Page 26 of Irrevocably

She’s not wrong. Despite all my assurances to myself, I’m letting my cock do my thinking for me, and that needs to stop. I’ll have to deal with that at some point, but not now. Not when I have some serious clean-up to do.

I let her go and step away, glancing down at the mess on the concrete. Her glasses are lying there, as are her car keys, so I pick them both up. The lenses of her glasses are smeared with blood, so I wipe them on my hoodie, then hold them out to her.

She doesn’t even glance down, merely staring at me, her face bone-white.

“Go on.” I make my voice hard to cut through her shock. “Take your glasses and keys and go meet your friend.”

“Why did you kill him?”

“Like I said, he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” I ignore the way something in me is whispering that slitting his throat was about more than simply protecting my source of intel. That there was a deeper reason, an emotional reason. A reason that has something to do with her.

“He attacked me. I told you, he wanted me to take him to Dad.”

Unfortunate that I didn’t get to Moretti before he spoke to her, but him targeting her instead of the club wasn’t something I’d anticipated. And if what she says is true, and he demanded to see the chief, it means that the Morettis are here for the weapons operation.

She’s not just your target now.

Something dark and hot in me, something I buried a long, long time ago, something that stirred when I saw Angelo Moretti shove Astrid against the car, growls low and deep. But I shove it back down in the dirt where I buried it.

My attraction to her is purely physical, nothing more, and I won’t let it compromise this mission. All I want from her is information, and I will get it before anyone else does.

“Go home.” I take her hand, slap the keys and glasses into her palm. “Talk to your friend. I want that information, and I want it tonight.”

Chapter Thirteen

ASTRID

No matter how high I blast Matilda’s heater, I can’t get warm as I drive back home, my hands shaking as I grip the steering wheel.

What happened in the parking lot keeps replaying in my head over and over, but it’s not the man getting his throat slit that I’m thinking about. No, all I can think about is Lucien gripping my jaw, his fingers pressing hard against my skin and his mouth coming down on mine. His tongue exploring me, tasting me, demanding things from me that I didn’t know how to give. His body pressing me against the car, my breasts mashed against his chest, and how hot and hard he felt. How he tasted like dark chocolate and whisky and sin. How he bit my bottom lip and it hurt, but the pain was so good, so bright and sharp, and there was a throbbing heat between my legs, and⁠—

God. A man was murdered in front of me and all I can think about is a kiss. My first real kiss given to me by a beautiful killer with bloodstained hands, who I don’t know the first thing about apart from his name. Who picked my glasses up out of the blood, cleaned them then gave them back to me.

I liked it. The pain and the pleasure, and I wanted more. How fucked up is that?

I swallow, trying to pay attention to the road ahead of me.

Lucien said he would “deal” with the man, whoever he is, and I assume that means he’ll clean up the blood and get rid of the body. Get rid of the evidence. Does that make me an accessory? That I just drove away when he told me to? Should I pull over right now, call the police, tell them I have a murder to report?

Except … that guy wanted me to take him to Dad. Why? What did he want with Dad? Why did he attack me? Does it relate to what Lucien told me about Dad and the Hellhounds and the weapons? Are they all related in some way?

No, I can’t call the police, not yet. As the chief, Dad would be involved, and I don’t want to involve him until I know what’s going on. Hopefully, Wolf will be able to tell me. Hopefully none of this will be about Dad at all.

My thoughts tangle as I drive, and when I finally get home, I have to sit in the car for a little while, because between being attacked, witnessing a murder, and Lucien’s kiss, I’m a wreck. Also, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror, I’m slightly horrified to realise I still have blood on my face from where Lucien touched me. Grimacing, I find a rag in the glove box and use it to wipe the blood away, so at least I don’t have that to worry about.

I have to pull myself together, though. Wolf’s Harley is parked out front already, and Lucien was very clear he wants the information tonight, so I’ve got no choice but to get it out of Wolf now.

I don’t have to have this conversation. I could let Lucien make good on his threat to tell Dad about my cutting. It would be horrible, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world if he knew. Then again, what if Lucien then escalated things? He might threaten Rowan or Wolf, or even Dad, in order to get me to do what he wants, and I can’t let that happen. I can’t allow them to be used by Lucien just because they happened to know me.

So, no. I’ll get him the information tonight, and then all this will end.

Steeling myself, I get out of the car and into the cold night and head up the steps to the front door. Once I’m inside, I take off my coat and hang it on the hook in the hall, then take a steadying breath, and go into the living room.

Wolf is in jeans, a T-shirt and his cut, lounging on one of the armchairs by the window while my father is in his usual ugly-as-hell recliner. Both of them have a beer in hand, and are talking, but the conversation breaks off as soon as I step into the room.

Wolf’s handsome face lights up as he sees me, and he pushes himself out of his chair, coming over to give me his usual bear hug, and I can’t help but tense up, already anxious about this conversation. And of course he picks up on it.

“Hey.” He releases me, his dark brows drawing together in concern. “You okay?”