Instead, all these questions and problems swirled around my head and I didn’t know how any of them connected. My marriage to Dean, my uncle’s machinations behind the scene, this war with the Healy family. It felt so tenuous and fraught, but somehow connected.
Dean sat down next to me, closer than I would’ve liked. It felt good flirting with him in that church, and the way he looked at me during the service was right along that line of pleasure and discomfort. I was embarrassed that he was staring, and I was sure other people noticed, but it felt good to be looked at, to be really seen. And besides, we were playing the role of a young couple in love.
I wasn’t sure what was an act and what was the truth with Dean though.
He stretched out his legs and leaned his head back against the couch. “How are you holding up?” he asked. “You hit the ground pretty hard.”
“Knee hurts,” I said, rubbing it. “Otherwise, I’m fine. You didn’t have to do that, you know.”
He rolled his neck to look at me. “Do what?”
“Push me down.” I chewed on my lip. “Cover me.”
“I was protecting you,” he said. “Didn’t think about it much.”
“You’re the Don,” I said. “They can afford it if I die. You’re more important.”
He snorted once. “I wonder about that,” he said and his fingers touched my leg, then slowly moved down to my knee. I was already starting to bruise, and he rubbed it gently, expertly, his rough callused fingers rolling around the muscle and ligaments. It felt good and it felt wrong, and I didn’t know which I liked better. I wanted to brush him away, and I wanted to pull him closer.
I was a mess of conflicting emotions, and I was afraid they’d never settle out.
“I never wanted to bring you into danger like that,” he said, his voice strained. “But I suppose now you know what it’ll be like, living with me.”
“I hope we don’t get shot at every Sunday,” I said.
He smiled slightly. “We won’t,” he said. “I’m not sure we’ll ever get shot at again like that, although we might. It’s just, you should know it’s always a possibility. That sort of thing’s always there in this line of business.”
“Why do you do it then?” I asked suddenly. “You’re smart and handsome. I’m sure your father left you money. Why do you stay?”
He frowned a little bit as if he didn’t understand the question, and he didn’t say anything for a long moment. I looked at his lips, at the stubble on his chin, at the swell at his throat, and his broad shoulders, and I wondered how a man like him survived knowing he might die at any moment.
Maybe there was a liberation in it, when you know with certainty you might not survive to see the next day. That could be freeing for some guys. It’s be a great excuse to let loose, to do things you might otherwise never do.
Like marry a stranger and offer her millions of dollars. Like getting her off on your wedding day.
“It’s family,” he said after a while, and I’d almost forgotten what I’d asked. I was lost in a fantasy, remembering his lips on my pussy again.
“Family?” I asked.
“Even though we’re not blood, all these guys are family,” he said. “We’re bonded in this. The violence, the pain. The risk. It brings you close to people.”
“You seem like you hate half of them,” I said.
He laughed and pulled his hand from my knee. I felt his absence like a weight. “I do hate some of them, but in the way you hate a sibling.”
“I can’t relate to that,” I said.
“I guess I can’t either,” he admitted. “But it’s how I feel.”
“So what will you do now?” I asked.
He leaned toward me and I felt his breath against my lips. “Wait until the others come back,” he whispered. “Maybe take out some of my frustration on you.”
I pressed my hand against his cheek. It was warm and rough. I pushed his face back and he chuckled softly as I stood up. “I think I’ll go help Bea,” I said. “Maybe you can work out that frustration on yourself instead.”
He grinned and stared at me as I left, and an excited thrill ran down my spine. I stood on the other side of the door just inside the kitchen in the shadows and leaned my head against the wall. He drove me crazy, his hands on my skin, his lips so close. I knew what he could give me if I could only let it go—
But every time I tried, I remembered why I hated him and why I wanted to leave.
The men in my life treated me like nothing. My father, my uncle, they sold me for the family. I was nothing to them, and I couldn’t let myself think I might be something to Dean.