Page 3 of Dirty Eoin

Like I’m the sun, the moon, and the fucking stars.

He’s my brother. My flesh and blood. I love him. But I want to crush his throat with my bare hands because he’s getting her undivided attention. And I want it. All of it.

On. Fucking. Me.

He’s got what I want. It might only be a look, but it’s a look that lays her undying love for him at his feet, along with her sacrificial fucking heart. It’s a look that can’t be misinterpreted. At least not by someone as observant as me.

I can’t see his reaction. Is it mirrored? I hope to fuck not. Then again, Jaine’s moment of revelation was gone in the blink of an eye, so did he even pick up on it? Chances are if he did, he’ll think it all wishful thinking on his part given she told him she doesn’t love him.

Because I told her to.

Right now, I’m invisible. Or am I?

Is Jaine Jones pretending not to see me just to wind me up because she hates my guts? Because she wants to get under my skin? Because she gets off on my adverse reaction as it feeds this toxic, fucked-up relationship we share?

Did the women standing at either side of me witness Jaine Jones’s off-guard moment that lasted for a mere nanosecond before she recovered and switched back to that impressive poker face of hers?

It’s unlikely Molly did. But Sophia, our Paddy’s fiancée, is sharp. If she witnessed the look Jaine fleetingly bestowed on Paddy, it could spell disaster. More so if it was in any way reciprocated. Things are already terse between the betrothed couple due to his reluctance to welcome her into his bed. We’re all aware his unwillingness has nothing to do with practicing abstinence. He’s not being a good Irish Catholic boy. He simply refuses to fuck anyone but Jaine.

My phone rings. Walking to the end of the foyer, I take the call.

“Eoin.” My other brother sounds panicked. There’s no need. The shit has already hit the fan.

“I know, Dylan. We’ve just collided with her,” I grouse.

Serendipitous or not, this unforeseen moment should never have been allowed to happen. Lessons must be learned.

And they will be.

“It’s not that, Eoin. We’re at the Whisperers’ clubhouse in Nevada. Ace and Lucifer have been shot. It’s not looking good for either of them. I’m on my way to Rising with Ace.”

I don’t need to ask why. There’s only one reason Ace has asked to return home.

I keep the phone to my ear, but I’ve switched off from what Dylan’s saying. I’ve heard all I need to. Across from me, Sophia is holding a whispered conversation in rapid-fire Italian. Is it to do with Ace? Is it to do with this Paddy and Jaine collision? Or is it to do with who’s just appeared behind the latter?

I make eye contact with Leoluca Di Matteo, my face as impassive as his. I’m well aware he’s a long-standing business associate of Jaine’s. But he’s also a high ranker in the Sicilian Mafia.

What the fuck is he doing here? What the fuck is going on? Something clearly is, and it’s something monumental if he’s asked Jaine to come all the way to Manhattan ahead of time.

Having no owing with her, I have no leverage with which to ask probing questions about the many influential people she rubs shoulders with.

And to run this city, I need to know.

Leoluca places a gentle hand on her shoulder. The tactile visual has me wanting to slice the fucker’s fingers off one by one for daring to place them on any part of her.

Get a fucking grip, Eoin.

Jaine Jones is not mine. She will never be mine. I don’t fucking want her.

I’m marrying Molly McGrath.

Leoluca whispers in her ear then motions his head towards her bag. In the silent chaos that surrounds her, she hasn’t heard her phone ringing. Given I’ve got Dylan on the line, I suspect the caller will be his new wife, Jessie. To warn Jaine of the risk of running into us? Or to tell her about what’s just gone down in Nevada?

She takes the call. Her face pales. She’s just been told what I have, and then.

She’s gone.

CHAPTERTWO

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