“Then knock it off. The other coolers aren’t as meddling as you. Dealing with a certain amount of crap gets me decent tips. You scowling at every customer who looks at me wrong is cutting into my bottom line, buddy.”
Aiden hadn’t considered that the waitresses got tipped better if they let the men flirt or paw at them. He scowled. He didn’t want to hurt her financially, but there was no way he was backing off. “How much would you say you lose every time I interfere?”
She threw her hands in the air, clearly frustrated. “Five, ten, twenty bucks? How the hell should I know?”
He nodded. “Then I’ll give you twenty bucks every time I keep some asshole’s hands off you.”
Her brows drew together and the starch left her spine. “I don’t want your money, Irish.” He liked the way his name sounded on her lips. Or his nickname, anyway. Just like she used an alias, he’d stuck with his old nickname from his fighting days. Xander was the only one there who knew his real name—and his secrets—and he intended to keep it that way.
“Are you listening to me?” she asked. “I want you to back off.”
Like hell he would. “Can’t.”
“What do you mean you can’t?”
He couldn’t tell her that any more than he could back off like she wanted. Couldn’t tell her that his reason for leaving his home on the South side of Boston for Bumfuck Nowhere had started out as a favor owed to a friend and ended up as something else entirely. That from the moment he saw her, his promise to make sure she was okay for her sister’s peace of mind came second to his own inexplicable need to watch over her. To protect her.
Fighting the urge to pull her into his arms and chase away the ghosts he saw in her eyes, Aiden shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. “As long as I’m around, no one touches you without an invitation.” Unable to help himself, he lowered his head and whispered in her ear. “No one.”
She jerked back with a barely audible hitch of breath. A flash of something he couldn’t identify crossed her face, and then she darted back inside. After that, she never spoke to him again other than a quick thank you with her eyes whenever he helped her. Nonverbal communication was fine with him, so he always responded with a look of his own, hoping it said, you’re welcome, and not, Goddamn you’re gorgeous, or, I’d give anything to bury myself in you for a night. Since she hadn’t hauled off and kicked him in the junk yet, he figured he’d done okay so far.
Every day, though, it was getting harder and harder to disguise the heat he suspected simmered in his eyes when he locked sights with her. He couldn’t help it. He liked to think he was a decent guy, but he was far from a damn saint. Her pixie-petite frame and subtle curves were highlighted by her short and tight uniform, and it was all he could do to not mentally undress her.
And then mentally fuck her.
“Irish,” Xan said through the comm-link. “You got sights on the shit brewing over by the billiards?”
“How many times have I told you we call it ‘pool’ on this side of the Pond? You sound like an ass.”
“Right, and you sound so bloody intelligent with your wicked smaht accent, ya feckin’ Southie.”
“Better than being a Yorkie, douchebag.”
Some friends drank beer and hugged. Some beat on punching bags and gave each other shit. Aiden and Xan didn’t hug.
He located the two already in a heated argument, but his phone vibrated on his hip before he even took a step in their direction. Shit. Very few people had his number. Fewer still whom he could blow off. Checking the screen, he swore under his breath at the text.
“Xan, I gotta make a call. Think you can handle this one solo?”
“Look who you’re talking to. Of course I can. I can handle anything.” Xander was known for many things. Modesty wasn’t one of them. “Go take your call, but hurry it up. I want to chat up this lovely bird who keeps shagging me with her eyes.”
“This might shock you,” Aiden replied as he made his way to the back office, “but your sex life isn’t my top priority.”
“Neither is yours. You need to stop fucking around and tell—”
“Shut it, Xan.” Closing the office door behind him muffled most of the noise from the bar. “When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.”
He turned off his comm-link and pulled it from his ear to dangle over his shoulder. Aiden hated these calls. They reminded him of things he tried to forget. Like the current double life he was leading.
After a couple of rings, a male voice answered. “Hey, O’Brien.”
“How’s it goin’, Jax?”
“It’s been better, man. Between stress from work and planning a wedding, V’s a little more high-strung-OCD than normal. Add in worrying about her little sister, and I’m strongly considering putting an ad in the classifieds for an old priest and a young priest, Exorcist style.”
Aiden grinned and leaned his hips back on the edge of the paper-covered desk. “So you’re hoping an update will help soothe the beast, is that it?”
“I’m willing to try anything at this point, but I figured I’d call you before the newspaper. So what’s going on in Alligator Alley? Tell me you two eloped and are making babies on a beach somewhere.”
“I thought you wanted good news.”
“Are you kidding? That’d be awesome news. Then we’d be brothers through marriage and we could build the first Irish-Hawaiian team in MMA. Just think how cool our banner would be. Our logo could be a pineapple with a shamrock cut out of it.”
Aiden dragged a hand over his face. He’d almost forgotten how exhausting Jax could be. To outsiders, Jax seemed deceptively calm and laid back, but those lucky enough to call him friend knew the guy had boundless energy that he put into three things: fighting, surfing, and his relationship with Kat’s older sister, Vanessa. Beyond that, Jax was the kind of man you could count on when the shit hit the fan.
Which was why Aiden was in his current situation. He owed Jax. A lot.
He didn’t know the specifics of Kat’s situation except that she’d asked Vanessa for help with something major before disappearing from her last known place of residence. They’d hired a PI, who’d managed to locate her in Alabaster, but Vanessa wasn’t convinced she wasn’t still in trouble of some sort. That’s when he’d gotten the call from Jax, asking him to head down to Louisiana for a couple weeks to see what Kat was up to and if she was okay.
But a couple weeks was going on three months of watching out for Kat, whether she liked it or not. He periodically reported in to Jax or Vanessa to maintain the ruse that he’d stayed for them and not for reasons of his own he didn’t care to examine.
Aiden shoved his hand into his jeans pocket. “I wish I could help, but there’s nothin’ new to report here. Same old, same old, you know?”
“Well, I guess that’s better than the alternative of finding out she’s still in trouble,” Jax said. “Listen, I also wanted to tell you that I’m taking V on a cruise tomorrow. We’ll be gone two weeks. She needs to unplug and unwind before she has a total meltdown. I’m concerned for Kat, too, but my first priority is my fiancée and I’m confident you can handle everything out there until we get back.”
Aiden nodded. “She’s been out here for six months without any issues. Odds of anything happening are practically nil, so just worry about your girl. I got things over here.”
“Thanks, man.”
“So the big day’s coming up, isn’t it?”
Jax’s heavy sigh came through the tiny speaker loud and clear. “I’m not sure. She’s already canceled it and changed the date twice. This cruise was actually supposed to be our honeymoon. She keeps pushing the wedding back with excuses about work or not having things ready, but I know better than that.”
“I didn’t peg her for a cold feet kind of girl.”
“It’s not about that, brah. She keeps hoping Kat will answer her calls and agree to come to the ceremony.”
Aiden swore something stabbed him in the chest at hearing that.
He was so close with his sisters. He couldn’t imagine not being at their weddings. Colleen was his Irish twin, which meant they had the same birth year. He’d been born in January and she in December. Growing up, she often played the role of “mom” to him and their baby sister, Mary Catherine, when their mother was at one of her two jobs. And outside the house, Aiden protected and looked after his sisters.
They’d forever been the Three Musketeers, them against the world. Or what was their world, anyway. It’d been hard distancing himself from them over the last several years, even though it was for their own good. But if he ever had to completely sever ties, it’d be devastating.
Aiden rubbed a hand over his mouth. “I’m sorry to hear that, man. Hopefully a few more calls to Kat about wedding stuff will do the trick.”
“I have a better idea. Sweep her off her feet, whisk her to Hawaii, and we’ll have a double wedding. I hear they’re all the rage.”
“Yeah, right. So not happening, brah,” he said, adding a mocking tone to his friend’s Hawaiian term.
“Okay, fine,” Jax said. “Jokes aside, though, man. As far as V knows, Kat has a real bad history with men. I don’t know her, but I know you. You’re a good man, O’Brien. You’d treat her well, and she might even remind you you’re not the piece of shit you think you are. Who knows, you might even fall in love.”
Aiden pushed off the desk and clenched the phone hard enough to do some damage if he kept it up for long. “I can’t have that, Jax. You know that.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he said meaningfully.
“Killing my best friend’s sister doesn’t exactly make me the lovable type.”
“Everyone deserves to be loved, O’Brien. Even you. You’re just too lost in the past to realize it.”
Unable to get past the tightness in his throat to say anything else, Aiden disconnected the call. He couldn’t deal with the shit in his head trying to get out right now. It was almost closing time. He needed to focus on getting through the rest of the night, and then he’d go home and work out till he passed out or at least became too tired to think. Total physical and mental exhaustion was his only option for self-medicating anymore.
As he entered the main area of the bar, he saw Kat arguing with a customer. Pushing his way through the crowd, Aiden approached the four men in the booth, placing himself between the mouthy one and Kat. The table quieted as he planted his feet and crossed his arms.
Pinning the drunk with nothing more than a hard stare, he directed his question to Kat. “What’s the problem?”
“He’s just arguing over his tab,” she said. “It doesn’t require your services, Irish.”
Aiden nearly smirked. She was so proud, this one. He liked that about her, though, and she was right. She could take care of a squabble over a bill. Giving her a quick nod of acknowledgment, he moved out of her way but stayed within earshot.
“Speaking of servicesss,” the man slurred, “what do you charge for your serviccces?”
Kat shook her head and made a clucking sound with her tongue. “Come on now, Karl. Didn’t your mama raise you to never ask a lady about her business unless she offers first?”
“My mama run off when I was little, but my daddy taught me plenty on what to do with da ladies.” The group of men erupted in laughter and elbowed one another in the ribs.
“I’ll just bet,” she said. “Look, why don’t you pay for the seven rounds you and I both know you ordered, and I’ll get you one last round on the house.”
Karl narrowed his eyes, a sneer twisting his lips, and leaned in. “I tell you whut. I’ll pay for the six rounds I know I ordered, and instead of a free round, you can show us your titties.”
Aiden’s body shot bowstring tight. In one stride, he reached the booth, yanked the bastard out by the front of his shirt, and held him so his toes barely scraped the floor.
The man literally trembled. His eyes were so wide he looked prepped for eye surgery and his head was drawn back so far on his neck it looked cartoonish. Aiden had at least twenty pounds of muscle and almost half a foot on the guy. Not to mention the ability to break him in dozens of different ways if the notion happened to strike.
“Say that again, asshole,” Aiden growled. “I fucking dare you.”
“I was just jokin’, man, I swear!”
“Irish, I can—”
“I got this, Syd. Go back to work,” he said as evenly as possible. The rage bubbled dangerously close to the surface. The last thing he wanted to do was deflect any of that onto her, but thanks to dipshit Karl, he was hanging onto his control by a thread.
With a disgusted sigh, she whipped the towel down from her shoulder and strode toward the bar. He waited to make sure she wasn’t obeying her stubborn Scottish streak that no doubt wanted her to come back and stand her ground. Then he took the folded cash he saw in the guy’s front shirt pocket. Aiden set the man down, glanced at the amount scrawled on the paper tab, and thumbed through the bills—mostly crumpled singles with a few fives.
“You’re still seven dollars short,” Aiden said. “Any of your friends want to pony up the rest and the lady’s tip?”
The three other men voiced a chorus of, “Karl said he was payin’,” and, “I ain’t got nothin’ on me.” Aiden kept the money and the tab. Jabbing a hard finger into Karl’s chest, Aiden loomed over him to get his point across.
“You’re done for the night, Karl. The next time you come here you’re going to remember two things: one, you bring enough money to cover your bill and leave a generous tip for whichever waitress busts her ass to bring you your beer, and two, you will treat the waitresses with the respect they deserve. Got it?”
Karl nodded with so much enthusiasm he looked like a bobblehead on speed.
“Good,” Aiden said. “Now go home.”
The man and his small posse didn’t waste any time following orders, and that was one more problem solved for the night.
Aiden put in the last bit missing so it wouldn’t come out of Kat’s wages, then gave the money and the bill to the bartender for settling. From the corner of his eye, he saw Kat walk down the hall toward the back office and the employee bathroom. He grabbed another bill from his wallet and followed her.
“Sydney.”
She turned her head just before entering the bathroom. Aiden walked over and stood next to her, unable to say anything. It was always like this for him. Whenever he helped her out on the floor, he had no problems speaking. He might be a man of few words, but that didn’t mean he didn’t say everything he needed to get his point across.
But when he was alone with Kat, he couldn’t get a damn thing out. He was afraid his “Hey, how was your weekend?” would end up as something entirely different. That opening his mouth to say anything would let out all the things he couldn’t let himself say.
You’re all I fucking think about. I wanna feel your body against mine and wrap your legs around my waist. Feel what it’s like to have your pussy squeeze my cock as you come and breathe you in until you’re the only thing inside me.
So instead of taking the risk, Aiden simply held out the twenty dollar bill between them until she accepted it. Reluctantly, as always.
Holding up the bill, she said, “I told you to stop this.”
“I know.”
Forcing himself to turn around, he retraced his steps toward the bar.
“Irish.” He stopped just before entering the main room and looked back over his shoulder. Her face softened, the lines around her blue-green eyes gone. “Thank you,” she said. “For what you did in there.”
Aiden nodded and continued out to the bar area. Winding his way through the crowd, he couldn’t help but hear Jax’s parting words echoing in his head.
Everyone deserves to be loved. Even you.
Jax was wrong, though. As far as Aiden was concerned, he’d lost that right on the rainy streets of Boston five long years ago. The night he’d ended Janey’s life.
Chapter Two
 
; Kat’s shitty night just got worse.
They’d found her.
Two states, six months, and a fake name since her previous encounter with them, and they’d still managed to find her. How didn’t matter. It was why that clawed her insides all to hell.
The paper placemat sporting beer stains and a hastily scrawled note shook in her trembling hands. Chancing a quick glance around the barely lit employee parking lot behind Lou’s Riverview, she stared at the words again, praying she’d read them wrong.
Time to pay up!
We got eyes on you & ears with the pigs.
You got 48 hrs.
Nope. She’d read them right the first time. Roughly translated, it said Antony Sicoli wanted his money in the next two days, or she could look forward to another up-close-and-personal tour of the local ER. Or the morgue.
It also told her she was being watched, and Sicoli had already managed to compromise at least one of Alabaster, Louisiana’s finest.
In other words, Kat MacGregor was totally, and utterly, screwed.
Fighting to keep the acid in her stomach where it belonged, she cursed herself six ways to Sunday. She should have known better. She should have dyed her strawberry hair an inky black, maybe hacked off a good twelve inches so it fell to her chin. Should have covered her freckles with caked-on makeup like the other lost souls working at Lou’s for shitty tips and lewd comments.
Waitressing at that rundown joint in the cane breaks of Alabaster was the exact opposite of a “dream job.” But Lou paid under the table and didn’t ask any questions, so for someone on the lam like herself, it qualified as the “perfect job.”
Digging through her purse, she desperately searched for the keys to her shit-brown 1984 Chevy Celebrity, needing to feel the modicum of safety its rusting frame would offer. It might be a piece of crap, but it was the only thing constant in her life from when she left home at the age of seventeen.
Well, that and Lenny.
Fucking Lenny. She’d known he wasn’t going to amount to anything when they were dating her junior year in high school, but it hadn’t mattered. He had the Celebrity and was willing to take her far away from her house and the shit that went on inside those four walls. So what if his idea of a job was gambling while she worked random waitressing gigs to make sure they had enough to scrape by? Frustrating, but certainly not the worst scenario she could imagine.