Whiskey and Wry (Sinners Series) (35 page)

“Man enough for you, fucker?” the blond screamed, spitting into Sionn’s face. Then he pulled Sionn forward and slammed him back into the wall.

Sionn’s teeth rattled in his skull when he met the wall again, and his fingers went slack, too numb to hold onto the knife any longer. He felt wet, drenched in blood and sweat, with only a little bit of fight left in him… until he spotted the battered plastic guitar case lying on the loft’s floor, its handle broken and hanging from a single hinge.

That
was a reason to fight. Because Damien wanted his… their… guitar back. And he’d promised he would bring it down. Just like he’d promised he’d be there for the troubled guitarist as he picked his way through pain-shattered memories and as he built back up a life that had been taken from him.

Damien
was more than enough reason to fight.

A knee was the blond’s undoing. Short and sweet, Sionn jerked his leg up, straining the seizing cramp until the agony made him blind. Standing, he slammed into the man again and Sionn heard the sweet whoosh of air leaving a man’s full lungs, a sound so familiar to him from growing up in a pack of boisterous, hard-playing boys. It sounded so painful, his own balls clenched and pulled up at the thought of being struck.

Howling, the blond lost purchase on Sionn’s neck, and he gasped, pulling in as much air as he could. Coughing, Sionn turned aside, slumping against the closed window to catch his breath. Then the blond lunged again, shoving his full weight against Sionn’s upper body, and a great cracking sound bounced about the loft’s metallic-scented air.

The ceiling tilted and Sionn struggled to keep on his feet but the blond’s heft shoved them both toward the window. It gave with a loud snapping crinkle and they struggled, their arms around each other’s shoulders. Glass from the cracked window cut through Sionn’s T-shirt and stabbing pains sliced through Sionn’s hips. He windmilled his legs, hoping to hook his feet onto something to break his fall, and he let the blond go to grab at the window frame. Glass cut at his face and another large piece dug into his hands. He couldn’t find the ledge and the blond dropped his shoulder and swung at him.

Sionn’s lungs froze from the fear ripping through him; then his fingers closed on the jutting shards of glass coming up from the sash. He was stuck, ass out and the blond hit him again. Unbalanced, his grip wasn’t enough to hold him steady and Sionn fell backward, going ass over teakettle out of the window behind them. The blond followed, free-falling through the empty frame, carried by his momentum.

The blond went over him, hips slamming into Sionn’s shoulders and then his back. Sionn felt a brief tug and a hard yank, probably the man’s hands as he tried to grab a hold of anything to keep himself from falling, and his weight pulled at Sionn. He nearly lost his grip, unable to support their mass, and the glass dug deeper into Sionn’s palms, smaller pieces continuing to break off and pepper Sionn’s upraised face with pricks of pain.

Then the weight was gone, and Sionn was left hanging in the cold San Francisco wind as he heard the wet splat and chunk of the blond man’s body hitting the street below.

H
E
WAS
on the phone with Miki when a shower of glass rained down on him. Ducking, Damien slid off of the curb, briefly looking up to count the number of floors above him. An icy chill cupped his heart, squeezing in on his fear until it popped, spreading its poisonous vapors through his mind.

“Call 911, Sinjun. Tell the cops to get over to Sionn’s,” he yelled into the phone. “Get someone here to help.”

Something had happened to the phone. If Damien had thought hard about what that was, he might have realized he’d tossed it through the lobby’s glass doors when he couldn’t get them open. After kicking out the panels, he stepped over the mess he made, a sense of relief flooding through him when the elevator buttons lit up.

“Shit, the key. I need a key to get up there.” If luck was dealing out winning hands, Damien felt like he was pulling up all aces. Sionn’s access key was still lodged in its slot, its glow-in-the-dark fob swaying from the elevator’s descent. “Fuck me, thank you, God. Red fish for you as soon as I figure out what the fuck’s going on.”

“Come on, come on….” Damien coaxed and pleaded, but the elevator jerked and whined its way up to the top floor. Another eternity passed before the doors slid open to let him out.

Just in time to see Sionn and another man falling out of one of the loft’s windows.

“Sionn!”

There wasn’t space in his mind or heart to contemplate the horrors of what was around him. A pile of body parts and Leigh, breathing and pink, were affixed to chairs, but the one was too far gone for him to help and Leigh seemed to be alive enough for him not to worry.

If he were honest enough in that split second, he wasn’t worrying about anyone but Sionn, because staring at the man’s hands as they clung to the windowsill, Damien felt like his heart was dangling right alongside him.

“Hold on, Irish.” Damien stumbled over the remains of a chair and a fractured wooden bowl. He kicked away as much of the glass as he could, grabbed his lover’s wrists, and held on. “Fuck, how do I do this? You’re bleeding all over….”

“Just listen to me,
a rún
.” Sionn sounded a lot calmer than Damie felt. “Put your feet against the wall. That’ll give you some leverage.”

“Dude, there’s too much glass. You look like you’re doing Jesus role-play right now.” Shoving his sneakers against the wall, Damie anchored himself carefully. “I told Miki to call 911. Don’t you fucking fall on me.”

He thought he could never be more frightened than he was right then. Fear tasted terrible, mottling his saliva with a bitter stickiness. Sionn was heavy, and his weight dragged Damien forward. He fought the pull, straining to keep himself steady enough for his lover to pull up over the sill.

“Hold on. I’ll be right there,” Sionn crooned. His voice was rough, raw with emotion. It was a hard fight. Then suddenly a shift of glass broke, tinkling to the floor. Damie held on tighter, not willing to let his lover fall. “I’m okay, love. I’m going to put my leg up now. Don’t let me go.”

“Never going to fucking let you go,” Damien growled.

Their eyes met, catching both of them unaware, and Sionn smiled slowly, warming Damien’s insides.

“I know, babe,” Sionn whispered softly as sirens tore the air apart around them. “I know you’ll never let me go.”

Chapter 20

D, how come there’s nothing that really rhymes with orange?

Sinjun, you are one crazy fuck.

You’re wearing a pair of boxers with hippie sharks on them and I’m a crazy fuck?

They’re not hippie sharks. Look at them. They’re Rastasharkians.

And we’re back to you being the crazy fuck. Find me something that rhymes with orange.

—
Living Room Session, 3 a.m.

“I
CAN
’
T
believe they’re friends,” Sionn whispered into Damien’s ear. “It’s like watching the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse riding down upon us. God help us if Edie and Aunt B find the other two.”

By the second whiskey on the rocks, Edie had sashayed over to Sionn and left a bright red lipstick mark on his cheek. He’d initially been fearful of the woman both Miki and Damien depended so heavily on. She was lean and definitely mean, eyeing him like a piece of meat that she’d not yet decided was good enough for the dogs, much less herself. And his anxiety certainly wasn’t laid to rest once he realized the band’s manager and his Aunt Brigid appeared to be soul mates.

Such cohesiveness did not bode well for his sanity.

And from the twitch in Kane’s left eye, he knew his cousin was thinking the same thing.

“Here, drink up.” Kane handed Sionn a bottle of chocolate stout. “I have a feeling we’re going to need it.”

It was a celebration of sorts at the Morgan house. The siblings were gathered around Donal’s altar to the fire gods, and the smell of barbequing ribs filled the late afternoon air. Dude spent most of his time wandering from person to person, begging bits of devilled egg and chips, and despite Kane’s continued threats to unload a farting dog on his parents, the Morgans continued to feed him.

Every lawn chair the family owned had been dragged out, and a few of the sturdy kitchen stools somehow made their way outside as well. Claiming one of the Adirondack loungers, Sionn sat back and let Brigid pamper him, keeping a watchful eye on the begging dog when Miki gave him a plate of chips, cut veggies, and dip.

“Oh, go off, you beggar.” Kane shooed the terrier with a gentle shove of his foot. The dog seemed to grin back at him, then trotted away, circling the picnic table Miki and Damien were sitting on top of. Nodding his chin at the pair, he grumbled, “You know, if we’d done that, Mom would have had our asses. How many fucking times have we heard ‘No sitting anywhere we eat,’
huh?”

“Pfah, she’s got new favorites now.” Sionn delicately took the bottle, mindful of the strips of gauze bandages around his palms. “Although it looks like she’s kept Quinn. It’s just you and me that’s on the outs.”

It’d been two days since the doctors picked all the glass out of his hands, chest, and back, but Sionn could have sworn he still felt every single shard embedded under his skin. What pissed him off wasn’t the glass cuts or the bits of skin he’d peeled off in his fall. The doctor ordered him to take it easy with his hands, which included running his bare hands over a naked and willing Damien.

It was an order Sionn would be violating as soon as he got the other man into a room with a door that could lock.

He caught Damien looking at him, and he winked, making his lover laugh. Sionn took a sip of the stout, swallowed, then sighed. “God, I am stupid in love with him.”

“Yeah, I know how that feels,” Kane commiserated. “Think we should be worried?”

“About the two of them being back together?” Sionn shrugged. “What’s the worst that can happen? They take over the world?”

“Maybe once Mom and Edie are done with it.” The women in question began a fierce cackle, and Donal frowned, snapping a pair of clean tongs at his wife’s ass.

“Your da’s asking to die.”

“It’s a frequent request,” Kane replied dryly. “There used to be only two bathrooms in this house, and he had a shitload of kids getting ready in the morning. You don’t think he’s prayed for death before? I’m pretty sure that’s who he made that apartment behind the garage for.”

More laughter echoed around the large yard, and Dude cheerfully bounced after a ball Kane’s younger brother, Brae, had thrown for him. Soaking in the mostly warm sunshine, Sionn stretched out, content and slightly buzzed from drinking the stout on an empty stomach.

Leigh was doing well, even talking to him, which Sionn thought a miracle considering all she’d been put through. She’d only intended to drop off the week’s books on his dining room table, and instead found herself surrounded by a dead man and bones. He’d given her two weeks off, but she refused to use them, stashing the extra time into her vacation fund. Instead, she’d dyed her hair a flaming flamingo and bought the house a few rounds to celebrate.

He wouldn’t mourn the asshole—Parker. As hard as it was to let the man have a name, he
did
have one. Left to deal with the aftermath of the man’s murders, Sionn still cursed his existence. Damien’s melancholy over his mother’s death had been bad enough. He’d feared it would be made worse by the deaths of his father and uncle, but so far, the guitarist seemed more affected by Sionn’s injuries than the loss of his family.

But sometimes, Sionn reminded himself, nightmares took a bit before they found their victim.

“Can’t believe all of this shit was about money,” Kane sighed. “What kind of man does that to his nephew? Or his brother?”

“Same man who stole from his family’s company and then looked for ways to steal some more,” Sionn pointed out. “I can’t believe he got as far as he did, K. Says a lot about how fucked up a man is inside. Damie’ll get most of his money back from the company, but it’ll take some time. And shite, the crap of burying his parents? He’s not dealing with it. He’ll have to. One day.”

“Yeah, one day,” Kane agreed with a nod. “But he’s here. And shit, Miki’s protected his interests. Damie’ll be fine. How’s Leigh doing?”

“Good. Scoring drinks from the pretty boys and girls down at Finnegan’s last time I saw her. Remind me to give her a raise,” Sionn mumbled at his cousin. “Or get her a boyfriend or summat.”

“You’d better make sure it’s a boyfriend she needs first,” Kane teased. “Nothing like getting a peen when you really want a summat.”

“You guys talking about dick?” Damien padded up to Sionn and leaned over for a kiss. Miki followed close behind, sidling up to Kane after tugging Sionn’s bare toe in a brief hello. “And here I haven’t had any.”