“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Aiden answered tightly. “Guess I have one of those faces.”
As soon as the goons crossed the threshold, he slammed the door shut, hit the lights, and strode to the front windows. He watched as the men crossed the street, entered a door between two storefronts, and eventually showed themselves in a lit window facing Kat’s apartment before Vinnie flipped him off and drew the shades.
Fuckers were closer than he liked for comfort, but he supposed he wouldn’t expect them to go very far. Whatever. As long as they kept their end of the bargain and stopped toying with Kat, it didn’t matter where they were.
Aiden grabbed Kat’s gun from her dresser, checked the clip and the safety, and shoved it in the back of his waistband before locking up and heading back out to his bike. Before he started the engine, he found Xander in his contacts and connected the call. In two rings, his friend picked up.
“Glad to see you’re alive, mate.”
“Me too. Is that underground tournament going on right now?”
“The Four by Four? Yeah, we’re in the finals. Three weeks to go. I kicked major ass in it last night, by the way, thanks for asking.”
Aiden didn’t have time to pander to Xan’s feelings. “I need you to get me in.”
“Let’s pretend for a second, Mr. I’ll Never Fight Again, that my jaw isn’t on the floor while I remind you that the tournament already started.”
“I heard you the first time. I need in, Xan. Figure it out.”
He shoved his phone in his pocket, pulled on his helmet, and took off toward home to get some answers.
Chapter Eight
It was times like these when Kat wished she was a part of the technologically obsessed world. She’d give anything to have her cell phone so she could call Irish and see if he was okay.
Ever since he’d left more than an hour earlier, she’d paced, rocked, and drove herself mad with worry. She didn’t even have Xander to try and reassure her, since he was still at work. At last she heard the faint whine of his bike grow louder. She would have run out to meet him in the shed, but Ally had been playing Guard the Castle on the porch all night. After what seemed like forever, he jogged up the steps and walked through the door. Kat froze in her pacing and did a quick scan to make sure no appendages were broken or missing.
“Thank God you’re all right,” she said. “I kept imagining the worst.”
“I’m fine.” He pulled off his gloves and riding jacket and set them on the back of the couch.
She winced at the sight of his split lower lip. Hopefully that was the worst they’d given him. “What happened? What did they say?”
“I gotta get out of these clothes and shower. We’ll talk after.”
Aiden strode across the room without another word. His terse demeanor stunned her, to say the least, but she told herself it might be normal for him. She didn’t know him that well, after all. “Do you want me to make you coffee or anything?”
He emerged from his bedroom holding a pair of boxer briefs and jersey shorts with a towel wrapped around his waist. “No. I’ll be out in a minute,” he said on his way into the bathroom, then closed the door behind him.
She heard the water in the shower go on as she started to pace. She could try to justify it, but the truth was that she knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t be so cold to her for no reason. He’d never treated her with anything other than care and consideration from the day they met. Something was wrong.
Steeling herself before she lost her nerve, Kat strode across the room and opened the door wide. “Hey—”
The vinyl curtain ripped back to show a very soapy, very colorful, and—holy shit—very well-hung Irish braced for attack mode. “Jesus Christ, Kat, what do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, rising to his full height. “I almost jumped you, for fuck’s sake!”
He whipped the curtain back to its closed position and snapped her back to the present. For a second there, she’d been entertaining images of his slick body “jumping” hers. She needed to stay focused on the more important issue at hand. Like whether or not she needed a new identity and a crash course in speaking Spanish.
“You’re freaking me out, Irish. I can tell something’s wrong. You can’t expect me to wait until you’re through showering to—”
The water turned off as the curtain slid to the side, yet again derailing her thoughts. He ran his hands forward over his head, squeezing out excess water from his longer hair on top. Droplets of water randomly trailed down his body, highlighting the bright colors in his skin, winking over the silver bars in his nipples, and sliding between the valley of his abs.
Irish grabbed the towel off the bar and wrapped it around his waist again as he stepped out of the tub onto the shower mat. “To what, Kat?”