Page 88 of Reclaim (Deadly Hearts 3)

“Read it. I’ll come for it when you’re done.”

Book?

I take Ruby’s bags from her and stoop to give Linda a kiss on top of her head before we head out. We decide to take Declan’s car back, leaving mine in the car park for Linda to use if she needs to.

On the drive back, she asks, “Is Cillian home yet?”

“No. Where is he anyway?”

“He was bonding with his new crew,” she says with a laugh. “Mad respect to him. He got them on side with a bloody takeover that no one was going to argue with…well, after the first four anyway.”

“Ouch.”

She giggles and runs her hand up my thigh. I want to pull over and drag her out of the car to roger her on the side of the road, but she deserves better than that. Although, I doubt she would complain. She is definitely turned on by people watching her in action.

As the sun rises, we pull up into the driveway, and see Cillian sitting on the doorstep, chugging a bottle of orange juice.

He stands up when he sees us. Ruby smiles, getting out of the car and going to him. He kisses her deeply.

“You stink,” she tells him.

I hold in my snort of laughter.

“Sorry,” he slurs, sniffing his armpit. “I’ll take a shower.”

“I think you need to get some sleep first, mate,” I say. He looks like he’s spent the night at the bottom of a Whiskey bottle.

He grunts his response.

Glancing at Ruby, I say, “I’ll settle him in Declan’s room. Probably the best place for him.”

“Thanks,” she says and disappears into the house.

“Come.” I grab Cillian by the arm and guide him into the house and through the kitchen to the overnight room at the back. It is bland and sparse, consisting of just a bed and nightstand.

“Fanks,” Cillian mutters and flops face first onto the bed.

Shaking my head at him, I remove his shoes, and shove him further up the bed to make him more comfortable. Then I grab a bottle of water from the kitchen and place it next to him. He is going to wake up with a hell of a hangover.

Going back to the kitchen, I close the door quietly to the overnight room and make myself some hot chocolate. While I’m waiting for the kettle to boil, Ramsey joins me.

“Hey.”

“Hey. You okay?” he asks.

“’Course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“The whole Maribel thing…”

“Not an issue.”

“You sure?”

“You know me better than that.”

The kettle reaches its boiling point and clicks off, submersing us into a silence.

I slowly stir the water into the mug. “I want to apologize,” I start.

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