Page 71 of The Games We Play
“Makes sense. Thanks for letting me know.”
By the time I get home, I imagine the police at Dylan Shires’s home. I’m not a fan of resorting to the police, but in this instance, I wouldn’t care if one of them accidentally Tasered the guy if they found him to be culpable.
I’ve been home an hour when there’s a knock at my door. When I open it, Spark is standing there, and before I can say a word, he scoops me into his arms and kisses me. “King is cool with us,” he mumbles against my lips.
His enthusiasm meets my caution in a combustible whoosh in my belly. I realize a tiny fraction of me hoped King would disapprove, would see straight through Cillian and his manipulations and put a stop to us, so I could tell my uncle that what he was asking for was unacceptable.
“What happened?” I ask as he places me on my feet. His smile is contagious, and as much as I worry, I can’t help but feel buoyed by him. “All I got was a drunk text about three in the morning telling me how much you like me.”
“All true, even while drunk. We talked, like I said. I vouched for you. It’s settled. We have the protection of the club behind us, should we need it. Had to stay and drink with my brothers to put shit right.”
I wonder how they’d feel about helping me kidnap Michael. It doesn’t seem like an awful idea, but then I realize it definitely is.
“Do you think we need their protection?”
There’s a pause before he leans forward and tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “Trouble never announces itself. Better to be ready. And there’s something you should know, but I want you to promise me, you won’t act on it without me.”
“What’s that?” I ask, concerned by the seriousness of his tone.
“The man who ran you off the road was a member of Cillian’s organization.”
I pull out of his arms. “What?”
Spark nods. “Rian O’Sullivan. It was deliberate. Is there any chance your uncle knows about us? Or perhaps he sent someone to hit me, and they just mistimed it.”
I put my hand to my forehead as my knees shake. Running through the list of people I know in Cillian’s organization, I fail to place Rian, and wonder if there is a way to ask Thomas. “I have no idea.” Foreboding creeps through me like mist over a lake. I think of Cillian and realize I may have been worrying about the wrong thing. I believed that he’d act on whatever I told him. That the club would suffer. Butthey’llmakeSparksuffer if they ever find out we were together. Or what if all the time,Iwas the one at risk? Is Cillian worried I’ll fight him for Michael? None of it makes any sense.
“We’ll figure it out, little chick. Just, be really careful around him, yeah? I couldn’t bear anything happening to you. I’d fucking lose myself.”
I feel for Spark. I’m no psychologist. Amateur diagnostics of mental health challenges are at best reckless, at worst, damaging. But I worry that his concern for people’s safety, his role in the club, his nightmares, and his military service are one giant knot that needs unpicking.
The man who cares enough to keep everyone safe doesn’t deserve to be in danger.
“Anyway. The club has our back, and we’re having a party on the weekend,” Spark continues. “We don’t have to hide. Come with me.” He wraps his arms around me and makes me sway from side to side. It’s a clumsy and heartwarming attempt at dancing. Happiness and confidence pour from him, and it dilutes most of the fear I feel.
His lips meet mine, and I allow them to chase away the rest. His hands cup my face, slide into my hair.
“Oh, and while we are here,” he says, when we finally break for air. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” He leads me outside and shows me the small camera in the frame of the fence. “I installed a security camera on your fence. There was a tracker in your car too, but obviously we’ll have to see whether the insurance company will write your car off first, to decide if we need to get you another one. I’ll set the camera up on your phone so you can see who’s at the door before you answer it. And we’ll get you better locks for—”
“Wait a second,” I say. “When did you install all this?”
“Previously.”
I narrow my eyes. “How previously?”
“Probably more previously than you are comfortable with. I kept meaning to tell you but ...”
“But what?”
He shrugs, almost like a child with their hand caught in the candy jar. “I’ve wanted to protect you since the first moment I met you, and nothing has changed.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You wanted to protect me, or you wanted to watch me?”
“If I wanted to watch you, I’d have installed one in your bedroom. You’re fucking hot when you touch yourself.”
My mouth drops open. “Spark. You are the worst.”
He scoops me at my waist and puts me over his shoulder. “You haven’t seen my worst, little chick.”
