"Here, a drink," Connor said, holding out the glass for Evelyn to take. She did, sniffing the red liquid and looking up at him curiously. "A red wine. More sweet than sour."
"Trying to get me drunk?"
"No, but if I were, we wouldn't be using wine."
"Whiskey is the Irish way, isn't it?"
Connor scoffed, taking a seat beside Evelyn on the leather sectional, a pint of black stuff in his hand. Wine wasn't his thing, but he figured Evelyn might want to drink if they were in a bar, and he had something of his own.
"Don't believe everything you hear, lass."
But to be fair, she had a point.
Evelyn simply shot him with a sly smile that said she knew he was toying with her, and sipped on her drink. "What now?"
"You wanted to listen to music, so wait, and listen."
Connor took the chance to survey the bar, and the people inside. It wasn't a pub, like he preferred, or even a club where someone could get up and dance. However, the place was a little-known gem, tucked away in a rather old part of Brooklyn, and it did decent business. The place didn't appeal to a younger crowd because it didn't cater to specialty drinks, flashing lights, and new-age music.
Instead, the place sported shined wooden floors, low lighting, leather furniture, a bartender with a tongue as sharp as his eye, and a stage. A single spotlight on the stage lit up the lone microphone that also gave a shout-out to the yesteryears gone by, with its large size and crackly sound when it was turned on.
It wasn't Connor's first time at the place, but he didn't come here often, either. He needed to be in a sort of mood to enjoy the atmosphere and nuance the bar provided. Usually when he went out to drink, it wasn't to enjoy the establishment, but to get drunk, have a meet with someone, or find a quick ride with a woman.
Connor glanced over to find Evelyn watching him from the corner of her eye. None of those things were on the table tonight—at least not with someone else. He found he wasn't all that interested in those things, anyway, unless the lass beside him asked for it.
She had asked for music, but didn't mention anything about dancing or the sort. He figured a bar with rubbish music wouldn't be up her alley, and neither would a club with enough people to make anyone claustrophobic. Maybe in time, but not tonight.
The curtains moved at the back of the stage, making Evelyn sit straighter as two people came out on the stage. A man and a woman, both dressed for a stage, while the man had a stool and guitar in his grasp.
Connor rested comfortably into the sectional, throwing his arm along the back. "Live music, love. You can't get better than that."
Evelyn didn't reply, but her profile was more than enough to tell him she was over the feckin' moon. He didn't care to pay attention to the couple on the stage setting up, or even the other people who had started to swarm the stage to get a seat on the sectional surrounding it to be the closest for the show.
Even after the man began to strum out a low, soulful tune while the woman's vocals perfectly complimented the instrument's sound, Connor was distracted. Or rather, far more interested in someone else.
Evelyn, that was.
He didn't want to miss a single thing as she experienced it with him, especially when she looked as happy as she did right then in that second. There had never been a moment when he wanted to freeze time, to perfectly capture a moment, more than he did when she smiled. It was always so genuine, so perfectly beautiful.
She didn't even realize it.
He wasn't sure how he managed to, when he'd never bothered to pay attention to something so simple in the other people around him.
Perhaps Evelyn was just special in that way.
Connor had been so caught up in watching Evelyn, that he didn't realize she was staring back at him until she spoke up.
"Don't you like the music?" she asked quietly.
He nodded. "Aye, but I like something else far better, lass."
Evelyn leaned into his side, settling more relaxed into the leather and closer to Connor. Her fingertips danced with his along the back of the sectional before she pulled his arm down around her shoulders. He quickly managed to lose track of time again, simply by the sensation of Evelyn's fingers toying with his as she watched the show.
Connor couldn't help but want more; he was a selfish bastard in that way, though he never tried to hide it. He stroked her bare arm up to the cap sleeve of her dress, stopping to finger the lace overlay of the blue fabric. He'd wondered what dress she would pick from the handful that had been purchased, and was secretly happy with her choice.
For a few reasons ...
It was high enough in the back to hide the stars below her neck, yet dipped low enough in the front to make his gaze and mind wander while his throat and slacks tightened. The deep blue make the red tones in her hair stand out more, and even caused her freckles to be a wee bit more noticeable on her skin. The skirt fell at her knees, but wasn't so tight that he couldn't get it up over her waist rather fast, if needed.
Connor smirked to himself, shaking his head as his fingers traveled back down the length of her soft arm again. Evelyn was paying attention to his moves, because with each touch, goosebumps bloomed over her flesh, though she never looked away from the stage.
He decided then and there that he could stay like this forever, watching her and touching her, because it was one of the most interesting things he had ever seen. She was by far one of the most interesting things he had ever been lucky enough to meet.
Twice, actually.
He'd been that lucky twice.
When Connor couldn't seem to distract her by stroking her arm, he moved to her hair, playing with the silky strands and curling the waves around his fingers just tight enough that she could feel him tugging. Evelyn's smile grew a wee bit wicked under the low lighting, and Connor knew he damn near had her, then.
He was terribly happy that she was enjoying her night out, even if he hadn't exactly planned for all the things they ended up doing. But now, he was ready to move on, perhaps get her back to the brownstone, and see what she wanted from there.
It'd been two weeks since she'd given him the pleasure of putting something beautiful on her body that would never be removed ... two weeks since he had watched her twist and cry out under her own hands, giving into her own wants.
He'd not entertained the idea again, unsure if he had crossed a line the first time, though he was more than willing to jump the feck over it a second time, if given the chance. But it wasn't about him, she had to make that choice on her own, because she wanted it. It was as simple as that.
She hadn't asked.
She needed to ask.
Evelyn eventually tugged his hand out of her hair, and set it in her lap, intertwining their fingers tightly together as if to keep Connor still. It didn't take long before she was tracing the ink on the back of his hand to where the tattoos disappeared beneath the sleeve of his dress shirt.
"Every time I look, I find something new," Evelyn murmured.
"One of the good things about turning your mind and thoughts into art, and putting them on your body," he replied.
"What's a bloody crown have to do with your thoughts and mind, then?"
Connor didn't have an easy or simple answer for that one. "Only the bloodiest ones wear the crown."
"Oh."
His explanation didn't seem to thwart her curiosity, as she continued peering over the tattoos around the main one, others that helped to make up the starting of a sleeve. It covered his whole arm.
"I don't like this very much," Evelyn said.
"Hmm, love?"
His mind was entirely somewhere else, clearly.
She held out the wine glass, still nearly full. "Maybe wine isn't my thing."
Connor laughed low, taking the long-stemmed glass from her hand. "Maybe we'll try whiskey next time, and see if we can get a bit of that Irish out of you."
"Maybe."
Her pretty features took on a more demure look in the low light of the bar, and Connor couldn't help himself when he traced the line of her cupid's bow on her upper lip with the tip of his thumb. His next move was simply out of instinct, because she hadn't shied away from his touch, and instead, smiled.
Connor's hand slid around the back of Evelyn's neck, and he pulled her forward, determined to get a taste of her pretty mouth. Her lips met his soft and sweet, but that wasn't nearly enough for him. He'd wanted a taste, not a feckin' tease. He only needed to nip on her bottom lip to get the response he wanted, and her mouth opened for him. The tart wine and heat of her mouth was lovely, so much so that he damn near forgot where they were in those few brief seconds.
It was Evelyn who pulled away.
"We should go," she whispered, still close enough to him to place another kiss on his lips. "Shouldn't we?"
Oh, yes.
He was very much ready to go.
"Enjoy the rest of the song," Connor told her. "I'll take these glasses back and we'll head out."
Evelyn nodded. "All right."
Connor headed for the bar, got rid of the glasses, paid for the tab, and turned back toward the stage, only to see a sight that had his blood boiling. He hadn't been gone very long—two minutes at the most—but apparently, that didn't matter to some people.
Or rather, it didn't matter to the man now sitting a wee bit too close to Evelyn on the leather sectional facing the stage. Connor could tell, even from his position, that the man's presence was making Evelyn uncomfortable just by being near her. The guy leaned in closer, and Evelyn moved away accordingly, but that didn't stop the foolish fecker from moving in again.
It was her stiff spine and darting gaze that spoke of something worse to Connor, especially when her stare found him, wide and worried.
Fear.
She was scared of the man, perhaps because it was her nature, or a learned trait. Connor wasn't entirely sure, but it wasn't hard to figure out that she didn't enjoy or want the attention the guest was lavishing on her. One look at her face said it all.
Rage churned heavily in Connor's gut as he headed toward Evelyn and the unknown man. Connor rounded the back of the couch, just behind where the fool was sitting, as Evelyn caught his eye again.
He wasn't sure what she was more worried about; what he might do, or what her unwanted companion was attempting to do.
"Let me buy you a drink," the guy said. "Bet it'll loosen you up enough to talk, beautiful."
Nope.
Connor bent down, resting his arms along the back of the couch, gaining the fool's attention. "Leave."
He didn't give warnings.
He didn't make nice.
He wasn't the type.
"Pardon?" the guy asked, looking over his shoulder to find Connor staring straight at him.
"Leave," Connor demanded again.
The guy chuckled, which only served to piss Connor off even more than he already was. He wasn't a joke, and he wasn't about to be treated like one.
"Listen, man, we're just having a conversation," the guy said. "Back off a little."
His hand came up fast, his fingers stroking Evelyn's cheek with a gentle touch. It didn't matter how soft the man was, she flinched, and Connor exploded.
Connor grabbed a fistful of the man's hair at the crown of his head at the same time he moved around the side of the seat. The guy's shouts and Connor's sudden, violent action caused the singers on stage to quiet, and likely gained the attention of the one bouncer at the door. Connor didn't care.
Before the guy could even think to fight back, Connor brought the man's face crashing down into the wee, round table in front of the seating area. The bottles, shots, and wine glasses jumped, tumbling and shattering on the floor.
Blood bloomed from the fool's face, spilling across the table.
Connor smashed the guy's face into the table one more time, just for good measure. The arsehole wasn't dead, but he sure as hell looked a wee bit worse for wear, and wouldn't feel very feckin' good come morning.
Bending down, Connor told the bleeding idiot, "Next time you're told to leave, just do that. Someone else might not be as kind as I was tonight."
Connor let the guy go, and the useless sack of shite fell to the floor, unmoving. Likely unconscious, not that it made much of a difference now.
"All right, you need to leave!" shouted the oncoming bouncer.
Connor held a hand out to a stunned, silent Evelyn who was still sitting where she had been when he left her. "Come on, lass. Seems we need to go."
Evelyn glanced up at him. "Did you kill him?"
"No."
"How do you know?"
He did look a wee bit dead.
"He's still bleeding, ain't he?"
Evelyn's burst of nervous laughter made Connor smile. He grabbed her hand and pulled her from the couch with a wink, stepping over the bloody, prone form of the man on the floor. Seeing the bouncer coming their way, and blocking off the direct path to the front entrance at the same time, Connor looked for an alternative route.
"Exit," he said with a nod in the direction they needed to go.
He gave a quick swat on Evelyn's arse, and off she went, with him right on her heels. Neither of them looked back at the bouncer following them as they disappeared out the exit, and into a dark, back alley.
Connor grabbed a large pole, likely used to hold the door open, and jammed it between the handle and the ground, effectively stopping the bouncer from getting outside. His hand found Evelyn's lower back as he guided her through the maze of the back alleys, keeping her close to his side.
"How do you even find your way around back here?"
Connor shrugged. "Mostly, you just walk until you see light coming from a street."
He was joking.
Sort of.
Finally, a light did come after another turn, and a street came into view. Connor held back from taking Evelyn out into the street so they could find his truck. "Are you all right, lass?"
She shrugged. "Yeah, it's fine."
He turned her around to face him. "I shouldn't have—"
"Beat that guy's face into a table?"
Connor smirked. "Not in front of you, maybe."
"You're too honest for your own good."
"Not a bad thing."
Evelyn sighed, saying, "I just ... it shocked me."
"I have a violent streak sometimes."
Understatement.
She glanced up at him, her brow puckering. "No, not that. I meant, the fact you reacted at all. That you got angry enough over him bothering me to react. I think we say that's jealousy, Connor."
He cleared his throat. "Hmm."
"You were jealous—admit it."
"So what if I was? You didn't look very comfortable, I handled it."
"Two birds, one stone?"
"Exactly, lass."
Evelyn grabbed his hands, and looked them over. "You've got blood all over your hands, you know."
"It washes off."
"Does it?" she asked.
"The bits of it you can see," he said vaguely.
"Thank you, Connor."
"For what?"
"For caring at all, I guess."
Before Connor had blinked, Evelyn stood on her tiptoes, and kissed him hard on the mouth. At first, the kiss was innocent, sweet enough to make him smile, even, until it wasn't innocent and sweet at all. Her lips parted and her tongue darted into his mouth, almost hesitantly at first, seeking something from him. He grabbed her waist, dragging her body into his until every inch of her was pressed against him while he got the chance to taste her mouth again.
His hands wandered up under her skirt, the softness of her skin a bright contrast to the roughness of his palms. Her arse fit perfectly into his hands, and when he grabbed tight to hold her still against him, she simply pushed into him even harder.
Connor barely noticed the stray person walking past the mouth of the alley only a few feet away, as his attention was on something—someone—else entirely. Evelyn didn't seem to mind, or care, where they were, letting him turn her around and back her into the closest wall.
Her wrists fit into his hands, and his knuckles scraped against the brick as he held her arms high above her head. Not once did she break their kiss, and he swore she only breathed when his lips kissed a path down her jaw and neck.
"The truck can't be far," Connor told her between kisses.
Evelyn didn't respond, instead tugging his shirt out of his slacks so she could get her hands on more of his skin. Her skin tasted divine—sweet and salty, a bit addictive, and he couldn't get enough. His teeth found her collarbone, making her gasp, and his tongue swirled along the hollow of her throat just to taste her body there, too.
Connor let her wrists go because he wanted to find more of her to touch, have more of her skin against his. His hands traveled under her skirt again, his fingers diving between her thighs to find her legs already spread and her knickers damp to the touch.
"Shite," he grunted against her throat. "Tell me to stop if you want to, lass."
"Talk less, fuck me more, Connor."
With those words, she grabbed his wrist, and pushed his hand against her lace-covered cunt, grinding her core into his fingers to make her point clearer. He didn't need the help—he had this figured out, all on his own.
A quick tug on her knickers and he had them pulled to the side, a second before two of his fingers swept her sex and then thrust knuckle-deep into her clenching pussy. Tight and hot, her walls clamped down around his fingers in a vise-like grip. Evelyn whined against his mouth at the intrusion, her hips falling into a fast, steady rhythm with his hand. Every time his fingers thrust in, her hips came down onto his hand.
"Not enough," she breathed.
"It is—it would be—but you're too feckin' greedy, love. You're too impatient."
Her laughter washed over him like smooth honey. "Do you blame me?"
Connor pulled his fingers out from between her thighs, and yanked her knickers down her legs right after, tossing them aside. "Not for a damn minute."
They probably shouldn't have been doing what they were doing in a dank, dirty alley, just a few feckin' feet from the opening, where any arsehole could walk by and see them. He shouldn't have been such a bastard, and taken her elsewhere—the truck, home, anywhere—other than there for a quick ride against a brick wall. It shouldn't have been so fast, so quick that he barely felt the condom sliding down his cock after she'd shoved his slacks down and lifted her dress.
Connor didn't think about any of those things until he already had Evelyn lifted against the wall, his cock sinking into her cunt, and he was watching her head fall back to the bricks with a pleased smile curving her lips wickedly.
He knew that feeling she was experiencing—that blissful disbelief—because it coursed through his nervous system, starting at the base of his cock and flooding through the rest of his body as fast as it could go. For a long while, he just held her there, up against the wall, balanced in his hands, his forehead meeting hers as he exhaled.
She was feckin' hot—her skin, her kiss, and her cunt.
And soft, too.
Like wet satin.
"Jesus," Connor grunted under his breath.
Evelyn's tongue snaked out to wet her bottom lip. "You're making this more painful of a wait than it needs to be—move."
"You're awfully demanding, lass, considering you're full of my cock."
"I'd like to be riding it, too, so get on that."
Feckin' hell.
She had a smart mouth, for it being so damn pretty.
"Hold on to something," Connor uttered.
If it was a ride she wanted, he was more than willing to comply. Had she wanted soft or sweet, she wouldn't have climbed on top of him in a dirty feckin' alley for a ride. His guilt over the whole thing disappeared just like that.
She wanted this just as badly as he did.
Connor ignored the bite of the bricks scratching his knuckles as he grabbed onto Evelyn's arse with both hands, and flexed his hips forward, hard enough to send her back into the wall. She didn't seem to mind his roughness, instead laughing breathlessly while demanding more and again.
He gave her exactly what she asked for, hard, sharp thrusts that forced her hands to drag against the walls, likely scraping her soft palms up as she struggled to gain some kind of traction with his brutal rhythm. Connor didn't slow enough to let her find any support—he couldn't, not once he got started.
All he could focus on was the way she fell onto his cock with each thrust, how her cries bounced off the alley walls, and how entirely free she looked in that moment.
He liked that the most.
Freedom—seeing her take what she wanted, giving her what she asked for—that was hers, and not entirely his.
It didn't take long at all before a telltale tremor began to work its way over Evelyn's body, and her hot cunt clamped down around his cock hard enough to almost hurt. He kept hold of her backside with one hand, but grabbed her jaw with his other, wanting her to look at him while she came on him for the first time.
Wide, blown pupils stared back at him. Pretty, pink, parted lips opened for a broken, high cry. A flush worked its way over her flesh, starting in her cheeks and rushing down her neck and chest.
"Oh."
Her exclamation came out soft and airless, a deep surprise coloring up the word. Almost as though she didn't believe the way her body reacted to what was happening.
Connor pulled her face forward just enough to catch her mouth in a bruising kiss. He didn't relent in his pace, even as she came, thrusting his way to his own orgasm until his knees went numb and his spine feckin' ached.
It should have been different.
It might have been better.
He could have taken his time.
Connor couldn't find it in himself to care in that moment. Not when Evelyn's smiling, silky lips kissed over his bearded jaw as he emptied himself as deep into her pussy as he could manage, and even minutes after they were done and the calm had returned, she still didn't push him away.
No, this was grand.
Feckin' perfect.
• • •
Evelyn perched herself on Connor's waist, her thighs tightening to his sides as she shifted to a more comfortable position. With the morning light spilling in through the windows, he couldn't find it in himself to be irritated that she had woken him up so damned early. He certainly couldn't be pissed when her shifting and moving turned into rubbing and grinding, making his morning erection all the more noticeable.
"You'll do well to stop that moving and let me wake up a bit more," Connor mumbled into the crook of his arm.
"I think you like my moving."
Connor grabbed her hip with his free hand, making her still. "I like it too much. Relax."
Evelyn leaned down, her nose nudging along his arm until he moved it just enough for her to press a soft, sweet kiss to his mouth. "Morning."
Okay, so maybe it wasn't a half bad way to wake up.
Connor grinned and moved his arm entirely so he could see her pretty face. "Morning, love." He used the tip of his thumb to trace the shape of her lips, enjoying her smile. Then, she kissed his digit, too. "You're awfully sweet in the morning."
"Oh?"
"Like a kitten."
Evelyn winked. "With claws."
"They must be hidden, then."
She didn't deny it.
"This one is my favorite," Evelyn murmured.
Connor didn't even have to look to see what she was talking about. He could feel her fingers ghosting over the tattoo of the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland, on his side. The only difference was, it did not look entirely like the cat from the tale. Instead, it took features of the only kitten he had cared for.
"And this one, too," Evelyn said, her hand moving higher, resting over his ink of three skulls resting atop one another. One was blind, another deaf, and the final one was mute.
"There's a lot of them," he admitted.
She hummed under her breath, her fingers dancing over the artwork that covered the majority of his torso, upper chest, and the full sleeves down both his arms.
"Why so many?" she asked.
Connor stiffened involuntarily at her innocent question. His tattoos, and the reasons why he had gotten so many over the years, were not a story he was willing to share. At least not right then, anyway.
"I like art," he said, half telling the truth.
"You didn't pick just one thing, though," she said.
"It didn't have to be one thing," he replied simply, "it just had to be art, love."
"Huh."
Silently, Evelyn went back to her exploration of his tattoos. Occasionally, she found another one she liked for some reason or another, and he knew only because she stopped to linger on the piece longer than she had the others. Her soothing touches, soft skin, and the warmth of the bed were damn near enough to put him back to sleep.
Except, he didn't fall asleep.
He didn't want to miss something from her.
So, he watched his lover instead, under his lowered lashes, just as transfixed as she seemed to be on her task. He couldn't bring to memory a morning that had ever been quite as quiet, yet good, as this one was so far.
Evelyn placed her palms to Connor's chest and pushed up to sit straight. She was careful about doing so, but he still didn't miss the slight wince as she sat upright fully.
"Your hands hurt," Connor said.
She balled her hands into fists, and hid them at her sides. "It's okay, really."
"Let me see them, lass."
"Really, it's fine, Connor."
He wasn't taking no for an answer again. While the night before had come and gone from his memories in brief, yet poignant flashes, he still remembered the most important details. Things like the restaurant, the bar, the fool whose face had gotten broken, and the alleyway behind the business where ...
Connor cleared his throat, and reached for Evelyn's hidden, clenched hands. Carefully, he unballed her fingers, and opened her palms up flat for him to survey the damage. Red, angry scrapes covered her palms, likely from the roughness of the brick wall where they'd ended up together the night before. The scrapes weren't dirty, and a bit of antibiotic cream would do wonders.
Connor sighed. "Shite."
Evelyn rolled her eyes. "It's not that bad."
"Maybe not, but they should be cared for. It's feckin' rude of me to have you like that, and not take care of you properly afterward."
"I didn't think of it that way."
Connor met Evelyn's gaze, seeing some unknown emotion flash in her eyes. "What, lass?"
"It's nothing."
"Mmm, it's something." Connor set up in the bed, taking Evelyn with him. "You tell me what it is while I fix your hands a bit, all right?"
She didn't look entirely agreeable to that deal, but nodded. "Okay."
Connor found the items he needed in the bedside table—some antibiotic cream, and a half empty roll of gauze. He had a few other emergency essentials in there, should he need them, as this wasn't even close to the first time he had woken up with a bloody something needing wrapped or cleaned. Usually, it was him that needed the care, not someone else.
With a tube of cream in his hand, and one of Evelyn's palms opened to him, Connor said, "Talk."
"It's just ... it's unusual to have someone care for me if something needs it," Evelyn said softly.
Connor clicked his tongue disapprovingly as he smeared her palms with the antibiotic cream, and went about wrapping them up. "That's a damn shame, lass."
"I can handle a bit of pain, Connor."
"That's grand. Doesn't mean you don't need a bit of aftercare to make sure you're okay, and whatnot."
Evelyn's brow furrowed. "Aftercare?"
Connor smiled crookedly, holding her palm up to his cheek before tipping his head to the side so he could kiss the bandage there. "I know you're grand, and that this doesn't bother you all that much. I get you like a wee bit pain, and roughness isn't going to send you running scared, love. Fact is, you still let me do ..." He kissed her palm again. "... This, which means it's only right that I do something for you. Understand?"
"You don't have to, though."
That was the thing ...
Just because she said it so indifferently, because she didn't know any different.
"Yes," Connor said firmly, "I do."
• • •
Connor held out the piece of ravioli, and Evelyn took the bite with a serene smile. Her contentedness was the only thing keeping him from hauling her pretty arse back upstairs and keeping her in bed for the rest of the day.
That, and she was eating.
He never interrupted her eating.
It had become a habit for her to eat with him whenever she could, though. In the two months since he had found her, Evelyn had gone from frail to healthy. She was no longer underweight, she sometimes ate more than he did, and he was not about to complain.
It was only when the phone rang in the living room—his brownstone's line, not the cell—did Connor finally decide to move the woman from his lap, and leave her to her own devices. Evelyn didn't say a thing as he pushed her chair in, only reached for another ravioli as Connor kissed the top of her head.
"Save me some," he said.
Evelyn laughed. "I promise nothing."
That was his lass.
Connor made it to the ringing phone before the answering machine picked up, and he didn't even pretend to be pleasant when he answered. Hell, it was whoever interrupting his morning, he didn't need to be nice.
"What?" Connor snapped the second he had the phone to his ear.
"Connor, we've got a problem."
He scrubbed a hand down his face. "Killian?"
"Yeah, mate. You need to get down to the—"
Connor groaned. "First, I don't have to do feck all. Second, I'm not in the mood to talk. Try again later."
"I don't have time for this cac, Connor. We've got a situation at The Ink Shoppe—a dead one."
What?
Connor glanced back toward the kitchen, where he had left Evelyn. "At my Shoppe?"
"I just said that."
"You can't handle it?"
"I think you should see it," Killian said with a harsh sigh. "I don't think it was meant for me, you get me?"
Connor cussed a blue streak before muttering, "I'll be there in twenty."
He didn't bother to say goodbye, instead hanging up the phone a wee bit more forcefully than was necessary. He tried to hide the irritation on his face as he headed back into the kitchen, but figured he was probably doing a miserable job at it.
Evelyn held up a bite for him to take as he rounded her side of the table, and he took it, chewing slowly. It allowed him a bit of time to think up something to say to excuse himself, without telling her something had happened. She didn't need to be worrying about those sorts of things.
"I need to head out for a bit," he said. "Not for long, but I'll bring something home for lunch."
"I can't come?"
Connor frowned, but hid it by looking away. "Not today."
Evelyn shrugged. "Okay. I'd like some more of that pizza like we had last night."
"Done, love."
She flashed him with another brilliant smile, and reached for her sketchbook across the table, already distracted on something else. Connor took that as his chance to head out, though he would much rather stay right there with her, especially if she was going to be drawing.
Before he could convince himself otherwise, Connor left the brownstone and headed for his tattoo parlor. Traffic wasn't too bad, surprisingly, so he made it there a few minutes quicker than he had actually told Killian on the phone.
The front of The Ink Shoppe was still locked up tight, like his employees knew to leave it when they finished with their final clients. Confused, Connor unlocked the front door, and went in, closing it behind him as he called out for Killian.
Silence answered him back.
Connor walked through the whole business before he finally found his friend hanging out the back door, a cigarette stuck between his lips.
"You know you're not supposed to be smoking in here," Connor said.
Killian took a heavy drag. "It's one of those mornings."
"Are you going back to that vague shite again?"
His friend didn't answer, instead pushing the back exit door open wide, so Connor was able to see the body lying on the wet pavement in the back alley. It took him a second or third look before he recognized the battered, dead corpse.
Danny.
The man he'd been with the night he killed the Russian's son. One of Connor's few friends.
Frankly, he might have overlooked Danny getting whacked, considering he played on the wrong side of the law more often than not, and hung around with some pretty delinquent individuals. In their business, death was always close behind.
He couldn't overlook Danny's killing, though, because he'd been left at Connor's doorstep.
Essentially.
Connor blew out a slow breath, taking in the lack of blood around the body. "He was left here, I'd say."
"His father is going to feckin' lose it."
That, too.
"Do you have an idea about who did this?" Killian asked.
Danny's father was one of Sean's lieutenants.
Connor paused at that thought, wondering ...
He could easily blame this on the Russians, given everything, though they had yet to actually cause problems for him. Sean had only alluded to issues in that regard. None had actually touched Connor, yet.
What was more likely—more realistic—was that Sean had done this.
But even for that, Connor didn't know why.
Sean never needed a good reason to kill.
Connor voiced those inner thoughts before ending it with, "It could have been Sean."
"Could be?" Killian asked with a scowl.
The cell in his pocket buzzed, taking Connor out of the conversation. Figuring it was probably Evelyn calling him from the brownstone, he answered the call with a quick, "Hello?"
"I have a job for you, son. Be in Jersey as soon as you can or I'll make a trip to Brooklyn."
"Sean—"
The call hung up before Connor could even get in a proper reply. He shoved the phone back into his pocket, frustrated and hating himself for even picking up Killian's call earlier.
"Can you clean this mess up?" Connor asked Killian.
The other Irishman shrugged. "I can call somebody—it'll be gone before the hour."
Connor nodded. "All right. Make sure it's left somewhere that it'll be found. For his father, and all."
"Got it."
Perhaps Connor should have been more ... affected over the death of one of his friends, but this wasn't the first time that foulness had come into his life without his permission. He had learned over the years that remaining untouched by the emotion of grief was far better than succumbing to it, even if it made him one cold feckin' bastard.
Besides, if this was Sean's work, Connor needed to be on his game when he faced his father, and being torn up over finding Danny wouldn't help.
There was a method to the madness.
Sean meant for something to happen, or he intended to get there, eventually.
Connor had learned that, too.
The hard way.
"Why Danny?" Killian asked, bringing Connor from his thoughts.
"Maybe he's questioning people he knows I associate with, beyond his level. Danny wouldn't have a thing to tell, and you know how Sean gets in a right state when he doesn't get what he wants from a man."
"But why leave him here, mate?"
Connor scrubbed a hand down his face. "To let me know something—he's looking, he knows, or something."
"Grand."
Yeah, that's how Connor felt about it all, too.
Grand. :12.0pt;font-fap:$C9Z