Page 6 of Only for You
Her uncle’s bar had been a popular spot, and guys from all over their neighborhood dropped in. Including members from several of the mob families, not just the O’Bannons, the gang Killian had belonged to. One night, she’d been restocking in the storeroom and overheard a conversation outside of the door about an ambush, betrayal, and murder. The location was at a meeting the next night between the First Street Gang and the O’Bannons. At that time, the two Irish families had established a tenuous truce over territory and the rackets run on those streets, but it’d only been established for six months. And according to what Killian had informed her, the scheduled meeting was supposed to help further cement the truce. But from what she’d overheard, a truce was no longer on the table. Betrayal was, and the targets were the O’Bannons attending the meeting—including Killian, who, as an enforcer, planned on being there as protection for Jamie Hughes.
She’d immediately gone to Killian, needing to alert him about the ambush, to maybe prevent him from going to the meeting. But hotheaded and loyal to a fault—and in spite of her pleas—Killian had rushed headfirst into the trap, determined to warn and protect Jamie and the other gang members. Panicked, terrified he would lose his life, and desperate, she’d done the one thing that would save him. She’d called the police and told them about the meeting.
The day after he’d been arrested, she’d gone to the jail, tried to see him and explain, but he’d refused to come to the visiting room. The same thing happened the second, third, and fourth time she went. She’d even written him a letter. But nothing. Eventually, she’d had to accept that he didn’t want anything to do with her. Refused to forgive her.
So, she’d left Boston, grief and pain driving her across the country. Grief and pain because the man she’d loved despised her for her betrayal. She was leaving again, right after her uncle’s birthday party in a couple of days. She would return to L.A. Back to the estranged, lonely, but safe existence she’d lived for the last half decade.
“Killian, I…” she whispered. Paused. Slicked the tip of her tongue over her suddenly dry lips and tried again. “Killian, I’m sorry.”
Lame. The apology sounded lame to her own ears, and from the sharp slash of his hand through the air, it seemed he thought so, too. He prowled forward, eliminating the space between them. At the last moment, her survival instincts decided to make an appearance, and she shifted backward. But too little, too late. Before she could draw her next breath, he was on her.
His hands slammed down on either side of her head, caging her between the wall and his tall, wide frame. He pressed his hips against hers, and oh God, the long, thick length of his cock wedged against her belly. She couldn’t hold back her whimper. Not when hunger ground inside her like a twisting screw. Her pussy spasmed so hard it almost hurt, damn near begging to be filled, stretched, and branded again. His solid chest pressed against the palms she’d lifted at the last second. Holy shit, were those…nipple rings under his shirt?
“Sorry?” he murmured just above her mouth. So close she could taste the flavor of his breath. “I don’t want your damn apology. The only thing I want is you out of my club. Out of my life. Again.”
