Page 86 of Black Heart

“I don’t get distracted, ye bastard!”

“Then, what would ye call it?”

“Being fucking thorough!”

“Is that what ye call it?”

“Aye!”

“I call it being a fucking-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Tristan snapped, and for once, Marty was grateful that he’d channeled the asshole within. She honestly wasn’t sure if she could have handled another minute of bickering.

“Ye didn’t have to be so rude about it,” one of the men grumbled.

“Apparently, I did,” Tristan said dryly before adding, “Can we get to the point of your visit without the bitching?”

“I don’t know how Shayne put up with ye for all these years,” came the muttered response, which piqued her interest enough for her to open her eyes and chance the world spinning out of control. There was a little dizziness, but nothing like she’d experienced before. A loud, long-suffering sigh had Tristan muttering under his breath and her attention shifting to Shayne.

“Some days were harder than others,” Shayne said, nodding solemnly.

“He always was a mean little bastard,” the man to Shayne’s left said with a sigh.

“Mmmhmmm, just a right mean bastard,” the man to his right said with a firm nod.

“Enough!” the man sitting in the large, overstuffed, black leather chair that didn’t go with the rest of the furniture snapped, sounding pissed and reminding her of a certain someone that was glaring at Shayne.

“Let’s get this over with,” the man said quietly, his tone and words instantly replacing the light mood in the room with a sense of foreboding.

Tristan reached down and took one of her hands in his. He gave it a gentle squeeze, letting her know that everything would be okay. She knew that he would never let anything happen to her, but that didn’t stop her from worrying. She didn’t want to lose him. Kick his ass? Absolutely. He had a lot of explaining to do and once he’d properly groveled, she would consider forgiving him for hiding this whole thing from her.

“We should give ye a proper introduction,” the man sitting down in the chair that she’d really like to get rid of said. “My name is Liam.”

“And ye already know Shayne,” Liam said flatly, gesturing to Shayne, who shot her a wink.

Shayne nodded towards the man that was still lying on the floor, whimpering pathetically. “And I believe ye’ve already met Finn,” he said cheerfully.

“And my poor, misunderstood, precious balls,” Finn muttered, shooting her a pout that would have made her feel bad if he hadn’t added the over-the-top lip quiver.

“I’m Quinn,” a warm, deeply masculine voice said, drawing her attention to the back of the couch where the man with the thin scar running halfway over his bottom lip and down to his chin stood, holding a blanket.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Marty said, feeling herself blush when he shook the blanket open and laid it over her.

“The pleasure’s all mine, lass,” Quinn said with a small, almost sad smile as he stepped away and made his way back to the doorway.

“I’m Declean,” a man said, drawing her attention to the far-left corner where a handsome man with a roguish smile stood. “And before ye ask, aye, I was always yer favorite.”

“She couldn’t stand ye,” Finn said, getting to his feet before he hobbled over to the wall and leaned back against it, taking great pains to look pathetic and making him appear almost sweet and innocent. Since he’d tried to use an obscene amount of charm on her upstairs to try to persuade her to do what he wanted, she doubted that there was anything innocent about the man.

“She adored me!”

“Uh-huh,” the large man in the far-right corner said dismissively before he added, “I’m Aidan.”

“And that’s Connall pouting in the back,” Finn said, gesturing to the man standing near the windows with his arms folded over his chest and what appeared to be a permanent scowl on his face.

“We shouldn’t even be here,” Connall said evenly.

“And what do ye expect us to do then, Connall? Are we supposed to sit back on our asses and watch them die?” Quinn demanded, sounding irritated as he glared right back at his brother.

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