Page 8 of Careless

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My legsand lungs burn like a red-hot fire poker is stabbing them repeatedly, but I don’t stop. I don’t care if I’ll be so sore I won't be able to walk. I refuse to lose this battle.

My stomach aches and my head pounds as I round the corner. A pair of headlights shine right into my eyes, and I’m temporarily blinded, my feet getting tangled in the chain link fence next to me. I stumble to gain my balance but it’s a hopeless endeavor. The metal jangles as I bounce against it.

“Fuck,” I hiss as agony pierces my ankle from the unnatural way it landed.

“Sorcha? Sor, what the fuck are you doing?” a familiar voice rings as I rub my eyes to force the focus back into them. A moving shadow disrupts the stream of light and after a few seconds, I’m able to make out the lines of Rian Walsh’s tragically handsome face.

I love seeing him under any circumstance, but he’s still the biggest pain in the ass. The only person who thinks he knows what’s best for me more than my brother is this idiotic man whore. Why the hell does he have to be so beautiful, though?

“What amIdoing here? What areyoudoing here? At least, I live on this street. What’s your excuse?” I hiss at him as I struggle to catch my breath, pain radiating up my right leg. Yes, my ankle hurts, but I’m thinking of dealing with the excruciating ache of running away rather than shrink under Rian’s scrutiny.

“You shouldn’t be out here. It’s three in the morning, kid,” he growls as his gaze zeros in on my ankle.

“Don’t call me kid.” I’ve been on his ass for years to stop calling me that. We’re the same age and it makes me think he views me as a child, not like the woman I’m on the cusp of becoming. “I’m running. What does it look like? I couldn't sleep.” I lie, and I know he’ll see through it. He always does.

“You’re hurt,” he assesses, his dark blue eyes blazing into me.

“I’m fine,” I deny as I step forward to prove my point, but my knee buckles from the instability of my ankle. Thick, strong arms catch me, as my head spins, the muscles of his forearms digging into my back, but the pressure feels good. Any time he touches me, it’s welcome.

I tense when the ground is pulled out from under my feet. When I realize Rian lifted me and is carrying me in his strong arms, I relax.

“Stubborn brat,” he grumbles under his breath, but I’m too drunk off of the combination of spice, leather and cigarettes to care.. His scent is so masculine and full of everything tempting in the world. I could lose myself just smelling him and feeling his warm skin against mine.

“You’re the stubborn one,” I groan and close my eyes, grabbing his jacket and snuggling into it. Maybe if I keep my eyes closed, I can create my own reason for him holding me and ignore reality. My body rocks with each step he takes and I tighten my grasp on his coat and on my imaginary scenario. My eyes are closed for so long that I didn’t realize when my imagination morphed into the dreams of a restful sleeper.

CHAPTERFOUR

HIM

It’s just my dumb luck that I spend half the night pounding my fists into a sand bag, and come back to the O’Reilly home to find Sorcha trying to kill herself by running through the neighborhood in the middle of the night.

The sidewalk is tricky on a good day with how uneven and cracked to hell it is. Sure, there are street lights lining the sidewalks however the city doesn’t pay that close attention to this side of town therefore many of the bulbs are out. She was asking for trouble. I’m surprised she lasted this long without injury.

She can try to lie and say she couldn’t sleep, but I saw the haunted look in her eyes. She was trying to run off her own demons. She shouldn’t have any fucking demons to wage a war on. That’s what I’ve spent years trying to prevent. Anyone who tried to hurt her died a painful death.

I place her sleeping body in the front seat of my car. She probably exhausted herself. A part of me freaks out, but then she’s unharmed other than her ankle. She’s soaked with sweat like she’s been doing this all fucking night. Was she trying to get herself killed? She’s lucky I was the one who found her. I know I should take her back to her house, but what if she tries to pull this again? Nigel is too much of a drunk to pay attention to her, making her the one that takes care of all household duties, including him. As quietly as possible, I shut the door then hurriedly stride around my car to jump in behind the wheel. Tonight, she’s the one that needs to be taken care of, and I’m always ready to take on that job.

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I’ma bit surprised that I haven’t dropped my forbidden fruit with the way I have to carry her to finagle the front door open. Luckily, Tiernan is the only one to witness me carrying our friend’s unconscious sister into our house. He raises an eyebrow at me but doesn’t move from his place on the couch, a beer bottle in his hand and some reruns flickering on the TV.

The sound of me kicking the door shut wakes him from his study of me and the fucker laughs.

“Let me guess. She was drunk at a party, some guy got handsy, and we should be on the lookout for a frat boy missing his fingers?”

He really needs to lay off the jokes about my stalker tendencies, or we’re going to have some major issues if someone overhears him.

“Let me guess, there’s a Golden Girls Marathon and you didn’t want to miss it?”

The smile falls from Tiernan’s face and he shrugs, “You know I have a thing for Betty White.”

“Where’s Finn?” I demand as I carefully maneuver Sorcha’s limp body.

He smirks before gazing at the stairs. On cue, the unmistakable banging of a headboard against the wall commences.

Lucky bastard.

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