Mafia King (Young Irish Rebels #2) - Vi Carter Page 0,14

three cupboards before I find a mug. I know he’s watching me. I can sense his heavy gaze on my back. I refuse to turn around as I pour a mug of coffee.

“You want to tell me what happened yesterday?” His question is loaded as I pour in a small amount of milk.

No. I don’t.

“We were attacked,” I speak as I stir my coffee.

I’m remembering the onslaught of bullets and turn to him holding the mug tightly. “Was it you?”

He’s standing and moving, and I’m sinking against the counter as he towers over me with angry eyes.

“Let’s clear something up, love. You should be careful with your accusations. You might be a kid, but that won’t stop me…” He trails off and takes a step backward, giving me back some of my personal space, but it’s not enough. My mind is screaming that he’s still too close.

The air has lodged itself in my throat, and I’m shriveling up. Won’t stop him from what? Killing me? Hurting me? He hadn’t finished his sentence. Was that intentional? Did he want my mind to fill in the blanks? Well, that’s exactly what it was doing.

He’s still too close, and I’m eye-level with his large chest. “I’m not a kid” is the intelligent comeback I have for him. I don’t want him to look at me like that, which is silly, considering that he has just left a threat hanging in the air.

“Just watch your mouth.” He steps away and returns to the breakfast bar. I don’t move as he sits down and opens the paper, and I’m aware he’s not reading it. His gaze is trained on the paper, but he’s too angry to take in any of the words. His hands curl up either side of the paper, and I’m wondering why he hasn’t struck out and hurt me yet.

Give him time. Emma.

His face is still bruised. His bottom lip has a slight cut close to the corner. I bite my bottom lip and quickly look away as he looks up at me. Why do I want to know how he got those bruises? It was probably from robbing someone.

He’s a Northerner, Emma. I have to remind myself.

My reaction to him is throwing me off. I hadn’t been around a man like this before. If I ever had been, it was with one of my brothers or a cousin. So this was strange.

“Did you get a look at the men who shot at you?” He speaks without looking up, and my stomach quivers from his deep voice.

My face flames, and I turn away so he can’t see me.

“No.” Noel had said, not to answer questions but to listen and find things out. He had wanted me to be a spy.

“What did Liam say?” I fire back and continue to stir my coffee.

No response.

I turn with the coffee in my hand. My fingers flex and clench around the mug. He’s grinning at me, and there is nothing friendly about it. My heart starts to gallop as he stands.

“That’s not how this works, love.”

Love. It’s an insult. I can hear it in his deep voice.

I stand as tall as I can.

“They said you would be willing.”

Heat travels from my chest and scorches my face. My fingers tighten around the mug. The mug of hot coffee that I would fire at him if he tried to touch me.

“You seem…” He tilts his head from left to right, the movement intimidating, like he’s getting ready to wrestle with me. The thoughts of his large frame on top of me have me taking a step back so the counter can support my weight.

“Hostile.” He finishes and places his mug in the sink.

Having his gaze off me allows me to count to ten to try to regain some control.

He throws me a sideways glance. “Go shower and change.”

I don’t move as he returns to the breakfast bar and folds the newspaper up. Like hell I was going to take off my clothes with him in the house.

“I’m fine.”

“Have you looked in a mirror?” His comeback has me wanting the safety of the wardrobe where his smell and size weren’t consuming every rational thought.

“Have you?” I fire back, my mouth moving before I can close it.

His lip rises, and I see a flash of white teeth. “Was the wardrobe comfortable?”

I put the mug down on the counter. My hands grow slick. The thought of being dragged back there isn’t appealing at all. I don’t push the mug too far