Page 161 of Rage

I inventoried my mental rolodex of Irish players in the city, searching for any Kieran of influence. There was only one, which was surprising.

“Kieran O’Malley,” I said, looking him up and down, taking my first in-person assessment of him.

“Ah, so you have heard of me.”

“Maybe. You’re Eoghan Green’s… secretary? Executive assistant?”

“You wound me,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m the Chief of Operations.”

He wore a bespoke suit, perfectly tailored, with a deep green lining that I could barely see through the cuffs of his shirt. He wasn’t what I’d expected. Younger. He was handsome, his jaw chiseled. His eyes had a deep set crease that gave the impression that he was brooding. His smile lines, on the other hand, told a different story.

How did a man like this work for the ruthless Eoghan Green? How was he one of the top lieutenants in a crime syndicate that had only recently gone legitimate? The act of going legitimate, in itself, required blood. A lot of it. And the Greens had been ruthless in their transformation.

The water dropped off his two Irish coffees, and his creme brulee.

Fancy, isn’t he?

“You were watching me last night.” It was a statement, not a question. I had seen him at the bar.

I’d also seen him at the Underground Circuit–the clandestine MMA fights secretly hosted by Barkada Industries. I had never paid attention to him, because my eyes had always drawn to the Greens - Alastair and Eoghan - who came to support Rose Legaspi, the first female champion in our octagon.

I shuddered, remembering the utter security failure that had happened when the bratva had made a heinous kerfuffle, leaving one man shot, and others wounded and dead. That clean up had been a great inconvenience.

“I ensured you had a reservation tonight,” he said, with a triumphant smile. “Yesterday, your company soured your appetite. I’d hate for you to have a bad impression of the Grand Kintyre.”

I took a deep breath, as I felt the blush color my cheeks. I wasn’t hurt by the end of my relationship with Feldon. I was incensed at the embarrassment of it.

“Though, by the sight of that cheesecake, I’m wondering if I'm souring your appetite, too.”

I bristled, examining his face.

Had he been Feldon, I would have assumed that he was saying that because he needed reassurance. FIshing for compliments. But on Kieran O’Malley, the exact same question wasn’t a cry for help, as much as it was a guarded tease.

“What can I do for you, Mr. O’Malley?” I cut to the chase.

No one inserted themselves into my space unless they wanted something from the Barkadas.

“I’d like to pay for your meal,” O’Malley said, as he took a sip of his Irish coffee, “Then take you upstairs, and ravish you in a way that Feldon Lauder probably hasn’t.”

Chapter Four

Kieran

Did I sit down with the intent to proposition her? No.

But dammit, as my friend Sinead liked to say, when you know, youknow. When you feel an unbelievable pull to someone, don’t be coy. Do whatever you must to have them. Jump their bones as soon as possible, and carve yourself into their soul. Start your life together as soon as you can bamboozle them into your bed.

“Excuse me?” Her eyes narrowed. She was offended.

I was delighted that she was reacting. That was more than what Feldon managed.

“Come on.” I stifled a laugh as I whispered, “I doubtFeldonhad any idea how to find the clitoris. Did he spend half an hour stroking the left fold and then ask if you’d finished?”

Her eyes widened, and again, I tried not to laugh out loud. Her reaction was adorable, and telling. I had hit the mark head-on.

“If you were with me, it would never be a question. You would come, over and over, and over again.” Her lips partedbefore she bit down on her lower lip. “How long were you with that wanker?”

“Two years,” she said, as she brought her Irish coffee to her lips.

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