Redemption (Cavan Gang #2) (4 page)

She shrugged. “Whatever. I only offered to help you because you’ve helped me. If you don’t need my help, it’s no biggie. I’ll find another job.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“Can’t sit around getting fat and lazy.”

Fat and lazy? Despite the weight she’d gained, she was still so tiny he feared a strong wind would push her over.

“You don’t want me under your feet forever. The sooner I get a job; the sooner I can start moving on with my life.”

Without him.

The thought of her leaving left him panicky. Nothing panicked him.

The door to the kitchen opened and Cillian walked in. He nodded at Miller. Cillian was more close-lipped than Colm. Maybe he should swap their duties. He’d assigned Colm to Miller because she felt more at ease around the large Scot. Cillian wasn’t as friendly or approachable.

“Boss. Miller.” He stood there and waited.

“Umm, I guess I’ll go to bed. Night.” Miller left the room.

Rogan waited until he was certain they were alone before turning back to Cillian. “What did Bishop have to say?”

“The cops have made an identification on the body pulled from Lake Medina,” Cillian told him. “It’s Gerard Callahan.”

Fuck. This was all he needed.

“Are the police releasing the information?” Bishop was their police informant. He worked as a detective for the Chicago PD and collected a nice fee from Rogan as an informant.

“Not yet. But his son knows. They told him this afternoon.”

Step Callahan was Gerard’s son and the current leader of the Seven Sinners.

“Do they know how he died?”

“Gunshot wound to the chest. Damned if I know how they figured the cause of death out after all these years.”

Crap. It didn’t surprise him Gerard Callahan had been murdered. Callahan had been an asshole. The former leader of the Seven Sinners had made some enemies in his drive for power.

There were a number of people who could have killed him. What worried Rogan was that his father was one of those people.

And if his old man had offed Gerard Callahan, then his sonwould be out for retribution. He wouldn’t let this lie.

“What do you want to do?” Cillian asked.

“Wait.” Callahan didn’t know for sure what had happened or he’d have come for him. “Bishop knows to keep his ear to the ground. He’ll tell us if anything comes up.”

Like evidence linking his father to Gerard’s murder.

Miller threw the ugly dressing gown on the floor of her bedroom as she paced back and forth. The gown had been useless as a barrier. She still wanted Rogan. Badly. When he’d pulled her close, she’d felt his warmth and the scent of him had surrounded her, making her nearly succumb to her need and beg him to take her to bed.

Shit. Perhaps she better brush up on her cooking skills.

Sleeping with him would be unwise. Sleeping with him would change everything. She wouldn’t be able to live here anymore.

But it was getting harder and harder to live here anyway. To see him day after day and not touch him, kiss him, tackle him to the floor, and have her way with him.

She held her hands over her hot cheeks, trying to cool down.

She prayed he had no idea about her feelings for him.

How humiliating would that be?

He’d been right to turn her down. Working for him would have been disastrous. She wasn’t sure what she’d been thinking.

“You thought you’d still have a tie to him when you had to leave here. You thought it was a way to see him every day.”

She couldn’t stay here forever. Eventually, Rogan would ask her to leave. He’d grow sick of her. Everyone did. Well, except for Tilly. She was the only person Miller could rely on. The only person who had never abandoned her.

Miller needed to prepare herself to stand on her own two feet. Find a job, get some money.

Time to take charge of her life again.

Time to stop being a victim.

Miller sat on the plush bed, running her hand over the soft, silky bedspread as she stared out the window. Outside the day was beautiful, the sun shining. People would be going to work, going to school. Getting on with their lives.

So why the hell couldn’t she?

Poor sleep, lack of purpose, the stress of wondering what the hell she would do when Rogan finally grew sick of her and kicked her out were all getting to her.

Deep breath in. Then out
.

Maybe she should take this meditation shit seriously.

Because being out of control of her body really sucked.

She glanced over at the camera on the bedside table. Rogan claimed he’d bought it for himself and never used it, but she knew he was lying to her. He knew she’d put up a fuss if she knew he’d bought it especially for her.

It was high-end. Expensive. Something she’d never be able to afford. She didn’t even know how to use it properly.

But her hands itched to pick it up and start playing.

It will never pay the bills.

She’d once told her grandmother she wanted to be a famous photographer. The old woman had cackled then told her dreams were for rich people. She’d better lower her expectations or she’d spend her whole life being disappointed.

But what else did she have to occupy herself with?

Hmm, let’s see. Breakfast. Nothing. Lunch. Then more nothing. Dinner. Then bed.
Yep, she had a bit of spare time.

Sweat broke out on her body as need rushed through her. She gritted her teeth, fighting the trembling.

Sneak out. Find what you need. Give in.

No! She was stronger than that.

Suck it up, Miller. There are people out there worse off than you.
She was alive. She was somewhat healthy. Thanks to Rogan, she had a roof over her head, food in her belly, and clothes on her back.

Accepting help from others went against the grain.

But she didn’t have much choice. Not yet. Not until she had more self-control.

While she’d never have taken Fizz voluntarily, it was highly addictive, and once she’d gotten a taste of oblivion she’d loved it. Craved it.

Reaching into the bedside table drawer, she pulled out a silver locket and ran her thumb over the photo inside. It was grainy black-and-white, but she could still see the resemblance.

“Mom, I’m sorry I couldn’t figure out who killed you.”

She didn’t know why she cared so much. Her mother had left her.

“Time to let it go. Time to stop wondering.”

Putting the locket back, she grabbed the camera and left the room, striding down the stairs past Colm, who was walking up them.

“Miller? Are you okay?”

Nope. No, I’m really, really not.

“I’m going to take photos of flowers.” Not her first choice of subject, but it would provide a much-needed distraction.

“I’ll go with you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“All part of the service.”

She turned to find Colm grinning down at her.

“I’m not going to sneak off and get a fix,” she snapped.

He raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t say you were.”

“Then why can’t I have some goddamn space?” She wanted to be by herself.

Colm’s face hardened. “The boss wants you protected.”

“This place has more alarms and cameras than Fort Knox. There’s always someone out patrolling the grounds. I’m safer here than anywhere else.”

Colm studied her for a moment. “I’m not leaving you out there alone.” He raised his hand as she went to protest. “But I’ll watch from the porch and I’ll talk to the boss about giving you more space in the future, okay?”

It was the best she’d get from the overprotective Scot.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be a problem.” She had to remember not to make waves. She didn’t want to do anything to make Rogan regret his offer to let her stay.

“No problem.” Colm smiled. “You’re a guest.”

Yes, just a guest. Remember, Miller.

Nothing more than a guest.

***

“Who are you going to name as your second?”

Rogan glanced over at his cousin Aedan who lounged back in his chair, feet resting on the corner of the desk.

“Get your feet off my desk,” he growled.

Aedan sighed, ignoring him. “Why don’t we go have a cigar and a drink?”

They were in Rogan’s office at Underworld, his private men’s club.

Underworld was where he came to relax. Usually. Most people probably thought it was a strip club, sleazy and dirty. Instead, it was more like a giant playground for men, with a bowling alley, a bar, a cigar room, and game room.

“I’m working.”

“Which is why you need a second. So you can delegate. Then you can come play with me.” Aedan grinned at him.

“Maybe you need to play less and work more.”

“Nope. Since Natalya and Mateo have come into my life, work has taken a backseat.”

“So why aren’t you with them?”

“Natalya is worried about you. She thinks you’re working too much.”

Rogan stared over at him. “Are you serious?”

“Yep.” Aedan’s eyes sparkled. “She wants me to make sure you’re looking after yourself. She thinks you’re upset by what happened with Brandt.”

“Upset? Is this the same woman who once hated me?”

“Yep. I’m to report back how you’re doing and, if my report isn’t to her satisfaction, you’ll have her here checking up on you next.”

Lord help him.

“So, are you well, Rogan? Are you taking your vitamins? Eating three meals a day? Do you need a hug?” Aedan teased.

“Shut up,” Rogan growled.

“Seriously, though, you do need a second.”

Rogan shook his head. “I’m fine. Thank Natalya for being concerned, but I don’t need any help.”

Aedan scowled. “Just because Brandt was a scumbag asshat who betrayed you doesn’t mean there aren’t people you can trust. You can’t do everything yourself.”

He could sure as hell try.

“Look, I get Brandt’s betrayal has shaken you—”

“It hasn’t shaken me.”

“But you have to move on,” Aedan continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “You can’t stop trusting everyone because of what one bad apple did.”

“Bad apple? You’re talking like he stole my lunchbox or kissed my girlfriend. He betrayed the gang.”

“And he tried to kill you.”

Yeah, and that, too.

“But he didn’t. Because you have other people loyal to you. People who would die for you.”

He didn’t want someone taking a bullet for him.

“Since when did we have to have touchy-feely conversations?”

“Since you started acting like an idiot. You can’t shut everyone else out because of Brandt.”

Rogan ground his teeth. “I’m not stupid. I know I have good men under me.”

“So why not name one of them your second and give yourself a break, or do you like working every hour God gave you?”

At least work provided a distraction from Miller.

“I have to be sure.”

Aedan’s eyes widened. “You don’t trust your judgment?”

“I trusted Brandt. I had no idea he and Iker had joined forces to get rid of me. But I did know Brandt was all for pushing Fizz. He didn’t approve when I decided not to sell that shit on my streets.”

“Yeah, but his disagreement with you wasn’t any reason to suspect him of turning on you.”

“I trusted him and I believed Iker.”

Aedan frowned.

“Believed Iker about what?”

“When he said Miller was with him of her own free will, that she had lured Tilly to San Francisco to prove her loyalty to the gang I believed him.”

“You knew him for years. Why wouldn’t you believe him? You didn’t know Miller.”

“But I knew Iker. He was an evil old bastard.”

“Who you had an agreement with. One you honored.”

“Until I can trust my judgment again, I can’t risk making the wrong decision.”

Aedan sighed. “You’re not going to budge, are you?”

Nope.

“Fine. But if you collapse from exhaustion, I’m not holding Natalya back. She will start riding your ass.”

He shuddered, holding up his hands. “I won’t let it get that bad. I will choose a second. Just not yet.”

Aedan nodded and they moved on to other topics.
Thank God.

A knock on the door interrupted them and Cillian stepped in.

“Callahan’s here, Boss. He wants to speak to you.”

What the hell did he want?

“I’ve got to go. Natalya will be waiting up.” Aedan grinned.

Rogan glanced over at Cillian after Aedan had left. “Let him in.”

Step Callahan was a slim-built, well-dressed guy, but who hadn’t earned his place as leader of the Seven Sinners through his connections but by fighting every other contender. And winning. He was a martial arts expert, who didn’t fight fair. He was dirty and scrappy. And smart.

A bad combination.

Rogan couldn’t help but admire the asshole. A bit.

He’d built the Seven Sinners from nothing into a powerful gang. Rogan didn’t agree with his methods, but Callahan was a man who knew where he was going and he did what he had to get there.

“Callahan. This is a surprise. Please, take a seat.”

Callahan’s second took up position behind him as he sat. Cillian assumed a similar stance behind Rogan.

“Nice place you have here,” Callahan told him. “Not quite what I expected. But you’re a man who lives by his own rules.”

“As do you.”

“I think our rules differ greatly, though. But I won’t keep you. We’re both busy men. I’m sure you’ve heard the identity of the body pulled up from Lake Medina.”

Rogan didn’t bother to pretend ignorance. “My condolences.”

Callahan waved his hand through the air dismissively. “My father was an asshole. And an idiot. He had no ability to think of the bigger picture. He was always after the quick and easy fix. But he was family.”

And family came above all else.

“I get that.”

“So you can understand I will find who killed him. And I will make them pay.”

“I’m sure the cops are doing their best.”

“I’m impressed,” Callahan drawled.

Rogan raised his eyebrows in query.

“You managed to say that with a straight face. The cops don’t care about some former gang leader. But I will find who did this and they will pay.”

“And you’re telling me this, because…”

“A friendly heads-up.” He stood. “I admire you, MacGuire, despite our differences. Won’t stop me from doing what I need to, though.”

Cillian took a step forward. Rogan waved him back.

Callahan left.

“You going to let him get away with threatening you?” Cillian growled.

“He doesn’t have anything. He’s fishing. Looking for a reaction. I’m not going to give him one.”

“Think he’ll discover who did it?”

“I think he’ll try. Make sure everyone is on high alert.”

“You think he could attempt to turn someone?”

Probably. He might even succeed. If Brandt could turn on him, anyone could. But they wouldn’t find out anything. Like Callahan, they could suspect all they liked but, as far as he knew, there was no evidence linking his father to Gerard Callahan’s death.

If it existed, he needed to find it before Callahan did. Unless he wanted a war on his hands.

***

Rogan moved down the passage, stopping by Miller’s room. She hadn’t waited up for him tonight and he had to admit he was disappointed. When had he started looking forward to seeing her each night?

When had coming home become the favorite part of his day?

He used to dread it. The silence. The empty rooms. Even with at least one or two of his men usually around, he’d always felt alone in this house. Which was why he used to spend so much time at Underworld.

A cry broke the silence of the night. He stilled. Was she all right? Another cry came through the door. She sounded terrified.

Without hesitation, he turned the doorknob and rushed inside, prepared to defend her.

The light beside the bed was on, casting deep shadows in the corners. But as he swept his gaze around the room, he knew she was alone.

She thrashed around on the bed, her hair tangled around her face, the blankets slipped from her body.

Another cry escaped her. Nightmare.

Shit. What should he do? How to help her? Glancing down, he froze. One breast had spilled from her top, her nipple red and puckered.