Page 6 of Scarred Bride

Jesus Christ, I can’t handle that thought. Twisting away, I grab another bag and fill it with food from the pantry. When I think we’ve got enough, I look at her again, she’s standing there holding the bag handles with both hands, her eyes following my every move.

“Let’s go.” I jerk my head for her to follow. At the door, I check the security monitor that shows me the coast is clear. As I lead the way to my truck, I keep one hand on my gun and swing my head side to side, on the lookout for danger.

“Get in,” I order Serenity.

She slips into the passenger seat while I load the bags into the back. Our supplies will run out fast, but I don’t plan on staying at the cabin long.

When I get behind the wheel, the tension is already thick between us. Serenity’s hands are twisted in her lap and she won’t look at me. I wonder if she’s thinking she made a mistake, coming to me of all people.

Her family is my enemy.

I whip the truck onto the road, my mind swinging to the coordination of leaving the city.

I’ve got a shipment of pharmaceutical drugs coming in later in the week. My family’s relying on me to be here, to handle the details and dole out punishment if something is fucked up.

Without me, one of my brothers will have to take care of it. They’re good, but we all have our jobs. The Connolly empire is like any organized crime group in the country. There’s a hierarchy—that’s my father. The man came straight from a huge mob family in Dublin. Some are still there today. Some members broke off the clan and came to America generations ago. That means our roots run deep, and we always stand up for blood, no matter what.

Our Irish-Italian cousins, the Rossis, in Chicago are proof that our ties have a long reach and our blood forms a bond. They’ve helped us out of a few scrapes, and we always return the favor.

I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing right now though. Helping out Serenity Hunt? Fuck, the woman’s dad damn near ended us and put my father behind bars to rot. With a lot of string-pulling, we managed to keep the family intact and one of our allies who owed us went to prison instead. We also managed to keep most of our illegal trade routes to Canada open and even expanded in the years since.

I cast her a look from the corner of my eye. She stares out the windshield in silence. Her expression gives me nothing to go on. Is she glad that I’m helping her?

Fuck. I’ve been with the woman, who owned my every thought for years, for all of a half an hour, and already I’m losing my head over her.

What is she to me besides tits and ass? Yeah, I’d fuck her, but I fuck a lot of women. She’s not better than anyone else. Pussy is pussy, and pussy never interferes with the family business.

Except now it has.

I snort, and she twists her head to look at me.

“What are you lookin’ at?” I toss at her.

She snaps her head around and doesn’t respond.

We head out of the city, north on I-75. I check my mirrors often for any sign of someone tailing us, but we seem to be in the clear. For now.

My headlights slice a path through the night, but a few small snowflakes start to dance in the beams. Soon snow is falling heavily. Not unusual for Michigan this time of year, but it presents another problem—Serenity doesn’t even have a coat.

I slant a look at her and see her arms folded over her chest.

Without asking if she’s cold, I bump the temperature a few degrees and switch on the heated leather seat until she uncurls from her tight posture and relaxes.

Where the fuck has she been all this time since my father blackballed hers and drove him from the city?

Questions bombard me like snow flies at the windshield.

“Why the hell did you come tome?”

My question startles her as if she was asleep or at least drifting. Lifting her hands, she rubs at her upper arms as if the chill hasn’t quite left her even though the truck is baking and sweat’s starting to form on my spine.

“Because I knew that you’d know what to do.” Her quiet answer is delivered in that same soft, soothing voice that entertained me as a kid. Back when I could barely grow hair on my balls, and she had me by them even then.

Not anymore, I tell myself.

“I’m not the same.We’renot the same. It’s clear that you’ve seen some shit—and I’ve done some shit,” I say.

She links her fingers in her lap again. “I just figured if anyone knows how to get around the Stepanovs, it’s you, Heath.”

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