Page 77 of Forbidden Bond

“If Ire McDade walks in here and I look too comfortable—”

“He won’t care,” she said, laughing. “He knows we’re friends. Only friends.”

“Don’t think it matters if we’re fucking. People aren’t supposed to hang out in the head guy’s space.”

“This is my space too, and I’m telling you he won’t care.” Her head tilted. “You did this at the loft too.”

“Think if Ire walked in here right now, you’d be more concerned with yelling at him than sticking up for me. We underlings are always the first forgotten.”

“Would you stop?” Folding her arms, she rested a shoulder on the doorframe. “Where’s Ford?”

“Stag.”

“Staying there? Why?”

He stood up. “Ask the gaffer.”

“If I could find him, I would.”

“You get ready. I’ll get dressed and come with you.”

“No, you’re hurt.”

“Ah, it’s cuts and bruises, Scamp. What good am I hanging around here? You’ve got your drinks thing, I want to check in with my boy. And you think I trust the three stooges with your life on a night like this? Hard for them to keep you in check when you ignore everything they say.”

“I hear them.”

“You rule them. They’re too scared to say no to you.”

“Daly says no.” When he didn’t know anything. She sighed. “Fine. We don’t have time to argue. Twenty minutes, in the office. If you’re not there, we’re leaving without you.”

“Think I’m likely to be the hold up here?”

She scowled at his laugh and backed up until he departed the room. Guy was right, unfortunately, all he had to do was shower and change. She had hair, makeup, nails, all things she hadn’t planned to do, but now she was there, it seemed necessary.

Conn. Where was he? There would be a contingency for this, right? For what they’d do if Nicole was discovered by someone looking to claim the contract. “Irish down” could mean Nicole, or something else entirely.

Most might think if Nicole was dead, there’d be more of an uproar in the ranks, but it wasn’t like she was the most loved McDade, not by a long shot.

As predicted, Strat was standing by the office door waiting when she emerged.

“Feel better?” he asked.

The swelling of his eye, the bruise on his jaw, the cut on his ear… Yeah, he’d cleaned up, but the injuries weren’t invisible.

“You sure you want to do this?”

“If there’s a chance of trouble, I don’t want you, or my boy, alone.”

“Okay,” she said and took his arm. “Then let’s get to it.”

TWENTY-FIVE

STAG WAS JUMPING. The line outside wound its way around the corner, not unusual for a weekend. At this time, it was doubtful many more would be admitted. Those inside wouldn’t leave at the height of the party buzz, maybe that was for the best.

Did being in and around Stag improve these people’s chances of safety and survival? Difficult to tell when she had no idea of the threat.

Door security parted to grant access to her and her entourage. Weird to think she had one, but her four guys stayed close, and they had their own tail of destruction. Entourage seemed more apt than “staff” or any other term that put her above them. These were her contemporaries, her friends, though they may not see their relationships in the same way.

---