Black Heart (Cursed Hearts #1)(75)

“Ye can’t send her away!” Shayne said, sounding close to panicking.

“Watch me,” Tristan bit out, stepping around Shayne only to have the man shift right back in front of him, but this time he was flanked by two of the other men.

“We can’t let ye do that, Tadgh,” the man standing at Shayne’s right said.

“That’s not my f**king name!” Tristan snapped, having had enough of this bullshit. He moved to step around the trio when Shayne’s next words stopped him.

“We need to protect her, little brother,” Shayne said softly, taking him by surprise and making his already f**ked up head spin faster.

“What did you call me?” he asked, sure that he’d misheard him.

With a sad smile, Shayne reached out and took Marty from him. “We need to have a talk, lad, but first we need ye to go say goodbye to yer father and Hank,” Shayne explained quietly, shifting Marty in his arms as he stepped to the side so that Tristan could pass by him.

It wasn’t until he was halfway down the stairs that Shayne’s words hit him. He stopped and turned around to face Shayne, frightened for Marty.

“She’ll not be harmed, lad. Trust me,” Shayne said, reassuring him before he could ask for it.

“Can I?” Tristan demanded, hating the fact that, for the first time in years, he just wasn’t sure.

“Always,” Shayne said firmly as he walked away with Marty curled up in his arms.

“Let’s go, Tadgh,” one of the men said as he joined him on the stairs and tossed a grey tee shirt to him.

“It’s Tristan,” he murmured, shooting one last glance at Shayne’s retreating back before heading down the stairs as he carefully pulled the tee shirt on.

“Tristan!” Hank shouted as he walked down the hall towards the front door, his weapon drawn and Tom hot on his heels as the two men quickly made their way towards him.

“Where’s Marty?” Hank demanded.

“She’s upstairs lying down. What’s going on?” he asked, pretending that he didn’t know exactly what brought them here.

“That’s good, lad, really good,” the man that had followed him downstairs said with an approving nod.

“What’s going on?” his father repeated in disbelief, sharing a confused look with Hank. “We heard a gunshot that’s what’s going on!”

Tristan shrugged. “Didn’t hear a thing.”

“You didn’t hear it?” Hank repeated, frowning as he looked past Tristan towards the stairs.

“No,” Tristan said in a bored tone as he gestured to the door. “But, I’ll call Green and have him check into it.”

“Already called him,” Hank said with a sigh as he put his gun away. “Sorry that we woke you up. Give Marty my love.”

“Will do,” Tristan said, relieved when the men started for the door.

When his father shot him a wink and started out the door, he almost stopped him and pulled him into his arms so that he could tell the man how much he loved him and appreciated everything that he’d done for him, but somehow he held back. He didn’t know what was going on and he wasn’t sure how far these men were planning on taking this. He wasn’t about to thank his father for everything he’d done for him by putting him in danger.

He wasn’t that much of an ass**le.

Chapter 28

“Are ye all right, lass?” the voice with the light Irish brogue that made her feel protected and safe asked as a cold cloth was pressed against her forehead.

“No,” she said with an embarrassing sniffle. She definitely was not okay. Confused? Scared? Embarrassed? Dizzy? Close to vomiting? Yes, she was all of those things, but the one thing that she was definitely not was fine.

“Declean, did ye get the fritters?” another man, whose voice was slightly deeper and sexier, asked.

“They were out,” she heard a man mumble and she considered opening her eyes to see who spoke, but that would only cause more problems like more vomiting, doing something embarrassing like passing out, or losing it again. Was that…..bitch slapping that she was hearing? Yup, she was pretty sure that there were currently ghosts in her room bitch slapping each other from the sounds of it.            

“Ow! What the hell was that for?” Declean demanded, sounding like he was pouting. Why that made her lips twitch, she didn’t know. Maybe it was part of a mental breakdown?

“Cause ye didn’t get the lass her baked goods, ye lazy bastard!” another one snapped, followed by the sounds of more bitch slapping.

“Hit me again, Fergus and I’ll-Ow!”

“Stop yer bitching and go get the lass something to eat!”

“What am I supposed to get her then?”

“Apples?” someone suggested, sounding hopeful.

“Oh, God,” she muttered, her stomach doing backflips at the mere suggestion of her favorite snack.

“Ye dumb bastard! Ye know that she can’t eat apples when she’s pregnant!”

A heavy sigh was followed by, “Aye, yer right. Then what are we supposed to get for her?”

“Why are ye asking me? I’m not the one that’s pregnant!”

“Lass, what would ye like to eat?” the man that had carried her into the room asked and, although she could use a fritter or an apple donut, she was having a difficult time wrapping her mind around one little thing.