CHAPTER THREE

TWAT APPLES AND DEADLY SUBS

KILLIAN

“THAT’S ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY, LAD?”

“Lad?” The man in front of me laughed before spitting a mouthful of blood on the cement floor.

“Now that’s just rude, that’s what that is,” Dair said from behind me. “We’ve already gotta clean yer brains off this floor. Don’t make our job worse.”

The man ignored him, his narrowed eyes shooting the daggers his broken hands no longer could. “I’m no’ yer lad. Ye’re a lousy, mix-mutt American,” he sneered the word as an insult, “who wants to play like ye’re still part of the old country. Yer not. Ye never were, with yer whore of a ma and—”

I pulled the trigger without a flinch.

“Going after yer saint of a ma.” Dair spit on the dead body, cursing his soul to be unclean for all eternity.

It didn’t matter.

The man wasn’t going to heaven.

“My ma’s a saint now?” I asked, unable to hide my amusement.

Dair jerked his head toward me. “She put up with yer sorry ass, didn’t she?”

“Fair point.”

As we walked from the room, a few men entered to clean. By the time they left, there’d be no sign anyone had been there.

“What’s the plan?” Dair asked after we got into his car.

I pulled a phone from my pocket and dialed. “We’ll see.”

“Hello?” a deep voice answered.

“Ay, Uncle Conor.” I chose my words carefully since I never knew who he was around. “I talked to the help line about the package tracking. They couldn’t find hide nor hair of it.”

“Sorry, lad. Wanted to phone but couldn’t find a second,” he said, letting me know that my cautiousness had been correct. He wasn’t alone. “I got word the merchandise was damaged. Money is still being settled, but nothing else is happening since they made right bags of the whole thing.”

I bit out a curse.

The merchandise was the son of the Minister of Finance. He was also a spoiled twat who spent his time partying while his father worked behind the scenes to clean up his messes.

Since Ayden was thick—along with being a twat—he pissed a lot of people off.

People who’d decided he needed to disappear.

The twat apple didn’t fall far from the twat tree, and his father had tried to quietly handle it with his own team before reaching out.

A move that’d likely cost his son his life.

“You still got two weeks here,” Uncle Conor pointed out. “Hit the pubs, have a pint of the black stuff, and check out the talent. Long overdue vacation.”

I had no interest in the talent. Especially not when I knew who’d been at my place for a week.

She might not have been there waiting for me, but she was still there.

Which meant I wanted to be, too.

I clicked off with my uncle.

“So?” Dair prompted. “What’s the plan?”

Thinking again about the flah lass, I pictured her wild blond hair and sexy blue eyes as she’d looked up at me before I’d left.

I grinned. “I’m going home.”

GUS

Negan lied.

There was nothing easy peasy lemon squeezy about finding a new apartment. Not when I needed something in a specific price range, available right then, and not in a shitty neighborhood.

I’d have had better luck finding Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster guarding a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

Sitting at a table out in the quad, I drummed my fingers as I refreshed the page before scrolling through the same listings.

None were for one-bedroom apartments.

Two were way out of my price range, even if I managed to find someone to live with me.

Four sounded like the beginning of an Unsolved Mysteries episode. Straight up creepy.

And that was it.

I still had two weeks at Killian’s, but the planner in me had hoped to have something lined up before then. It wasn’t like I needed much space. I’d actually have been fine with a studio apartment.

But the timing couldn’t have been worse.

I switched to my Fraud notes, but before I could pretend to study, my phone began ringing.

Killian.

At his name across my screen, a sudden giddy feeling came over me.

Why don’t you play Truth or Dare at a sleepover while you’re at it, Gus.

Rolling my eyes, I forced myself to be cool as I answered. “Hello?”

“Lass? It’s Killian.”

“I know.” I cringed. “I programmed your number into my phone.” Double cringe with an added forehead smack. “Uhh, in case there were any emergencies with your place or Nolan.” I rushed on. “Not that I think there would be, of course. Everything is going fine, and Nolan is really happy. I mean, I’m sure he misses you, if that’s something dogs can feel, but he’s doing well, and—”

“Gus?” Killian interrupted, a chuckle in his voice.

“And I’ll delete your number when I move out,” I finished feebly.

Ground? Open up and swallow me now. Please.

“You’re fine,” he said, no longer sounding as amused at my expense. “I’m calling to let you know my trip was cut short. I’m at the airport.”

Shit.

Fuck.

Shit, shit, fuck.

Even Meema wouldn’t chide me for my language when it came to something as disastrous as my impending homelessness.

Staying at a motel was an option, but it’d suck through my savings. I’d worked through high school and my first few years of college, saving nearly everything. Financial aid and scholarships covered a lot, but I’d known, with as extensive as my master’s program was, I wouldn’t be able to hold down a job and make the grades I needed.

Rooming with Rosie and Marco was also an option, and a better one than the motel. Well, for me, at least. Invading on their newfound aloneness wasn’t optimal for them, I was sure.

“You there, lass?” Killian asked when my internal freak-out had caused a lengthy—and awkward—silence.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. Good news about your work. Or maybe bad. I’m sorry, I’m not sure. But I can be gone by tomorrow afternoon, unless you need me out earlier?”

Pretty please don’t need me out earlier.

“Nah, you don’t have to leave. I’m only letting you know because I’m going to stop by and grab some things.”

Maybe he has a girlfriend he’s going to stay with.

I dropped my head to the wooden table, landing a lot lighter than needed. With as stupid as I was being, I deserved a hard thunk or two.

“Uhh, if you’re sure I’m not putting you out,” I said.

“Aye, it’s fine.”

Yup. Girlfriend. Or plural. Maybe he really is booty calling his way around the world.

“I said you could stay for another two weeks,” he continued, “and I keep my word. I’ll leave a note with the hotel’s number on it, in case there are issues.” There was amusement in his tone as he added, “Or Nolan misses me.”

Any time you’re ready, ground.

Ignoring his teasing, I paid attention to the rest of what he’d said. “You’re going to stay in a hotel?”

“Aye.”

“That’s not fair for you to pay for a hotel just because you were nice enough to let me stay.”

“I’d been anticipating two more weeks of it anyway. And with my work, I’ll likely have to leave again. It’s no trouble.”

“Why don’t you stay in your apartment, too?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I no longer wanted to wait for the ground to swallow me.

I wanted to start digging the hole and get it over with.

Not that I was worried or nervous about staying with him. I’d lived with roommates before.

Okay, I’d lived with one roommate, and she was a she, not a beast of a man.

But until they’d moved out, Marco had stayed with Rosie and me most nights. He preferred it because our apartment was quiet and smelled like girl, unlike his loud, boy-smelling one he’d shared with two other guys.

It’d been fine, and I was willing to bet living with Killian would be the same. We’d likely never even see each other.

I’d have to start sleeping on the couch, something I hadn’t been able to force myself to do when the lush bed was an option. But even that wasn’t an issue.

My biggest concern was with my southern reinforced need to be a good house guest. I’d already failed by not being able to properly replace the wine I’d drank. I’d looked everywhere for the specific brand but hadn’t been able to find it. I wasn’t sure how long a flight from Ireland took, but if he was at the airport then, I likely only had half a day or so. I’d have to settle for replacing it with the same type, even if it was a different brand.

On top of that fail, there were dirty towels near the hamper, his bed was unmade and obviously used, and I’d filled his DVR with my own shows.

Worse still, my clothes were strewn around his room, and I was fairly certain there were a few pairs of dirty socks in his living room.

In the man’s living room.

I really was a monster.

If I was fast enough, I’d be able to finish classes, run errands, and be back in time to make the house perfect.

That still left the two weeks for me to panic about. If we were staying together, I’d have to be on my guard at all times. Meema would expect no less from me. Fail at any of my guest duties, and I might as well go to each of my ancestors’ graves and spit on them.

I couldn’t leave one crumb, one tub ring, one washcloth.

One lacy thong, that I belatedly remembered was on his freakin’ pillow.

I contemplated ditching classes to go move the thong because I knew it was going to haunt me all day.

“Nah, that’s okay,” Killian said after a long moment, confusing me until I realized he was referring to my offer and not my thong panic.

“No, really,” I found myself pushing, even though common sense was yelling at me to shut the hell up. “I’m at school most of the time, and like you said, you’ll likely be working a lot. There’s no reason for you to spend money on a room you won’t be using much.”

“You sure?”

No, I’m out of my mind.

“Yeah, of course,” I said instead.

“Aye, okay. But only if you promise me you’ll speak up if you change your mind.”

With the way words are spilling from my mouth like my lips have sprung a leak, that shouldn’t be a problem.

I didn’t share that, either, and only said, “I promise.”

“Aye. Then I’ll see you at home, Gus,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

Before I could convince my brain to jump start, Killian ended the call. I sat for a couple of minutes, staring unseeing out at the grass as I thought about whether us staying together would be no biggie or an epic disaster.

It wasn’t until I focused back on my laptop and saw my reflection in the black screen that I saw I was smiling.

And it wasn’t a little one.

____________________________

Later that night, my fingers were numb as I carried about a million bags up to the apartment. My feet ached, my eyelids were so heavy I looked stoned, and my back was preemptively sore at the amount of cleaning I needed to do. After which, I needed to haunch over my laptop and get six hours of homework done in two.

Dropping the bags to unlock the door, I groaned as I picked them back up. There was a slight chance I’d gone overboard, both at the store and with my attempt to carry everything inside in one trip.

I kicked the door closed behind me and walked the short hall before dropping half the heavy load. The half that contained food continued with me to the kitchen. As I set the bags on the counter, I turned to feed Nolan right away because I was already an hour past his scheduled dinner. When I saw his bowl was still full, and then noticed he hadn’t run over to greet me, my stomach dropped.

And it continued dropping straight down to my feet when I turned to see one of the floor to ceiling windows was open outward like a door.

“Nolan,” I whispered, my heart beating out of my chest.

Nothing.

“Nolan,” I tried again, slightly louder but not by much. I hadn’t even known the window could open, so there was a chance it was easy enough for Nolan, with his above-average intelligence, to figure out.

Or, alternate theory, there was a hockey-mask-wearing, chainsaw-wielding mass murderer on the balcony waiting for me.

I tried to step forward but yelped when something grabbed me, pulling me back.

Holy shit, they’ve got me!

That’s what I get for being the dumb chick in a horror movie. If I find a door open, I’m supposed to run. Not go farther into the apartment while I call out like a dumbass.

Not going down without a fight, I whipped around, ready to attack whoever had hold of me.

There was a loud ripping noise, and then I was free to move without resistance.

I looked at my assailant and bit back a curse even as my heart continued to race.

A drawer.

It was a freakin’ drawer that’d had me in its evil clutches.

The metal handle had gotten caught on my hoodie pocket, sending me into a panic attack like a dumbass.

My ripped pocket was quickly forgotten when I heard a scraping sound coming from the balcony. I was hoping against hope it was only Nolan. But the dark form I saw was much, much bigger than the dog.

As the form moved, I reached behind me and grabbed the first thing I touched. I brought it menacingly in front of me just as whoever filled the doorway.

“Killian,” I breathed, relief making my head swim. “You scared me.”

“Aye, I can tell.”

At the amusement in his tone, I looked to see I was wielding my large sub sandwich as a weapon. “Hey, I could’ve done some damage with this.”

As the last word left my lips, the sandwich flopped, the paper wrapper opening to spill the contents all over the floor.

Nolan literally drooled as he eyed the mess with more want than I’d ever seen directed at me.

Holy shit, I’m envious of the way a dog is looking at a sandwich.

I need to get laid in a bad way.

“Crap on a cracker,” I muttered, likely staring at the sandwich in much the same way Nolan was. “I was really looking forward to that.” I looked at Killian. “Is it okay for him to eat that? I don’t want it to go to waste.”

He scanned the mess before nodding. “Nolan.”

But Nolan didn’t move. Instead, he tilted his head to the side as he looked at me. Waiting.

“Nolan,” I said, jolting back as the dog went to town on the food. “Well, at least cleanup is taken care of.”

Remembering all the messes I still needed to deal with, I wondered how long Killian had been home and whether he’d seen the socks, towels, and oh, I don’t know… the freakin’ thong on his bed.

“I didn’t think you’d be back until the middle of the night or tomorrow,” I said.

He moved into the kitchen to stand a few feet from me. There was a subtle hint of smoke, spicy yet sweet like honey, accompanying him, making me guess he’d been outside smoking. “I told you I was at the airport.”

“I thought you meant the one in Ireland.”

“I wasn’t able to call then.” His eyes narrowed as he spotted the bags near the hallway and on the counter. “Did you need me gone, lass?”

Yes, but only so I can clean up my mess because I’m a garbage person.

Wait, does he think I have someone coming over?

“No, not at all.” Before I could think better of it, I blurted, “But if you ever need me gone, let me know. Or, like, hang a tie on the door.”

His body seemed tight. Tense. I wasn’t sure if he was annoyed at the line of conversation—or maybe the mess I’d made of his home—but something seemed to be bothering him.

At my words, though, his lips curled up. “Tie on the door? Is this a frat house in a bad movie?”

“Is that not something people do?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know about other people, but no. It’s not something I do.”

“Oh. I really thought that was a thing,” I murmured.

“But it doesn’t matter because I won’t need you gone.”

His response had been innocuous, but as I stood in his kitchen with him only a few feet away, I couldn’t stop my lust-fueled brain from twisting his words into something more.

Something that made my heart pound, my body heat, and my breath turn uneven and quick.

Turning away before I did something I’d regret, I began unloading the bags, putting most in the fridge or freezer. When I finished, I moved to gather the bags from the hallway, but Killian beat me, grabbing them all and setting them on the counter.

“Thanks,” I said, unused to the help. Reaching for the paper bag, I picked it up and handed it to him.

He glanced in at the wine bottles, his brow quirking as he looked back at me.

“I may have drunk some of your wine,” I admitted. “And by may, I mean I definitely did. And by some, I mean two bottles. I couldn’t find the exact brand to replace, but I replaced the kind.”

“You didn’t have to, lass. I told you to help yourself.”

“Yeah, well, if I hadn’t, my meema would’ve sensed it and flown here to lecture me.” I grinned even though my heart hurt a little from missing her. “There are a lot of stereotypes of the south, but the emphasis on manners is not one of them. In fact, I think it’s understated.”

“Noted.” He set the bag down on the counter and pulled out one of the bottles, making quick work of the cork. Pouring a glass, he set it in front of me before moving to fix himself something from the bar.

“You don’t drink wine?”

“Nah, never developed a taste for it.”

“Why do you have so many bottles?”

“They were a gift.”

“Oh.” I bit my tongue—literally—to stop myself from asking more.

Killian took a drink before sharing anyway. “I did a favor for a vineyard owner. He was grateful and sent me a small case of assorted wine.”

“That was nice of him.”

“It was a waste of twenty-k since I don’t like wine.”

I nearly choked on my sip of wine—a thirty dollar bottle I’d thought was a nice splurge. Coughing, I wheezed, “How many bottles did he send you?”

Killian patted my back to stop my cough. “Eight. But I’ve given half away for birthday or housewarming gifts.”

Which meant, after my two, he only had two left.

“I chugged that wine,” I admitted on a groan. “I chugged five-thousand dollars’ worth of wine.” Holding up my glass, I shook my head. “I owe you way more than this crap.”

He chuckled, and in that moment, I noticed how close he was standing because I both heard and felt the rumble of it. His hand was no longer patting my back, and instead was lightly rubbing.

My eyes went wide as I looked up at him. I knew there was confusion on my gaze. A question about what we were doing. But there was also hope. Want.

Killian seemed to realize his closeness shortly after I did. His eyes darkened, but I barely caught a glimpse before he moved away. “I’ve gotta take Nolan out. Since he ate your dinner, pick something and we’ll order in.”

As soon as the door closed behind him, I hauled ass through the house, doing a speed version of the deep clean I’d had planned. Crawling around the living room, I picked up every sock, scrap of paper, and dropped pen I could find. I gathered my laundry and shoved it into one of my bags. Towels and washcloths went into the hamper, shoes were pushed against the wall instead of flung in the walkway, and my thong was moved off the bed and hidden in my bag like illegal contraband.

I’d barely made it back into the kitchen before the door opened.

“Did you decide on dinner?” Killian asked.

Reaching into the drawer, I pulled out the first menu I touched and held it up.

Mexican.

Score.

Feeling good about my stealthy speed-cleaning skills, I took a long drink of my wine to celebrate my success.

A drink I nearly choked on when he said, “Once you’ve caught your breath from your mad dash around my house, let me know what you want.”

Shit.

If he’s going to be so eagle-eyed, these next two weeks are going to be even harder than I thought.

Double shit.