Page 81 of Retribution
“You and Finn have private jokes now?”
“Seems like.” I extract myself from Finn’s grip and shuffle the few seats to the end of the aisle. The rest of the crew is watching the three of us with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance. Only Antonio peers at me with anything resembling concern.
When I get close, he leans in. “You all right?”
“No. I need to go back to the house and crash. Switch off my brain.”
“You riding up front again?”
“Yeah.”
The men scatter around, forming a barrier between us and anyone else. With a deep breath, I blink my eyes and force myself to focus. To be this drunk, I had to be too lost in my own head. I never get this blotto when I’m on the job. It’s a bad idea. I couldn’t defend myself right now even if I wanted to, and tomorrow will be an epic hangover.
The entire ride, I picture Lorcan and Finn sitting in the back, sizing each other up while I try to stay conscious, and Antonio drives with ease. As soon as we file in the door, Ian approaches Finn and jerks his head in the direction of the basement.
Finn examines me, his distaste evident. “Go sleep it off. You’re no good to anybody like this.”
As he strides toward the basement stairs, I yell after him, “I’m a person, Finn. I don’t have to be good for anyone but myself sometimes.”
Lorcan and I are left in the entranceway, staring at each other for an extra beat. There’s so much I want to say, and none of those words can leave my lips.
“Bed. I’m going to bed.” I step down the hall. Lorcan comes with me. “Alone.”
Lorcan chuckles. “My rooms are this way.”
“Don’t.” I wag a finger. “Don’t turn on that accent like a faucet. It’s not going to work.”
“Pity. I was hoping it might dampen”—his gaze connects with mine—“your dislike of me.”
“I can’t talk to you right now.”
“Tomorrow.”
“No. Unless it’s related to work, actual business you and I have together, we’re nothing.” I head to my rooms, half expecting him to follow me.
He doesn’t.
At first, the pounding is part of my dream. As I try to puzzle out why there’s a door in my beachy scene, my conscious brain kicks in, and Lorcan’s voice follows the noise. I jolt awake.
Jumping out of bed, I expect there to be an emergency the way he’s hitting the door. When I swing it back, the world is still fuzzy. The hangover hasn’t kicked in, but I’m not falling down drunk. Buzzed. Much more acceptable. “Is the house on fire?”
Lorcan’s muscular arms are braced against the doorframe. He smells like whiskey, and his attention trails over me, hot with desire.
Why is he staring at me like that?Oh no. I went to sleep in my bra and underwear. Drunk me is so classy. While holding up a finger, I grab a robe and throw it on, belting it. “So fire? Or police? Or…? Someone’s dead.”
“Oh, someone might be dead. Maybe several someones. Finn’s been downstairs a long time. Not why I’m here, though.” He slants deeper into the doorway.
“Well, if there’s nothing work related.” I start to close the door in his face.
“It’s work related.” He squeezes around me and the half-open door before I can think to stop him.
I cross my arms. “Okay.” I squint at the clock. “What couldn’t wait for another three or four hours?”
“Why are you pissed at me?”
“That’s not work related.”
“It is. I can’t work with someone who is pissed at me.”