After a moment, he removes his sunglasses. Without them, he’s even more handsome. He stares at me with dark eyes that drill straight through my skull.
“Because you’re a do-gooder, Reyna Caruso. You’ve got an overdeveloped sense of right and wrong.”
It’s official: he’s nuts.
“Since you obviously know so much about me, you must know that I’m the head of the Cosa Nostra. Tell me how being in charge of an organized crime empire makes me so ethical?”
“You sacrificed yourself to save the lives of your niece and her boyfriend. Do-gooding. You told the other Mafia families that at the upcoming annual Christmas Eve meeting of all the syndicates, the Chinese and the Armenians will be cut off if they continue their human-trafficking operations. Do-gooding.”
His faint, self-satisfied smile returns. “You ordered Declan not to kill Stavros because it offended your sense of fair play. Do-gooding.”
“That’s three things. Big deal. And it’s really creepy how much you know about me.”
“I know much more than that, but I’m trying to recruit you to join my organization, so I won’t creep you out any more by giving additional details.”
“What’s your organization?”
Stepping closer to me, he holds out a white business card.
I take it from him and look at it. “It’s blank.”
“Turn it over.”
When I do, I find nothing more on the back except a number printed in bold sans serif type in the middle of the card.
I glance up at him in confusion. “Thirteen? What’s that?”
“The name of my organization.”
“Oh. Okay, that’s weird.”
He sounds offended. “Why is it weird?”
“Thirteen is a feminine number. The number of blood, fertility, and lunar potency. The number of the Great Goddess.” I look him up and down. “You don’t exactly look like a Great Goddess to me.”
He sticks his sunglasses back onto his face, folds his arms over his chest, and sighs. “It’s also the number of the Death card in the Tarot.”
“So you organization has something to do with the Tarot?”
“No. Thirteen is just the number of members we have.”
I stare at him for a moment. “I feel like we could stand here until the end of time and go in circles while you avoid telling me anything at all about what this organization of yours does.”
His smile is mysterious. “I’ll be in touch. In the meantime, don’t tell anyone you’ve spoken to me. That’s your first test.”
“For the record, I hate tests. And considering I have no idea who you are, I’m not likely to tell anyone about you. I don’t even know your name.”
He lowers his head and gazes at me over the frame of his sunglasses. In a low voice, he says, “The name’s Killian Black, lass. And you’ll be hearing from me.”
Footsteps sound on the marble floor of the corridor. I glance down the corridor. When I turn around again, he’s gone.
Killian has disappeared into thin air.
I say loudly, “That’s even more creepy! And if I join your stupid organization, you’ll have to change the name to fourteen. You know that, right? Every time you recruit a new member, you’ll have to print up new business cards!”
I’m not sure, but I could swear I hear the sound of faint laughter echoing from somewhere far off in the distance.
42
Rey
Late that night, I’m lying in bed next to Quinn and staring suspiciously at the ceiling of the hotel suite with a growing sense of unease that a crazy person named Killian Black might have planted a camera in the smoke detector, when Quinn rouses and slides one of his heavy legs over mine.
His voice drowsy, he says, “Strange thing happened tonight.”
“What’s that?”
“Four of our bodyguards claim they woke up in a back hallway of the museum with no idea how they got there.”
I knew they were alive when I left them, because I checked all their pulses. But I haven’t quite decided what to tell Quinn about this character Killian Black yet, so I go with a vague “Hmm. That is strange.”
We lie in comfortable silence for a while, until he says, “What are you thinking, viper?”
“I’m thinking…” I turn my head and look at him. His head rests on the pillow beside mine. His hazel eyes are soft, warm, and full of adoration. I smile at him and touch his wonderful springy beard. “That I’m very happy.”
“Aye?” He pulls me closer and nuzzles my neck. “Tell me more.”
I have to laugh at that. I see many, many years of heaping praise on my Irishman in the future. “I’m happy that we’re here together. I’m happy I’ve made three amazing new friends. I’m happy that my mother hasn’t sexually assaulted the handsome young butler you arranged to wait on her.”
Quinn says, “Yet.”
“Yes, yet. God, it’s disturbing to see her flirt. It’s like watching a horror movie in slow motion.” I slide my hand up his neck into his hair and whisper, “I’m also happy to see you so happy. I was a little worried seeing Riley would be traumatic for you.”
He sighs. “Seeing Malek is traumatic for me. I hate that fucker. I’ve never wanted to strangle anyone more. But I’m glad Riley’s happy. She seems good, don’t you think?”
I nod, snuggling closer.
After a moment, he asks tentatively, “Are you jealous?”
“I would be if I thought you still had feelings for her. But it’s obvious you don’t. Hey, by the way, I’ve been thinking about something.”
“Jesus.”
“Oh, don’t be scared. It just occurred to me the other day that I’ve never asked you what this tattoo says.”
I trace my fingers over the ink that runs across his chest just under his collarbone.
He exhales and pulls me closer. “It’s Gaelic for embrace the chaos. Someone told me that years ago, when I was in a very dark place, and it helped.”
“One of your therapists?”
“No. Declan.”
I think about that for a while as I trace my fingers over the scrolls and loops inked on his skin. It seems as good a slogan as any to survive this turbulent life of ours.
Pressing a kiss to my temple, Quinn murmurs, “I’ve been thinking about something, too.”
The tone of his voice makes me nervous. “Do I need to have a drink before I hear it?”
“It’s about the tattoo on your ring finger.”
“What about it?”
He pauses. “I was wondering…if it’s still how you feel about marriage.”
“Oh.” I laugh a little, snuggling closer to him. “Actually, marriage in general seems like a terrible idea.”
His sigh is soft and defeated. He says, “That’s what I thought,” and closes his eyes.
This man. He always assumes the worst. I’m going to have to work on that.
“I wasn’t finished.”
He cracks open one eye and looks at me. I smile up into his frowning face.
“As I was saying, marriage in general seems like a terrible idea…but marriage to a certain stubborn, bossy, cranky, possessive insect seems like it might be kinda fun.”
His breath catches. His eyes flare. His arms tighten around me. He says gruffly, “Arachnid.”
“Yes, excuse me. Arachnid.”
After a beat of silence, he rolls on top of me and stares down at me with burning intensity, every muscle in his big body tensed.
“So you’re saying you want to marry me. For real this time.”
Grinning at him, I say coyly, “I don’t know. Maybe you should ask me and find out. Because if memory serves, I’m the only person in this room who’s proposed. Under duress, I might add. That doesn’t make such a great story we can tell our grandkids. It would be nice if we went about it properly.”
Because his chest is pressed to mine, I can feel how hard his heart is pounding. I also feel a sudden stiffness against my thigh and have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.
But then I’m gasping, because Quinn has launched himself from bed, dragging me along with him. He gets me steady on my feet, then sinks to one knee on the carpet in front of me.
Gazing up at me with adoring eyes, he says in a gruff voice, “Viper. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want you to have my children. I want to make you the happiest woman in the world. I’ll give you everything I have to give and anything you ever ask for. I love you with every part of my dark heart and every piece of my wasted soul. Will you please do me the honor of being my wife?”
His smile is breathtaking. “For real this time?”
My throat tight and my eyes watering, I say, “Yes, my beautiful Irishman. I’ll marry you. I’ll marry you every day for the rest of forever, because I’ve never loved anything in my life the way I love you.”
He closes his eyes for a moment. He swallows. When he opens his eyes again, they’ve gone dark.
My monster growls, “Good answer,” and lunges at me.
He takes us back down to the bed with the sound of my happy laughter echoing off the walls.
Epilogue
SPIDER
Boston, fifteen months later
Christmas Eve