Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
What would it be like to be that carefree and wild version of himself, just for one more night?
“Do. You. Want. Another. Drink?”
Maybe I could let it all go—the stress and the guilt and the sick feeling I can’t quite escape—just for a little while. He leaned onto the bar. “You want to get out of here after your shift?”
Her mouth tightened. “I don’t know why I bother. Never mind.”
“Wait.” He took a deep breath and let go of the wild impulse that had driven him to offer. He wasn’t that guy anymore, and trying to reclaim it was like spitting on Devlin’s grave. Cillian sighed. “I’ll have an apple juice.”
She blinked. “Apple juice.”
“Yes, please.”
He thought he’d sounded perfectly polite, but she frowned harder. “You come in here a couple times a week—or at least you used to from what Benji says—and you’ve been sitting here, nursing an apple juice?”
“Yeah.” He hadn’t touched alcohol since the night his youngest brother was killed in a drive-by shooting. He was the reason they’d been on that street to begin with, walking home in an effort to sober him up a little. If they’d just called a cab, Devlin would still be alive and…Cillian exhaled harshly. It was pointless to wish for things to be different, but the truth was that he was at least partially responsible for his brother’s death, indirectly or not. He could barely stand the thought of drinking again and potentially putting someone else he loved in danger.
Olivia seemed to realize she was staring and shook herself. She bent over and grabbed the apple juice, shooting a look at him like she’d never seen him before. “Why don’t you drink? Alcoholic?” It was almost amusing watching the horror appear on her face. “Shit, sorry, it’s none of my business.”
Maybe not, but a perverse part of him liked that she wanted to know more about him, even if it was morbid curiosity. “It never brought me anything but trouble.” There are plenty of other ways to get into trouble.
“It doesn’t stop most people from doing it.” She finished pouring his juice and slid it across the bar.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re something of a pessimist?” The edges of her lips quirked, and Cillian cocked his head to the side. “Holy fuck. That was almost a smile. I think you might not hate me as much as I thought.”
Instantly, her amusement was gone. Olivia stepped back, as if the two-foot bar between them wasn’t nearly enough space. “Are you opening a tab or paying now?”
He hadn’t set out tonight planning on coming here, but it was the first time he’d left the house without the muscle his father and brother usually insisted on, and he hadn’t wanted to waste the opportunity. He nodded. “Benji knows me. Have him put it on my running tab.”
She hesitated like she wanted to argue, but then turned and stalked to the giant owner of the bar. Benji had been operating on O’Malley territory before it was O’Malley territory, and Cillian always got the feeling that he’d still be here twenty years from now, regardless of the power struggles that ran through Boston like fault lines. As expected, the big man nodded, and Olivia walked back to him, her permanent frown firmly in place. “Who the hell are you?”
“Cillian O’Malley at your service.” He held out a hand, waiting for a full five seconds for her to take it before he lowered it. “Usually a handshake takes two people.”
“O’Malley.” She glanced around, but the bar was unusually loud tonight, and there was no one within easy eavesdropping range. “I know that name.”
Just once in his godforsaken life, he’d like to meet someone and not see that light bulb go off behind their eyes, but the chances of that happening in a bar in his family’s territory were nonexistent.
Suddenly tired, he sat back. “You know what? Never mind. I’m heading out.” He slid the coaster he’d scrawled his number on across the bar. “If you change your mind about letting loose, you give me a call.” He downed his drink and dropped a wad of cash onto the bar. The surprise on her face was almost reward enough as he pushed to his feet and strode out of the bar.
Almost.
* * *
Olivia Rashidi watched the O’Malley walk out the door and told herself to leave it alone. She’d figured out all she needed to know about him after they’d first met six months ago. He’d had trouble written all over him, from his tattoos to his ridiculously expensive suit to the way he’d carried himself, as if he was waiting for someone to give him the excuse to start a fight. Exactly the kind of thing she avoided—and for good reason. Men like that created chaos and then walked away unscathed, leaving the people around them floundering in their wake.