Black Heart (Cursed Hearts #1)(16)

Shayne pressed a finger to his lips. “Just out of curiosity, Patricia. When ye were alive, where did ye think ye’d end up when ye died? Heaven or hell?”

Patrick shifted nervously. “I didn’t really think about it.”

“What do ye think, lad? Where do ye think he’ll go?” Shayne asked Tristan, never taking his eyes away from the man fidgeting nervously in front of them.

Tristan studied Patrick for a long moment. He noted the pipe in his neck and guessed that it hadn’t landed there by accident. “I’d say hell,” Tristan said with a shrug.

“What? No way! I’ve led a good life.”

Shayne shrugged. “Let’s see, shall we?” He placed a hand over Patrick’s heart.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Patrick asked. His eyes widened as a black light emanated from his chest.

“Well, I guess ye were right, lad,” Shayne murmured as they watched the darkness do its job.

“Wait, what are you do-“ Patrick started to ask only to disappear in a puff of black smoke before he could finish. The smoke quickly disappeared as if it had never been, taking all evidence of their unwanted guest along with it.

Tristan picked up the second controller and tossed it to Shayne. “Why the hell did you wait so long? He was really getting on my nerves.”

Shayne shrugged. “He entertained me for a bit there,” he explained unapologetically.

“Well, as long as you were entertained,” Tristan said dryly.

Shayne’s gaze shot towards the front door before he grinned that grin that made even Tristan nervous.

“What?” Tristan asked, not liking that gleam of anticipation in the man’s eyes.

Just as quickly as the smile came it was gone. Shayne cleared his throat. “Nothing, lad.” Then with a flick of his hand he sent Tristan’s can of soda tumbling off the arm of the chair, spilling its contents onto Tristan’s shirt.

Chapter 5

“What the hell, Shayne?” Tristan snapped as he jumped to his feet.

“Oh, so sorry. Ye might want to take that off,” Shayne said innocently as he gestured lazily to Tristan’s now soaked shirt.

Tristan shook his head in disgust. “Let me guess. It entertained you to do that.”

Shayne’s lips twitched. “Ye could say that.”

He shot Shayne a dirty look as he used his soaked tee shirt to dry his chest. Before Tristan could retaliate, a knock sounded at the door.

“Ye better get that, lad,” Shayne pointed out, his lips twitching in amusement.

Tristan shot him a glare before he tossed the shirt on the table and stormed off towards the door. Whoever was waiting started to pound on the door before he reached the hallway.

“Calm the hell down! I’m coming!” he yelled. He was in absolutely no mood for company. Between his mother’s constant nagging, Shayne’s f**king with his head, and being stuck on medical leave with nothing to do, he was pissed. Top that all off with seeing Marty today and being chased off by that prick and he was in the mood to kill someone. Well, unless it was a Girl Scout. He might let one of them live if they had some of those caramel cookies that he was addicted to.

The pounding started again. “Unreal,” he muttered as he unlocked the door and yanked it open. His brows shot up as he took in the sight of Marty struggling beneath the weight of his mother’s largest wicker picnic basket.

“A little help here would be nice,” she groaned as she stumbled to the side.

Tristan shook himself inwardly as he reached out and took the basket from her. Marty frowned at how easily he held the basket. She ran her hand through her hair to push it back as she looked up at him and she might have whimpered, just a little.

Her memories of his body did not do him justice, not even a little bit. She remembered that he’d always been lean and well built, but now he was….he was…..yummy. She took in his low hanging, loose fitting jeans that gave a good view of narrow h*ps and a dark happy trail that disappeared beneath the waistband. Her eyes slowly moved up over his washboard stomach and muscular chest covered with a light dusting of dark hair and a round Celtic tattoo on his right pec. Did she mention yummy? It should definitely be mentioned. Her eyes moved to a dark pink wound on his shoulder, down to his large biceps and the tribal tattoos that circled both arms. To top it all off was a golden tan that highlighted all that yumminess.

The man was a god.

Tristan couldn’t move as Marty ran hungry eyes over him. This was not happening. Surely she wasn’t checking him out. No, she was just curious about his wound. When her eyes fell on it a few seconds later, he was sure that was it.

“She wants ye,” Shayne whispered in his ear. “Yer totally in. Just flex a little muscle, big guy, and she’s yers.”

Tristan just barely caught himself before he told the man to f**k off. That’s all he needed was Marty thinking that he was crazy. That would just make his already f**ked up life perfect.

Marty cleared her throat as she tenderly ran a finger below the still healing wound. At least she had enough sense not to touch it directly, unlike his family. It hurt like a bitch when anything touched it and they didn’t seem to grasp that, which in his book was pretty f**ked up considering that two of them were licensed paramedics.

“Is that any better?”

“Some days are better than others. What are you doing here?” he asked, mentally kicking his own ass at how rude he sounded, but he couldn’t help but wonder why the woman that he’d been avoiding for years was suddenly showed up on his front step.