Even Paddy looks ill at the idea, as much as he’s still suspicious of Tig and probably always will be.
“You’ve taken care of her?” I clarify.
Niall nods stiffly. “As I said, it’s done.”
I let him go. No one likes killing a woman, not even the Irish Reaper.
I don’t stay long after the door swings shut on Niall, wanting to be home with Tig. Niall didn’t go far. He’s seated at the VIP bar, knocking back a whiskey, saying something to Mellie, who reaches over and taps the back of his hand.
Niall covers her hand with his, lifting his eyes to meet hers, and they silently stare at each other until she clears her throat, tugging her hand away. I know exactly how Niall feels. I need to wrap myself around Tig and feel her body under mine.
Chapter Eighteen
TIGGY
I’m so ready for a girl’s night out. Unfortunately, my super protective husband has put the hex on that any time soon. The closest I can get is the private bar at Oracle. I’ll take what I can get.
I've called in Fiona and Mellie. Mellie should have been here an hour ago, but Fiona and I are now sitting at the bar, sipping vodkas while she waits for her set, and I wait for Seamus to finish up for the night.
Glancing around, I can see that even here, deep in the middle of Oracle, Seamus’s crew have eyes on me. Well. They’re supposed to have eyes on me, but I’m not currently the main drawcard.
“Ronan’s watching you,” I smirk at Fiona, who tightens her grip on her vodka, glancing over her shoulder in the direction I’m looking. Her eyes meet his briefly, but she doesn’t acknowledge him, turning back to me, giving him the cold shoulder.
“He can look all he wants. It’s literally my job,” Fiona mutters, taking a slug of her drink.
“He can’t keep his eyes off you,” I tease her, but she rolls her eyes at me.
“I have no intention of joining his museum of broken things.”
I blink at her in surprise. Broken things? Please. The man doesn’t want tosaveher. He’s looking at her like he wants todevourher.
“I don’t think that’s what it is….”
Fiona flicks her hair over her shoulder, cutting me off.
“That’sexactlywhat it is,” she corrects me with a frown. “Everyone knows the Irish Saint can’t help himself when it comes to saving people like me.”
“Even if that was the case,” I sigh, “it’s not like him saving you would be the worst thing in the world. Look how he helped Liam. He caught him jacking his car and -.”
“And inducted him into theIrish Mafia,” she snorts, and I trail off. Okay, the woman has a point. “I have no intention of being saved or collected. He can find a different broken stripper to stare at.”
“You’re not broken,” I start, choking back the rest of my words when she glares at me. “Sorry, force of habit.”
“You’re my friend, not my caseworker.” Fiona’s eyes narrow at me.
“Yeah, sorry.”
I’m in the middle of apologizing again when Fiona smirks over my shoulder. I turn with a huffed sigh as Mellie slings herself onto the barstool, tipping her head onto my shoulder.
“I’m sad, Mrs. Fitzpatrick,” she sighs, butting the top of her head against my jaw. “You can bemycaseworker.”
“And what can I help you with then, Mellie,” I drawl.
She sighs again, resting her chin on her fist, her elbow propped up on the bar as she bats her eyelashes rapidly at me.
“I need to get laid. A nice,bigdick. You got a case file for that?”
Behind me, there is a choking and spluttering, and Mellie blushes deeply, looking over my shoulder. Turning, I see Seamus, who has choked on his whiskey and is coughing, Ronan thumping him on the back.