but then he rarely needed to. A hit was a hit. But this girl wasn’t targeted for death. If he could talk her into going with him, all the better. If not, he needed a backup.
By the time he’d armed and dressed, the women were long gone, the only evidence they’d been there at all the rumpled bed. The way he liked it. Women were a fun pastime, but when he was done, he was done. Which was why he tended to use women from the high-end brothel his brother managed. They knew the score. He had unusual tastes but he paid well and never injured anyone. When the encounter was over, they went home. No hanging on for the money. In Fionn’s line of work, having a permanent woman was not only a liability, it was lunacy.
As he walked by the mirror in the bathroom, he caught a glimpse of himself. Cropped red hair, pale skin, green eyes…he was Irish through and through. If one looked closely, however, they could see the deadness in his eyes. The green wasn’t a merry color, but a cold one. Ice ran through his veins most days. Fionn had lost count of the number of men he’d killed—didn’t want to remember really. All he knew was, each time he took a life, part of him was snuffed out as well. It wasn’t that he didn’t want his job—he did. His brothers needed him and he was good at what he did. He just needed something to fill up the empty spaces.
Like sex with two beautiful women. The corner of one side of his mouth lifted in a cocky half grin. Yeah. That would do it. Fortunately, he had a ready supply of women ready and willing to perform whatever unusual act he wanted. Once this job was complete, he’d indulge himself again.
Chapter Two
“I can’t believe you talked me into this.” LeeAnn’s stomach churned as she stepped into the exclusive club her friend—and the only person who could ever get her into so much trouble—had bullied her into going to. Her father had expressly forbidden her to go to this place, saying it was a hotbed of “illicit activities.” Whatever that meant. The last thing she wanted to do was disobey her father, so the fact that Benita had gotten her to go to this particular bar was a testament to the fact that LeeAnn was a complete pushover.
“Irish has the hottest guys in Boston! Everyone comes here. How could you not want to be here?”
“Dad says the place is full of unsavory characters.”
“Honey, your dad is an unsavory character his own damned self. Did you ever stop to think that maybe he’s just as bad as his rivals?”
LeeAnn crossed her hands over her chest. “You’re talking about my stepfather, Benita. He’s been really good to me. When Mom died, he could have turned me over to social services. Instead, he raised me like his own.”
Her mother had married Bart Holten when LeeAnn was only three years old. When she’d shown academic potential at even that early age, he’d taken her to special teachers and schools, making sure her mind was stimulated. Though he hadn’t given his wife’s daughter his name, he had taken care of LeeAnn, providing her with anything she’d ever wanted, including the best education and opportunities money could buy. Now, she had a full academic scholarship to MIT. Though she’d done that by virtue of her own hard work, she was always ready to point out that it had all been possible because of Bartholomew Holten.
“He may have questionable business practices, but he’s done right by me.”
“Questionable? You’ve got to be the most naive person I’ve ever met. LeeAnn, do you have any idea—” Benita stopped mid sentence, holding up her hand. “Forget it. Look, go get a drink. Hang out at the bar. Find a hunk to bone tonight. You need it worse than any woman I’ve ever met.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” LeeAnn put her hands on her hips, outrage warring with a bubbly laughter she wasn’t sure she could contain.
“It means you’re wearing a big ole neon sign around your neck that says ‘starving for
By the time he’d armed and dressed, the women were long gone, the only evidence they’d been there at all the rumpled bed. The way he liked it. Women were a fun pastime, but when he was done, he was done. Which was why he tended to use women from the high-end brothel his brother managed. They knew the score. He had unusual tastes but he paid well and never injured anyone. When the encounter was over, they went home. No hanging on for the money. In Fionn’s line of work, having a permanent woman was not only a liability, it was lunacy.
As he walked by the mirror in the bathroom, he caught a glimpse of himself. Cropped red hair, pale skin, green eyes…he was Irish through and through. If one looked closely, however, they could see the deadness in his eyes. The green wasn’t a merry color, but a cold one. Ice ran through his veins most days. Fionn had lost count of the number of men he’d killed—didn’t want to remember really. All he knew was, each time he took a life, part of him was snuffed out as well. It wasn’t that he didn’t want his job—he did. His brothers needed him and he was good at what he did. He just needed something to fill up the empty spaces.
Like sex with two beautiful women. The corner of one side of his mouth lifted in a cocky half grin. Yeah. That would do it. Fortunately, he had a ready supply of women ready and willing to perform whatever unusual act he wanted. Once this job was complete, he’d indulge himself again.
Chapter Two
“I can’t believe you talked me into this.” LeeAnn’s stomach churned as she stepped into the exclusive club her friend—and the only person who could ever get her into so much trouble—had bullied her into going to. Her father had expressly forbidden her to go to this place, saying it was a hotbed of “illicit activities.” Whatever that meant. The last thing she wanted to do was disobey her father, so the fact that Benita had gotten her to go to this particular bar was a testament to the fact that LeeAnn was a complete pushover.
“Irish has the hottest guys in Boston! Everyone comes here. How could you not want to be here?”
“Dad says the place is full of unsavory characters.”
“Honey, your dad is an unsavory character his own damned self. Did you ever stop to think that maybe he’s just as bad as his rivals?”
LeeAnn crossed her hands over her chest. “You’re talking about my stepfather, Benita. He’s been really good to me. When Mom died, he could have turned me over to social services. Instead, he raised me like his own.”
Her mother had married Bart Holten when LeeAnn was only three years old. When she’d shown academic potential at even that early age, he’d taken her to special teachers and schools, making sure her mind was stimulated. Though he hadn’t given his wife’s daughter his name, he had taken care of LeeAnn, providing her with anything she’d ever wanted, including the best education and opportunities money could buy. Now, she had a full academic scholarship to MIT. Though she’d done that by virtue of her own hard work, she was always ready to point out that it had all been possible because of Bartholomew Holten.
“He may have questionable business practices, but he’s done right by me.”
“Questionable? You’ve got to be the most naive person I’ve ever met. LeeAnn, do you have any idea—” Benita stopped mid sentence, holding up her hand. “Forget it. Look, go get a drink. Hang out at the bar. Find a hunk to bone tonight. You need it worse than any woman I’ve ever met.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” LeeAnn put her hands on her hips, outrage warring with a bubbly laughter she wasn’t sure she could contain.
“It means you’re wearing a big ole neon sign around your neck that says ‘starving for
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