Page 71 of Arranged Devotion
He salutes and walks off, hands shoved in his pockets, looking ten years older. I nurse my drink and let the noise of the bar wrap around me. I wonder how Regan’s doing at home, if she’s being smart and staying indoors, or if she’s being a pain in the ass and going against my express wishes. Probably the latter if I know her. I smile to myself, and I should be pissed off, but I’m so damn soft when it comes to her.
I wish she were here. That’s the fucked part, if I’m being honest. I’ve never wanted a woman by my side before, always felt more comfortable in dim rooms like this one, populated by killers, thieves, and generally bad mother fuckers. Except I’m itching to go back to my apartment, to find my pretty wife, and to hold her against me.
There’s a reason I haven’t been home much.
It’s too god damn tempting, and we’re headed toward war.
I can’t let myself go soft.
But I’m melting all the same.
“You good?” I look up as Luke takes the seat Connor vacated a few minutes earlier. “I had to escape that fucking table. I swear, I was going to cut my own throat listening to all that.”
“You don’t like being a part of the planning committee?”
Luke grunts and rubs his face with both hands. He’s got a vodka on ice at his elbow. “They go in circles, again and again, when it’s so obvious, right? There’s really only one path forward.”
“Everyone’s saying it. But what’s your take?”
“The Baranovs crossed the line.” He rolls the glass between his palms. “They attacked my sister’s wedding.”
“My wedding too.”
“Exactly! But they’re over there discussing other strategies.”
“You want guns blazing.”
“I want to finish this once and for all. I don’t want it to drag out.”
“That’s one way of looking at it. But maybe you should think Declan and his brothers know what they’re doing?”
“Yeah, maybe.” Luke doesn’t sound convinced. He’s a decent sort, but not my type. Too wrapped up in politics. Too sheltered by his father. Not enough scar tissue on him.
“Your sister say anything to you? About me and her?”
He seems surprised by the question. “Not really, and I did ask.”
“Told her to come to you if I did anything fucked up?”
“Pretty much.”
I like that he doesn’t deny it. That wins some points. “Good. You should kill me if I do.”
“I’ll try.”
“I respect that.” I hold up my glass. “Here’s to righteous murders.”
“Here’s to surgical strikes.” He drinks but doesn’t seem satisfied. “She likes you, I think.”
I go very still. For some fucked reason my heart quickens straight up into my throat. Why the hell do I feel like this? What’s it matter if my wife likes me or not?
“Tell her that sometime.”
“Regan’s got her issues. You need to ease her in. Let her get used to things on her own time. Give her space.”
“I’m not sure why her brother’s giving me relationship advice.”
“Maybe I want to see my sister happy. She’s stuck with you now. Might as well make the best of it.”
