Eighteen
Declan
I wasn’tgreat with a gun. My aim wasn’t perfect, even though I visited the shooting range more often than any of my brothers, which they gave me shit for.
I dealt in weapons, but I couldn’t shoot half the fuckers.
Now, shit was different.
I had to get this right or Seamus wouldn’t have a dad, and Aela?
Christ.
What would happen to her?
Da would pull something. I just knew it. He’d take Seamus away from her, and she’d—
No.
I couldn’t fail.
Quickly shooting out the windshield, I managed to get another round off. The shooter on the passenger side went down with a speed that left me wide-eyed, but the other guy, the driver, managed to hit the fender and, worse luck, fucking Brennan. Only in the shoulder, thank God, but that was too much.
The kickback from my gun shouldn’t have me shaking like a goddamn kitten, but I was fucking exhausted all of a sudden. Adrenaline was still riding high in my veins, but instead of making me feel like I’d ingested ten million Red Bulls, it just left me feeling woozy.
I got off another shot, watched as it went too low, and cursed because that gave him the opportunity to shoot us. Only, his leg buckled from my bullet and he went down, screaming like a bitch as he collided with the asphalt. Before I could feel even a whisper of relief, flashing lights appeared in the rearview mirror, and two guys in FBI jackets jumped out with weapons in their hands as they scanned the scene.
Aidan hissed, “Dec, what the fuck’s going on?”
“They’re down,” I rasped, my gaze on the agents who were casing the area.
“Thank fuck!”
One of the Feds flashed their weapon at me, but I scowled at him even as I made sure I dropped my gun on my lap and raised my hands high. They moved out to the shooters, one going to check the pulse of the guy I’d taken out, and another going to the fucker rolling around, screaming like I’d shot off his cock.
Goddammit.
Today was not going to end as planned—with me getting my dick wet in the pussy I’d been craving for over fourteen fucking years.
* * *
AELA
“A ghrá.”
His voice shouldn’t make me melt, but it totally did. Combine it with the endearment he’d only ever used with me? Say goodbye to my panties.
“Hey,” I greeted, as I stared at New York’s answer to my wet dream.
The art supplies store was twice as large as the one I’d used back in Providence, and before he called, I’d been drooling over the array of Winsor & Newton oils. But Declan beat oil paints, acrylics, and even charcoal.
Yeah, that was how hot he was.
“I need to ask a favor.”
As I picked up a tube of Winsor Orange, peering at the label before ducking down to see if there was a bigger version since I’d need a lot of it for the painting I had in mind, I asked, “What’s that?”
“I could ask anyone to come get me, but I want to see you.”