Page 160 of Carnal Urges
“Good morning to you.”
Adjusting his head on the pillow, he lets his gaze travel all over my face. He sighs softly in contentment. “Thank goodness I didn’t become a priest.”
I arch my brows. “Yes, that would have been a poor career choice, considering your tendency to shoot people.”
“I almost did, though. I planned on pursuing my master’s in Divinity, but went into the military instead.”
I stare at him, certain he’s joking. “Really? You?”
He chuckles. “Aye. I wasn’t always a hard-ass. Once upon a time, I was very much the romantic.” A cloud passes over his eyes. “But life disabused me of all my romantic notions early on.”
I reach up and caress his rough cheek, instinctively knowing there’s a story there. A story of loss and pain.
A man with a big, blackVengeance Is Minetattoo inked into his chest has some seriously heavy baggage.
I take a shot in the dark and guess at what it might be. “You were in love?”
His lips curl. It’s a smile, but a bitter one. “If only it were that simple. No, what led me away from god is how my entire family was murdered, one by one, and no one was ever held accountable for it. None of their killers ever paid a price.”
His voice drops. “Until I decided to make them pay. And pay they did.”
I stare at him with my heart beating fast and my stomach twisting. “Who killed your family?”
In his pause, I sense an ocean of misery.
“There were bloody gang wars in Ireland then. Every day, there was more violence. My parents were caught in the crossfire of a shootout at a café. They were celebrating their wedding anniversary. My older brother, Finn, died in an explosion at a pub. My younger brother, Mac, was killed in a collision with a lorry driven by two IRA members on their way to blow up a bank. And my sister, Cecilia, was in a nightclub that was set on fire by a gang who wanted to intimidate its owner into paying protection. It didn’t work, because he died of smoke inhalation along with twenty-three others, including my sister. The doors had been barricaded. Emergency personnel didn’t get there soon enough to get everyone out.”
I rest my cheek against his chest, close my eyes, and snuggle closer to him. There’s nothing I can say to make it better, so I don’t even try.
“I had nothing and no one left, including my faith, so I joined the Air Corps. From there, I was recruited to the Directorate of Military Intelligence, Ireland’s version of the CIA. And I learned to kill people. Bad people. Threats to national security and the like. I did it so well, I kept getting promoted. Then our family’s priest, who’d emigrated to the States before my parents died, contacted me. Said he’d heard of my reputation. Said he didn’t agree with my choices, but he’d made some contacts here I might find useful.”
His tone turns dry. “For a price, of course. The church looks the other way for sinners whose pockets are deep enough.
“Anyway, it got me to thinking that I needed to expand my base of operations. There were evil men all over the world who weren’t being held accountable for their deeds. So I came here, where no one but the priest knew what had happened to my family, joined the Mob, and worked my way up.”
“You’re good with navigating male-dominated hierarchies.”
He exhales heavily. “‘Keep your friends close and your enemiescloser.’ There’s no better way to destabilize a system than from the inside.”
“So you’re a Trojan horse.”
“Aye. The goal is checks and balances. There’s only so much official legal systems can do. They need a helping hand.”
I think about that for a while. Counterterrorism, counterespionage, whacking bad guys while pretending to be friends… He’s got a lot on his plate.
No wonder he’s always so crabby.
“Now that all the heads of the other families are gone, what will happen?”
“They’ll regroup. It’ll take a while, but there’s always a new snake to replace the old one. But you’re not in danger anymore of being used as a bargaining chip for them to try to get Kage to reopen their shipping routes.”
“Because…?”
“The word’s out. You’re mine. Anyone who dares to do so much as breathe in your direction dies.”
I groan. “I’m sick.”
“How so?”
