Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
But first he’d get her permission.
She’d been pushed and pulled even more growing up than he had. He wasn’t going to be yet another person who tried to make decisions about her life without talking to her. And if she says no? Well, then, he’d deal with that problem when he came to it. He didn’t want to have to choose between her and his family, because he wasn’t sure what choice he’d make.
Either way it’d be the wrong one.
His phone chirped and he sighed. Aiden. It had only taken him a few hours to figure out Cillian was gone. “Hey.”
“You know, when I said you needed to stay out of trouble, that didn’t mean take a fucking vacation to the country.”
“The air out here helps me think.”
“You’re full of shit.” He cursed long and hard. “I need you in town, Cillian. I have the information we were looking for, but I need you to decipher it.”
He sat back in his chair and propped his feet up, trying to ignore the worry taking root inside him. “That was quick.” And Aiden sounded tired—really tired. It might be a necessary evil, but it’s killing part of him. “Everything went off without a hitch?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Shit. That wasn’t good. That wasn’t good at all. He frowned, trying to decide the best way to approach this. “It might be a good idea to talk about it with someone, even if it’s not me.” Otherwise, Aiden would end up like a volcano, just waiting for the right moment—or the wrong one—to explode. That was dangerous under the best of circumstances, but with him now functioning as the leader of the O’Malleys on most of the day-to-day things, it could be downright deadly.
“Fuck off.”
Cillian rubbed the bridge of his nose. Aiden wasn’t going to talk to him and, if he kept pushing, his brother might actually hang up. Since Aiden was right and no one could get to the bottom of this information faster than Cillian, he needed to not push him past his limits. No matter how worried he was about him. “E-mail me what you found. I’ll get to the bottom of it.”
“It would be better if you were in Boston.”
He knew that, but he’d have to make do. “I’ll get it taken care of. Just send me the files.”
“Why are you out there? Liam didn’t say a damn thing other than you took a few men and left town.”
Thank God for Liam’s discretion. Mark would have reported to him, so he’d know that Cillian wasn’t alone out here, but he’d kept it to himself. He understood why Liam had reported at all, though—there was only so far he’d put his neck out there. Far enough to have it cut off if this goes sideways.
He hesitated. Easy enough to come clean now and give Aiden a heads-up that Romanov might be a more active threat than they could have anticipated. All he had to do was open his mouth and say the damning words.
Instead he forced a laugh. “You know me, big brother. I had a lark, so I ran with it.”
“I thought you were past all this craziness.”
“Apparently I’m not.” Even hearing it now was a bone in his throat. He wasn’t that irresponsible dickhead anymore, but he’d play the part for Olivia. Right now the most important thing was making sure he could keep his promise to keep her safe. The rest would fall into place one way or another.
Aiden sighed. “Call me when you have the information I need.”
“Will do.” He hung up before he could change his mind. If, after he talked to Olivia, she was fine with him sharing with his family what she’d told him, then he’d call Aiden back. If she wasn’t…Well, it wasn’t like this would be the first secret he’d ever kept.
A board creaked, and he looked up to find her standing in the doorway to the porch, looking like heaven. Her dark hair had started in a ponytail when he’d picked her up, but strands of it had come loose in the intervening hours, softly curling around her face. Every other time he’d seen her, she’d been in her bar getup—ripped jeans and equally ripped T-shirts—but now she wore yoga pants that fit her like a second skin and a tank top that looked loose and comfortable. It made him want to hold her close.
Why not?
Still holding her gaze, he held out his hand in a silent demand.
She took a step forward, hesitated like she might change her mind, and then crossed the distance between them to slip her hand into his. He pulled her into his lap, the feel of her there settling something in his chest he hadn’t even been aware was broken. It felt good. Right.
And he was going to fuck it all up with what he had to ask her. “Sweetheart—”