Mafia King (Young Irish Rebels #2) - Vi Carter Page 0,67

only there was nothing funny about the situation.

The car stops, and Shay groans as he turns off the engine and pulls out the keys. I’m reaching for the door handle when he stops me, his hand circling my wrist. His touch burns me in such a good way, like heat after the cold. It shocks me, and I want to push him away but also bring him closer. His touch has such an odd effect on me.

“What?” I ask. I can’t see his eyes behind the shades, but his head is turned towards me. He releases me.

“Let’s go.”

Whatever he had wanted to say, he clearly wasn’t going to. I’m walking across the parking lot to the run-down building, thinking that this was the perfect opportunity to run. Shay was injured; I could easily get away. I turn in a full circle. No one is in sight. My heart starts to race with the possibility of getting away.

“Emma.”

Shay has dragged the glasses off his face, and my stomach twists almost painfully.

I shouldn’t feel guilty for my thoughts, but he risked so much to come and save me, he had to give up so much to keep me alive, and here I am thinking of bailing on him.

He slips back on his glasses and continues his walk to the side of the building. He’s not displaying his confident walk that tells you he owned the world. He was wounded.

I half jog to catch up with him. Shay holds the door open for me, and once again, I know this is a significant moment. I’m following him because I want to. Not because he’s forcing me. We don’t speak as we make our way back to Shay’s apartment. Being aware of my surroundings, I can see the portion that hides the entry to the elevator. I also notice far more security men. Each large man clad in black sends my heart racing, but each face is a stranger. These aren’t the men who took me, but they would on a single command.

Shay removes the glasses once we are in his apartment. Fear freezes me, and I don’t want to go any further.

“I won’t stay if you leave me again. I can’t be on my own.” I can’t relive someone taking me. That fear is still riding pretty high in my system. Shay staggers and leans against the wall like his body can't go much further. His eyes are closed. “I won’t ever leave you again.”

I want to believe him so badly, but I still can’t move—his dark gaze swings to me. There is so much strain on his face. Blood has caked into the back of his neck. He needs stitches.

“I promise.”

I didn’t think Shay would make a promise lightly, so I take a step of faith filled with unease towards him. The moment I reach him, I take an arm and wrap it around my shoulder to support his weight as we make our way to his bed. He falls into it and groans.

Going into the bathroom has fear skittering up my spine. The moment I thought Shay had betrayed me was terrifying. I step around the mess and try not to look at the smashed mirror as I wet a towel and bring it back to the bedroom.

“Don’t come near me with that.” Shay’s eyes are closed as he speaks. I ignore him and sit on the bed. His wound isn’t bleeding any more. I don’t think so anyway. I start to dab at it, and Shay doesn’t move at all, so I keep going. I keep going with the belief he has fallen asleep.

“Do you sing?” His question has me pausing. Most of the blood is cleaned off; the wound isn’t as deep as I thought it would be. It was still nasty and must hurt like hell.

“They said you played the tin whistle.”

I start to clean the blood off his tanned neck. I have to pull his top away to get the cloth all the way down his neck. It’s awkward. “You want me to play the tin whistle?” I ask. I didn’t have one, but the idea of playing for him sends a thrill through my system.

Shay moves and sits up; his lids tighten in pain. “You need to rest.” I’m ready to push him back down when he opens the buttons of his shirt. “Fuck no, I don’t want you to play the tin whistle.”

It wasn’t a piano or guitar. I got that it wasn’t to everyone’s