Page 88 of Irish Brute
Trap sighs. “It always is. Where are you? Do you need me to send a car?”
I shake my head, even though he can’t see me. “I’ll get one,” I say. “Thank you.”
“Get to Goldenrod,” Trap says. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”
My Lyft driver isn’t as good as Liam. And I’m pretty sure all five feet of her would be useless as my bodyguard, unless she’s packing a weapon beneath her headscarf.
But she gets me to Delaware, to Dover, to the freeport. It’s a long walk to Goldenrod, but the cold, crisp air cauterizes something in my heart. My clothes aren’t meant for sleeping in, but I find the lush terrycloth robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door. I shower, like I can wash away everything that happened. I scrub my skin. I scream, where only the tiles can hear me.
I wrap myself in the robe once I’m clean. I don’t take out my phone until I’m sitting in bed, propped up by half a dozen down pillows. Sunrise is just starting to gray the cottage windows.
Braiden’s awake. I know he is. He’s nursing a whiskey. He’s staring at his phone, at everything Russo sent him. He’s pinching his bottom lip with two fingers.
My own fingers hover over the green icon on my screen. I should wait. Give us both time to get over the things we said.
But I call him anyway.
The phone rings four times, and then I get voicemail: “Kelly. Leave a message.”
I call again. Four rings. Voicemail.
I call again. Voicemail.
No four rings. He’s blocked me. I’m cut off. And all I can do is wait to see what happens next.
36
BRAIDEN
The dining room stinks like coffee.
“Fairfax!” I bellow.
He materializes in the door to the kitchen.
“Get that pot out of here.” I point to the carafe.
He tilts his head, the cheeky bastard.
Before he can ask, I say, “Samantha will be traveling for a while.”
I don’t know where she’s gone. I regret not taking her credit cards when I strong-armed her out of the hotel.
Declan can probably get me into her records. But I’ll be damned if I’ll tell one of my men I can’t keep track of my own wife.
“Sir,” Fairfax says, carrying out the coffee.
I throw myself back in my chair, only to realize Aiofe’s staring. “What do you want?” I snarl.
Of course she doesn’t answer.
You keep a sick little girl like she’s some sort of pet.
Aiofe looks from Samantha’s empty seat to me and back again. She doesn’t need words to make herself clear.
“Samantha has some work to take care of in Delaware. She’ll be home soon.”
She cocks her head like she knows I’m lying.
