Page 27 of Bargain with the Irish Devil

“It is, love.”

“This. It will go away one day, won’t it?” It’s a plea for me to tell her that one day, she’ll be free of this need, this connection so powerful it’s in the marrow of our bones.

Keeping my promise to be honest. “I’ve never felt this before. So I don’t know, my love.”

I let go of her hand. Then I lift the covers and get into bed with her. Jesus, help me. She fits me perfectly as her head goes down on my chest. Her body so small, soft, and the last thing I want to feel in this world before I leave it.

Her arm wraps around me. One small hand finds the scarred flesh of the bullet wound unerringly. It’s as though she wants to wipe it away.

I don’t say it happened more than fifteen years ago, that I haven’t pulled my piece in more than a year, that no one has pulled a gun on me in more than five years, that I’ve never killed anyone who didn’t deserve it, that the last time I was hurt, it was because I broke a finger from breaking a guy’s jaw almost two years ago. None of those things will take away her fear and make it all okay in her eyes.

All I do is hold her. It’s almost an hour before she finally slips into sleep. For me, it’s almost two hours—unable to give up feeling her against me.

Declan

I wake up to Miranda still in my arms. A flick of my eyes to the clock on the bedside tells me it’s a little after six.

I wonder if there’s a way to stay in this moment forever. And I understand at last the bargains people are willing to make for eternal life—if it’s her, Miranda for forever. Those men weren’t the fools I thought they were.

From my room, I hear my phone go off with an alert. Shit. It’s going to wake her up. I never thought I was a weak man, but I can’t stand the idea of seeing her withdraw from me one more time. This time when she pulls away, I’m going to let her go.

For once in my shite life, I’m going to do the right thing. Because the thought of her hurting in the end… I can’t be the one to make her feel pain. I’ll leave her be. She finishes the audit, and I let her go the way she’s asking me to.

I’m in a foul mood the entire time I dress. I don’t dare go into the kitchen and have breakfast. Aoife will know. I’m not up to answering the questions she’ll ask me.

When I sit down at my office in the pub, I do it with a heavy heart and no interest in anything. An alert for my email sends me into it. Once I’m done with it, I remember I hadn’t finished reading Michael Preston’s file. As a parting gift to Miranda, I’m going to kill him.

I freeze as I read through the information on the divorce. The soon-to-be-ex is more than six months pregnant. Although she might be pregnant, it isn’t his kid. The divorce was because he found her cheating. So, he decided he wanted a paternity test done on the fetus. When that came back as not his, he had one done on his son, who she was pregnant with when they got married. Turns out the kid isn’t his either.

My parents were married for six years before my mother had me. Then as much as she wanted another child, there was no other before she died ten years later. There was no telling why a womanwould go years wanting a child to not have one. The problem could have been with Miranda’s husband and not her.

Miranda wanted a child, and she wanted me. It was my world she didn’t want to live in. Except my world wasn’t nearly as bad as she feared.

Fucking television and books didn’t know what they were talking about. I had the means to protect her from the worst of it. To walk away from this would mean walking away from Chicago, from everything we both knew, and starting over. Except I would never truly be able to start over. I’ve done things people could use against me. I would never be able to protect her the way I wanted as a civilian.

And with everything I know of this world, I would never be happy as a civilian. There is too much bad shit going on. It’s this or off-grid in the middle of nowhere.

The search brings it up, and I read it before I take it in. Am I really going to do this? Would she forgive me when she finds out—will I have the entire nine months to make her fall in love with me?

Reading the guidelines on the first suggestion that comes up, the best time for a woman to start the medication is on the third day of her period. I read it again and again. Am I too Irish to be seeing that I have two days to get the drug before it’s the best time to start, or is it truly a sign?

This woman is my destiny. And whether she likes it or not—I’m hers.

Now, the problem is how to get the medication. There’s a doctor we use for knife or gunshot wounds we can’t handle ourselves. He also performs abortions for the girls. But I don’t want to worry about him encountering Miranda and saying something.

I bring up the contacts in my phone. The name jumps out. Milos Levin is head of the Bratva in the city and the source of coke and guns. I don’t know him through the drugs, but he is where I get my guns.

He’s quiet for a moment when I tell him what I need and ask if he can get it for me. Or if he knows where I could get it.

“That’s not exactly common on the street, Declan. You and your requests. This is right up there with those Berettas you and your people in Ireland wanted. Give me a few hours. I’ll call you back.”

I’m for shit, not able to focus on a single thing until he calls me back.

“I got it.”

Everything in me sags in relief.

We meet at his restaurant, where he has his office. A place where a plate doesn’t cost more than twenty bucks—unless caviar was added. I never thought I’d like Russian food, but every time I’m here, I have something different and think about it for weeks before giving in and getting it again.

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