very seriously,” he said.

“Clearly,” I replied.

Patrick returned then, somehow juggling four glasses, Sean right behind him.

Patrick deposited the glasses and then stood next to Sean at the far end of the table.

“This one treating you right? Just say the word, and I’ll take you away from all this,” Sean said as he flashed me a charming smile that I knew had broken its fair share of hearts.

“You’d have to get through me,” Patrick said. “And, Michael, question time is over.”

Michael looked ready to protest, but I patted him on the shoulder. “It looks like I’ll be around for…a little while,” I finally said. “We can talk later.”

He nodded and then got out of Patrick’s seat. Patrick replaced him instantly and slid one of the glasses in front of me.

I took a sip of the whiskey, the burn comforting.

“You take your whiskey straight?” Sean asked.

“Of course,” I replied, “there’s no other way.”

Sean shook his head in disgust. “A beautiful woman who drinks her whiskey straight. This jerk has all the luck,” he said. Then he brightened. “But I have all the stories. Patrick wasn’t always the smooth, debonair creature you see in front of you. In fact…”

Patrick groaned and Sean got a mischievous glint in his eye. And I laughed harder than I had in weeks.

* * *

Nya

“Hmm…have I forgotten any?” Sean asked.

“No, I think you told them all, Sean,” Patrick said.

His voice was gruff, but he smiled. Even Declan and Michael had joined in, and my sides still hurt from Sean’s stories of a young, delinquent Patrick.

“Refills before the next story,” Sean said. “You need anything?”

I shook my head and took a sip of my water, having decided several rounds ago I shouldn’t try to keep up with this crowd. We’d been here for several hours, and I couldn’t remember a time when I had felt more at home, felt more welcome. The Murphy brothers clearly shared a bond, and though I knew it wasn’t really true, I felt at least a small part of it. Felt like I was getting to share in something that not many did and getting to see who these men really were.

Declan had said less than ten words and Michael, though slightly relaxed, was still extremely intense. Sean was, of course, the life of the party, something I suspected was true no matter where he went. But there was a connection, a softness between them that made it impossible to miss the closeness of their bond.

The deep, true emotion that held these brothers together was enviable.

Sean came back and sat, his smile still lighting his features. “Where were we?” he said, tapping his chin. “Right! Well, Pat had gotten into his head that we should sell lemonade. Problem was, none of us knew how…”

Sean trailed off, and I felt a shiver go through me.

The temperature in the room seemed to have gone down about a hundred degrees. Even the other patrons, who’d been murmuring at a consistent volume went quiet.

In an instant, everything had changed, though I didn’t know why.

I looked at Patrick, saw that his face was as severe and still as a statue. Even Sean, who had just moments ago been gregarious, animated, looked different, totally focused.

I followed the direction of Patrick’s gaze, kept my eyes centered on the spot that he was looking at. I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, but a moment later, a man filled the newly emptied space.

The already thick tension in the room went up another notch.

The man who’d appeared was tall, distinguished-looking in his suit, and even from this distance, undeniably the father of the four men who sat around me.

He was also utterly terrifying.

He had Patrick’s eyes, or rather Patrick had his, but where Patrick’s were calculating, sometimes a little scary, this man’s were a different level, entirely devoid of anything like emotion, let alone compassion.

His eyes swept the room like the predator he undoubtedly was, and for the first time in days, I again felt like prey.

The almost irresistible urge to run hit me, but I stayed still, didn’t even reach for Patrick like I wanted to, too afraid of drawing his attention.

I had no hope that our group would go unnoticed, and in a breath, the man locked eyes with Patrick and began walking toward us, all without looking left or right.

Not that he needed to. With no prompting, everyone in his vicinity moved before he reached them. In some ways, it was an amazing thing to watch, people parting like a wave, none seeming any more anxious to catch his attention than I was.

As he got closer, I became acutely aware of my vulnerability, knew that if it came to it, I would have nowhere to run. Near uncontrollable panic tightened my throat, and the need to do something, anything, to avoid this man left me jittery.

Just as I thought I might scream, maybe cry, Patrick closed his hand around my knee, gave it a quick squeeze before he pulled away. That touch gave me enough strength to force the air out of my lungs, reminded me that Patrick was here. That I was safe.

After a heartbeat, I shifted my eyes to look at Michael, whose demeanor was serious, stern as it had been before. Then I shifted to Declan, who seemed utterly emotionless, though I suspected his placid reserve hid more than I could imagine.

I wanted to look at Patrick, but something kept me from doing so. Maybe I was worried I would distract him, and for some reason it seemed important that I not do that, not with that man approaching.

I had no desire to look at him again, didn’t want to be under his cruel gaze, but I also had no choice. So I breathed as deep as I could without moving, shifted my eyes slowly until I looked at him again.

A mistake.

Instantly he caught my gaze with his, and the temperature dropped even further.

For some reason, looking at him reminded me of staring down the barrel of that gun. There was nothing in his eyes, only coldness, only a sense that he would destroy me without a second thought, or even a first.

I wanted to look away, but I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of doing so.

Even though my heart knocked in my chest, left me almost breathless, I took my cues from Patrick, from the others, and didn’t look away, though everything inside of me wanted to. I didn’t even look away when that awful man came to a stop in front of the table, his eyes still on mine.

He narrowed them, looked me from head to waist. I’d never been so grateful for a table in all my life.

He paused when he met my eyes again, held my gaze. I did the same, absolutely refusing to look away. After several long seconds, he twisted his face into an expression I wouldn’t dare call a smile.

“Where are your manners, Pat? Aren’t you going to introduce your little girlfriend to your father?”