CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
LILA
I sat crisscrossed on Tiernan’s bed, examining my treasure.
As promised, he bought me everything I wanted from the internet and opened an Amazon account for me, where he taught me how to order things. It was a fairly simple process, which infuriated me even more, because why did Mama cut me off from such a great invention?
There was a mouthwatering number of books about arts and music in front of me, a new Kindle—connected to the internet this time—a vibrating alarm clock, a bed shaker, sound field speakers, and a Bluetooth microphone. I also splurged on new sketchbooks and pencils.
I picked up my phone and checked if Mama answered my last message.
Lila: Are you really cutting all ties with me because I speak to my husband? Do you understand how utterly deranged that is?
The message was read, but there was no reply. It had been a week since her showdown with Tiernan, so I gathered she made her decision. I was dead to her.
With a sigh, I opened a new message bubble and texted Enzo.
Lila: How’s Mama doing?
Enzo: Still butthurt. Fuck her, though. It’s for her to work out with herself. You
did nothing wrong.
Lila: It’s a huge change for her.
Enzo: Nah. It’s a huge change for YOU. If she can’t be there for you, she deserves to stew in it until she comes to her senses.
Even though I knew he was right, talking about it made tears sting my eyes.
Lila: And how’s your arm?
Enzo: Better. Even managed to rub one out yesterday.
Lila: Rub what out?
Enzo: Oops. Nothing. Is Tiernan treating you well?
I googled the meaning of rub one out. Gagged. Reopened our text window.
Lila: No complaints here.
I was downplaying it, of course. The truth was, I liked my husband. I liked our dinners. I liked his dry sense of humor and sardonic smirks and that he spooned me from behind at night just to make me practice being touched. I still couldn’t sleep at all, but at least I could be in the same vicinity with an intimidating, muscular male without recoiling.
Enzo: I still can’t believe you can talk. The amount of gossip sessions we could’ve had about our messed up family ☹.
Lila: We can always play catch up.
Enzo: Don’t worry. I have a feeling we’re about to get some fresh material soon, between Luca and Achilles.
I smiled, shaking my head. My phone vibrated, alerting me through a special app that the front door had opened. It was one of the many gadgets Tiernan had installed for me.
A moment later, my husband appeared at our bedroom door, parking his shoulder on the doorframe. For a moment, he just stared at me.
“Hi.” I smiled. He didn’t.
“Have you slept any tonight?”
“I’m fine.”
But I wasn’t.
I knew he was disgusted with the baby growing inside me, and I had a feeling he was going to find a creative way to get rid of both of us once I gave birth.
He avoided touching my belly completely when he held me at night, sticking to my shoulders, my rib cage, my waist. As if my midriff was radioactive.
My husband pushed off the doorframe, advancing toward me. “Get dressed. We’re leaving in fifteen minutes.”
“News to me.”
His penetrating gaze told me he did not appreciate me lipping back.
I sighed. “Where are we going?”
It couldn’t be the OB-GYN, because I switched to someone else and booked my own appointment online, so I knew exactly when it was. The prospect of seeing Brandy again gave me the hives. And I didn’t trust myself not to bash her head against the reception desk.
“The shooting range. I’m going to teach you how to use a gun, since not knowing how to use one doesn’t stop you.”
My spine straightened. His words from our wedding night tumbled back into the forefront of my mind.
“If you were a real Callaghan, I’d have taken you to the shooting range to work on that aim. We have a reputation to uphold.”
Did that mean I was a real Callaghan now?
I decided to get dressed and do what I was told for once. I made my way to the walk-in closet in my old bedroom, and Tiernan followed me. We both stopped in front of my messy shelves. When I gave him an annoyed look, he explained, “Can’t wear any frilly pink dresses or tutu skirts. Go for comfy jeans and a tee.”
“Got it. Would you like to watch me put them on?” I asked sarcastically, since he wouldn’t budge.
It was so liberating. Being sassy and daring and…me. Being me. I spent my entire life wondering who I truly was under the facade my mother made me put on. Being the girl she wanted me to be. And Tiernan let me find out who I truly was. As it turned out, I had a bit of a temper.
“Yes.” Simple. Unapologetic. Cold.
Nibbling on the corner of my lower lip, I considered it. He’d already seen me naked at the doctor’s office, and his gaze felt so good on my skin that just thinking about it made me want to moan.
“It’ll be good practice for you. If you ever want to try sex.” He slipped his hands into his front pockets.
“With you?” Butterflies exploded in the pit of my stomach.
“I’m your only option.”
“But I don’t want to do it the way you do.”
“I know.”
His answer was loaded. My heart beat in an uneven staccato.
“So you are saying you are going to take me the way you take other women?”
“No.” He tore his gaze from mine, suddenly exhibiting acute interest in the ceiling. “I’m saying you’re not the only one who’s growing up here.”
I chose a pair of skinny jeans and a tight riding shirt and put them aside as I slowly stepped out of my pajamas. Tiernan stood at the doorway and drank in my every movement. A few weeks ago, I’d have a panic attack from the prospect of him being so close to my naked figure. Now, I resented him for not walking over to me and kissing me like in the movies.
Stepping out of my pajamas, I stood before him in nothing but my white cotton underwear. I had a little baby bump. It was small and hard. When his eye moved over me, head to toe, he took his time touching and caressing every inch of my body with his gaze. But when it reached my lower abdomen, his eye skated over it quickly.
I gulped, putting my clothes on. Bitter disappointment exploded on my tongue.
When we slipped into his car, I noticed there weren’t any soldiers with us. I found it peculiar, but not unwelcome.
“Whatever happened to only teaching your real wife how to shoot a gun?”
“Gotta renew my own permit.” He adjusted the rearview mirror.
“Figured you could use a class or two.”
He infuriated and confused me. One moment he offered me sex, the other he looked disgusted with my belly. His behavior gave me whiplash.
And the worst part was, I couldn’t discuss it with anyone, because Mama disowned me and Tierney’s loyalty was with my husband.
We arrived at the shooting range twenty minutes later. Tiernan got out of the car and rounded it, opening the door for me.
It was a massive black building that looked like a gym from the outside.
The first floor was a weapon shop. Tiernan placed his hand on the small of my back and steered me to the second floor through the stairs. The upper floor was the actual range. There was a lobby manned by a guy with a backward baseball cap and a black Henley, firearms and earmuffs on display behind him. There were also stalls, divided by black walls. A few people were practicing, and the scent of gunpowder and hot metal slipped into my nostrils.
Tiernan and the guy at the lobby exchanged bro-hugs.
“Callaghan, my good man. How’s it been?”
“Jace. Is my wife’s gun ready?” Tiernan parked an elbow on the
counter.
My what?
Jace nodded, reaching under his counter and taking out something that looked like a luxury brand shoebox. He dragged it across the counter toward me. My eyes darted to my husband.
He jerked his chin. “Open it.”
I popped the lid hesitantly, my mouth breaking into an involuntary beam.
It was a hot-pink gun, studded with diamonds around the muzzle. The trigger was covered in pure white silk. It was ridiculous, over-the-top, and completely me. It was also the first gift Tiernan ever gave me.
“Wilson Combat SFX9.” Tiernan’s lips moved in my periphery.
“Custom made.”
Before I could stop myself, I flung my arms over his shoulders and pulled him into a grateful hug. He froze between my arms, his arms at his sides.
It reminded me that Tiernan had his own issues with intimacy and maybe embracing me from behind was all he could offer me right now. He touched people only on his terms.
Still, I didn’t step back. On the contrary, I hugged him even tighter, wanting to suck in all of his trauma.
Eventually, he defrosted, his posture relaxing against me. He didn’t hug me back, but he didn’t push me away, either. I took that as a small win.
After a few moments, he pulled back gently. He cupped my jawline, peering
into my face. “You like it?”
“I love it.”
“Good, because you’ll be carrying it at all times starting today. Here.
I’ll show you how to load and case it.”
I spent the next twenty minutes with Tiernan, who familiarized me with the mechanics of the gun. Most of it I recognized from seeing my brothers practicing their shots as teenagers in the backyard. After Tiernan was certain I knew the ins and outs of handling and operating my firearm, we picked the farthest booth in the range. He put eye protection and earmuffs on me.
He placed himself right behind me in front of the shooting target—a printout of a faceless man—and engulfed my hands from behind, lacing my
fingers into the gun to put me in position.
My heart kicked into high gear at his proximity. He was so much taller than me, he had to crouch when he tugged one of my earmuffs behind my ear and placed his lips close so I could feel the shape of his words on the shell of it.
“First things first, you always treat your gun like it’s loaded. You never shoot until you’re sure of your target and everything beyond it. Nod if you understand.”
I nodded. I did understand. But I was too busy with the sensation of his body pressing against mine to actually comprehend.
“We all have a dominant eye. Mine was taken by Achilles. Yours is your right eye. Its pupil moves first when you read lips. This is the eye you’ll always keep open. Nod.”
Another jerk of my chin. I felt his erection digging into the curve of my lower back. He made no attempt to shift away, but also didn’t draw any closer.
Would it really be so bad if we had sex the way he preferred? It wasn’t like I had anything else to compare it to. And something in me wanted to please my husband.
“Your goal is to form small groups at the same point to check your accuracy. Choose a spot on the target.”
“The center of his chest,” I answered verbally. He nodded, his stubble brushing against the side of my neck.
His scent. His touch. His very existence made me drunk.
“Pay attention to your wrist. Here.” He adjusted my hands. “This’ll help you avoid jams. Watch your stance, baby.” He kicked my legs apart, and the movement was so confident and erotic that something inside me clenched
and heated.
Baby.
“The wider your legs are, the firmer your core. Now I want you to show me a good, steady grip. Yeah, just like that. You’re ready.”
Evidently, I wasn’t.
My first shot hit the target’s head. My second—his shoulder. The third one got his throat, and the fourth finally got the center of his chest, through sheer luck rather than technique. Tiernan walked me through my many mistakes. He had good input. Too bad I couldn’t concentrate on anything
when his body was glued to mine, his hands encasing my own, his scent wrapping an invisible hand around my throat, squeezing erotically.
Desire.
Just like that, I understood perfectly all the Roman legends and Greek mythology stories about empires falling and heroes sinning for lust.
The session lasted for another hour before Jace knocked on the side of
our booth.
“Callaghan. You’re up.”
Tiernan nodded and motioned with his hand. A clean target sheet was placed in front of us. This one was rolled all the way to the back, twice as far as the length I trained with.
Tiernan unloaded my gun, emptied my chamber, and handed it back to me. He nudged me aside, the loss of his body against mine leaving goose bumps across my arms. I stood back and watched as his target started moving, jerking from side to side on its cord. Tiernan raised one steady hand, and in two-second increments, shot the target in the head eighteen rounds with chilling accuracy.
By the time they rolled the target toward us, there were only two bullet holes in the center of the forehead and nowhere else. He basically rammed through the exact same spot over and over again.
“Legend.” Jace slumped against the wall, a postorgasmic look on his face. “Fucking legend.”
Tiernan turned toward him, tossing our earmuffs into his hands. “Out.”
Jace floored it out of our booth.
“What’s wrong?” Tiernan swiveled to scowl at me.
“Why do you think something is wrong?”
“You’ve been staring.”
Blush crept up my cheeks. I was completely taken with a man who did no more than tolerate my presence in his life so my family could help him.
He didn’t choose me. He was forced into this union.
“I’m just annoyed with myself for doing so poorly,” I lied.
Explaining I was daydreaming about him kissing me silly was out of the question.
“Seen worse.” Tiernan unloaded his pistol. “Your brother Enzo couldn’t shoot an elephant if it sat right on top of him.”
I gave him a chiding look.
“You’re lying.”
His stone-cold expression remained stoic. “Why do you think he prefers knives?”
“You’re jealous because he’s good with his hands.”
“And I’m not?”
“I wouldn’t know. You haven’t touched me much.”
His smirk was mocking, amused. “Are you flirting with me, wifey?”
I pushed at his chest, my face unbearably hot. “Hardly.”
“Looks to me like you are.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t worry. It’s
working.”
“Maybe guns aren’t for me.”
“Guns are for everyone.” He threw me an incredulous look. “Especially the wife of a man who just killed the Russian pakhan.”
“Is that why I have so many bodyguards?” I asked. “Because of the
dead pakhan?”
“Why the fuck else?”
“Because of what happened to me.”
“That won’t ever happen again. You’re mine now, Lila.”
“But the Russians can still hurt me,” I pointed out. “Maybe the answer is not to be married anymore.”
I gave him my back, stomping out of the booth. I wanted to escape this feeling. This urgency. The need to touch him. To conquer something inside him I wasn’t even sure existed.
Tiernan clasped me by the wrist, yanking me back to him. My body slammed against his, my full, tender breasts colliding with his abs. He glowered at me, a hint of disgust pulling the corner of his lips down.
“You want me to kiss you.” He stared at me abhorrently, like I was deranged.
I barked out a laugh, snatching my wrists back so I could answer.
“You’re delusional.”
“You’re more fucked up than I suspected.”
How could he read me so well? It drove me to madness.
“I just might kill you,” I warned.
“I just might let you,” he deadpanned. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you want us to kiss?”
“Because…” I spluttered, dying of embarrassment. “Well, forget about it!”
I spun again, but he tugged me back to his body, grabbing my jaw and
tilting my head up.
“I may not be good.”
I huffed, wanting to strangle him. This absolute idiota.
“I think we can handle one bad kiss.” My hands moved clumsily. “We both survived far worse.”
“Whiskey in a teacup,” he muttered to himself, staring at me in fascination. “Unassuming to the naked eye. But so sharp. And oh, that bite.”
I didn’t have time to ask him what he meant.
His lips fastened over mine.
We both stilled, holding our breaths. Tiernan was the first to put his hand on my face, snaking his other one around my waist, drawing me in.
It was cautious and exploratory. Like treading into a foreign body of water. At first, it was so soft, I second-guessed its own existence. A tentative brush of the lips. A breath that passed between us, where I couldn’t tell who inhaled and who exhaled.
But then he applied more pressure against my mouth, and the decorum and elegance my mother taught me all flew out the window as I pressed all of me against all of him and opened my mouth, darting my tongue to trace his lower lip.
It was plump and warm. My toes curled inside my shoes.
His deep groan of surrender echoed inside my body. His mouth opened over mine, his hand sliding into my hair. He tugged on the elastic holding my hair in a ponytail, letting the yellow tendrils fall across my face, deepening our kiss.
It felt like slowly drifting into a sweet dream while slightly drunk on the finest wine. Our tongues touched for the first time, and fireworks exploded in the pit of my stomach. All my blood rushed between my legs. I clawed at his chest, rising on my tiptoes, demanding more.
His mouth became frenzied, greedy, nipping and biting and kissing and tonguing. We kissed for a few minutes before he ripped his mouth off mine, staring at me feverishly, a stunned glint in his eye. We were both panting hard.
“Shit.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. “Fuck.”
My heart bottomed out. Did I do something wrong?
But then he grabbed my face roughly and kissed me again, even more wildly. I locked my arms around his neck, moaning into his mouth. He
hoisted me up to wrap my legs around his waist, pressing me against the cubicle wall. I could feel the thuds of gunshots popping against my spine each time someone took a shot in the range, and the vibration seemed to hum in a tiny, secret place in my core. Wild and fast like my heartbeat. My husband tasted so good. Like coffee and mint and absolution. His cock was nestled in my opening through our clothes, pulsating against it.
I pulled my mouth from his, gulping a quick breath, and released my hands from around his neck to sign, “Do you think we’re doing it correctly?”
“Don’t fucking care.” His teeth caught my bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth. “I want more of it.”
We kissed again. This time our tongues danced together, and I dished it as good as he served it. I was putty in his hands. Hands that knew how to shoot the same target down to the millimeter. Hands that killed, tortured,
and destroyed many lives.
Hands I knew would never hurt me.
My husband. My protector. My macabre fantasy.
Rubbing my breasts over his torso, enjoying the friction against my nipples, I traced the tip of my tongue along his lips, and then kissed him more deeply. He groaned against my mouth, sucking my tongue ardently.
The fabric of my shirt teased my skin, begging to be ripped.
It took everything in me to tear my lips from his, and I only did that because it felt like I was wetting myself. My underwear was damp, even though I didn’t feel like peeing.
I pressed my palms to his chest, and he immediately set me down, releasing me from his hold. But whereas I was panting like a rabid animal fleeing a predator, he appeared to be unaffected, save for his swollen, pink
lips and the erection in his slacks.
“Okay?” he asked.
I nodded.
“You look terrified.”
My cheeks flamed with heat. “Something happened.”
“Yeah. No shit.”
“Not that…”
He wiped his lower lip with his thumb, searching my face.
“I think I had an accident.”
God, this was excruciating to admit. But what if that meant something was wrong with the baby? I knew nothing about childbearing.
“You think it was an accident?” he repeated dispassionately. I felt him retreating back to his usual sullen mood. “Well, we don’t have to do that again.”
“No. Not the kissing part. I…I think I wet myself.” I felt my eyes glass over with unshed tears. How humiliating. How utterly unbearable that this was how my first kiss had ended. “I hope it’s not blood. My panties are all wet. I need to check.”
He stared at me. In disbelief at first, then with something else altogether. Hunger, delight, and amusement.
I had a feeling he wanted to laugh again, and that made me furious.
Even if he didn’t want this baby, that didn’t mean he needed to be happy about it. I pushed off his chest, scowling.
“This is serious. Where’s the restroom?”
“Gealach.” He scooped me up by the waist, spinning me once as though I was a child, in a moment of heartbreaking gentleness. “Nothing’s wrong with you. We got a little carried away and your body—your smart, healthy, functioning body—got itself ready in case we were going to have sex.”
“What do you mean?” I glowered. He put me down.
“Nothing is wrong with the baby or with you. Your body self-lubricates when it gets turned on, because your brain tells it you’re about to have sex.
It’s natural.”
“Oh, thank God.” I collapsed against the wall, crossing myself. “I thought something was seriously wrong with me.”
“Get used to it, Gealach.” He pushed forward, leaning down to capture my mouth with another kiss. He held my face up, so I could see his lips when he spoke. “You’re going to be very wet for me, very often, and you’re going to love every fucking minute of it.” _______
A few minutes later, we were in the lobby with Jace, who was hunched over a pile of paperwork.
Tiernan watched as Jace stamped his concealed-carry permit. Then my husband quietly slid my ID across the counter to Jace and jerked his chin toward it. “Process this one, too.”
Jace froze on the other end of the counter. His eyes landed on my birthdate, and his throat bobbed with a swallow.
“She’s, uhm…” He coughed into his fist nervously. “Not twenty-one yet.”
“You saying I can’t math, lad?” Tiernan raised a perfect eyebrow.
Jace rubbed at the back of his neck.
“Wh-what? No, man. Not at all. My bad. I’ll get that permit handled straight away.”
When we got into the car, I decided to needle him again. It was my
favorite new pastime.
“Why wiseass?”
“Mm?” He twisted his Rolex on his wrist.
“My nickname. Why did you call me wiseass the first time we met, on the fountain?”
The night you almost killed me; I didn’t complete the sentence.
“Because,” he said slowly, “calling you hot ass didn’t seem appropriate at the time.”
I grinned as I stared out the window, watching the scenery wilting as we left the pretty parts of New York and entered Hunts Point.
