Page 7 of Tainted Blood

I’ll make sure to visit the doctor for any sort of STIs. God, I can’t believe how irresponsible I was, but there was something different about Ian that made me forget all common sense and safety. He could have been a crazy serial killer. Then again, in a matter of minutes I learned several things about him, including that he assists his brother who owns the club, so he can’t be too terrible. At least that’s what I tell myself to feel better about the serious lack of judgement.

I catch a cab and head to my tiny apartment. Just as I get inside, my cell rings in my purse, and I pull it out. It’s Jacob. He’s probably freaking out. “How is your hangover?”

“It hasn’t kicked in yet,” I mutter. A hangover isn’t what I have going on. Although, there’s pain in other spots of my body.

“How did you get home?” he asks.

“A cab.” It’s not a lie because there were several outside of the hotel, and I hopped in the first available one. It was just a matter of time, not that it was any of his business.

“Not that club owner guy who stole you from us?” he questions, sounding a bit too curious.

“No. We parted ways when he had some business to handle, so I caught a cab home.”

“Good. We were worried about you.” Funny, because no one stopped him or bothered to call me last night after they left. They all stood back and watched as if they were too afraid to counteract his decree.

“Thanks, but as you can hear I got home safe.”

“That’s good. I hope you didn’t get his number or let him get yours.”

“Why?” I ask in a bit of a snit. Jacob doesn’t have a claim to me. We are friends and nothing more, so it’s none of his business who I associate with.

“Don’t get mad. I’m just looking out for you. That club is owned by mobsters.”

“What?” The color in my face goes from olive to pale in a flash of a second.

“Yeah, it’s owned by the MacNamara family.” The name rings a bell, but it’s a common Irish name, so it’s reasonable for me to have heard it before.

“Well, I didn’t get his number, and he didn’t get mine. I’ve got to let you go so I can get ready for class.”

“Okay. See you soon.” I end the call and then look up the MacNamara name. As soon as the search results pop up, I see what happened last year. Their baby brother was kidnapped. I gasp as I read about it. There is a photo of the little boy, but that’s it. Nothing else.

Damn. That’s terrible. It’s been almost a year since the day that he was taken. I hope they find him, and find him alive. My heart aches for the little boy, but a painful sensation strikes me. What if Ian knew about my father and intentionally seduced me? What if he didn’t know, and they have some sort of tension between them?

My alarm goes off, reminding me to get off my ass and get ready, so I head to my bedroom and shower quickly. When I get out of the shower I see my reflection, I realize that Ian marked my body. “Shit.” I pull out the fancy magic cover-up that Maggie bought me last year and hope it does the trick.

Once I dry off and get dressed for class, I paint the miracle cream on my neck and upper chest. Luckily, it seems to have worked. I check the weather for today. Thankfully it’s May and the weather is blustery, so I’ll have an excuse to wear a hoodie to class. I don’t need anyone to be aware that I went to a hotel with a rumored mobster.

Something about what Jacob said bothers me, so I call my dad before I leave my house. I have a serious question for him. “Dad, did you know that the club is owned by mobsters?”

“Well, hello and good afternoon to you too, Princess.”

“Sorry, Dad. Good afternoon,” I say, feeling bad that I’m practically shouting at him without a simple greeting.

“And to answer your question, yes—but it’s not a big deal because the club is considered extremely safe.”

“Yes, but not to the daughter of another mo—”

“Don’t finish that sentence, young lady. Did something happen to you?” he asks. His voice is tinged with concern, which I expect.

“No, but my friend from school told me who the owners were,” I say, only half lying. If he knew I had sex with one of the MacNamara men, he might do something crazy. It’s one thing if I marry a made man, but just having sex with him is a different story.

“Well, then, what are you complaining about?”

“Nothing. Never mind. I have to go to class.”

“Make sure you come see us soon. Your mom and I miss you.” He’s talking about my stepmother, who is a sweetheart; my mother was killed by a car bomb when I was three. What’s worse was it came from her own family in an attempt to create a war.

“Okay. I love you, Dad.”

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