“WHISPER,” Sersha said. “It’s good to see you again.”
“That’s not an answer to my question,” Whisper said. “Who was it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, twisting her stool toward the Doherty, checking out the room behind her. “But I do know the woman I came with will be back any minute. She wants to know why you and your husband are here. In town.”
“And you brought her here?”
“Coming here was not my idea. It was hers. You could say I’m here under duress because my boss ordered me to back her up.”
“Because he thinks you know the McDades,” Whisper said, assessing her. “Ire’s on a kick—”
“I don’t want to know,” she said, returning to her drink. “You should walk away before—”
“Your friend won’t get out of the bathroom until I want her to get out of there.” Whisper’s smug smile held a power only a mob daughter could own. “The guys aren’t here. Ire’s on a rampage. Raze is doing what he can. Though, if you ask me, there are certain things he enjoys a little too much for a guy who’s supposed to be retired from the game.”
“I don’t know what that means, Raze is doing what he can?”
“You fucked your guy up good. My guy, he’s changed… kinda,” Whisper said, picking up Tulip’s drink to sip it and scowl before pushing it away. “Some might say it happened years ago. Most of the time, that’s the side of him people see. The world sees.”
“What are you trying to tell me?”
Everything pleasant or positive was gone from Whisper when her eyes cut around. “My husband isn’t squeamish about doing what needs to be done.”
“Neither are you.”
“Are you?”
“Hey, gorgeous ladies…”
The drawl of a half-drunk playboy was familiar, as was the arm that slid around her waist. Asshole. Of all the women at the bar—
Whisper pounced fast, up to a crouch on her stool. The guy was slammed down on the bar so hard, she jumped off her seat on reflex.
But there was Whisper, a knee between the guy’s shoulder blades, twisting his arm up his back, holding a knife to his throat. Honestly, it happened that fast. Boom, Whisper had control.
“You want to say that to me again,” Whisper snarled. “Creeping up on a woman has consequences.”
Security rushed over, but her hand rose a few inches from her side, signaling them to stop. Whisper Doherty did not need any help when it came to lecherous guys taking a chance.
“I didn’t—I—”
The bead of blood at the point of Whisper’s knife grew larger. The woman was tiny but didn’t let that stop her. Perched half on the stool, the beauty knew how to stand up for herself. Dohertys, like McDades, learned that early.
“What do you say to my friend?” Whisper asked. “Speak!”
As more people noticed the scene, they stopped to gawp. Being transfixed herself, she couldn’t blame them.
“S—sorry?” the guy stuttered.
Renewed pressure on the blade brought more blood. “Was that a question?”
“No. No! I’m sorry!”
Biggs appeared on the other side of the bar. Whisper nodded at him, so he grabbed the guy’s arm to hold him in place while Whisper dismounted like a pro and sheathed the knife under her dress against her thigh.
Whisper smiled, even as she turned back to address the assailant…? Victim? Predator? Which was he? “And you’re welcome by the way, jerkoff,” the Doherty said as security hauled him up. “If my husband was here, you’d never walk again.” She winced. “Or have children.” Whisper whirled to face her. “Let’s go upstairs, High Class. You see what happens when you mix with the masses?”
Whisper came over to loop their arms together and start across the room.
“My colleague—”
“Will be taken care of.”
That was a daunting, and somewhat terrifying, prospect. “You don’t mean… McDade taken care of… do you?”
“No,” Whisper scoffed. “I’m a Doherty.”
The guys guarding the stairs moved without blinking, allowing them to pass. Okay, so she was with Whisper. Anyone who’d seen, or heard, what just happened in the club likely wouldn’t get in her way. God knew what else the woman had done since her arrival in town.
Whisper led her into the office like it was no big deal. Oh, it was a big deal. For her.
Their arms broke apart as the Doherty ventured toward the desk. “He’s a bear,” Whisper called back from the decanter in the corner. “Your guy.”
“I don’t have a guy,” she murmured, absorbing mental flashes of memory assaulting her from every direction.
They’d had sex on the desk, against the McDade emblem on the wall, right there in the middle of the rug too. Connel shot a guy not far from where she stood for interrupting their intimacy. He’d watched her with Dasha and Darla on that couch. Touched her—
“Ire will like that you don’t have another guy,” Whisper said, turning and raising her glass before drinking. “No, actually, maybe not. He’s on a violent spree. Maybe he’d like tossing some of your love interests in the mix, just to keep things interesting.” With a sort of exhaled laugh, she beckoned her over. “Shit, come in. I didn’t think you’d need an invitation.”
“I shouldn’t be up here,” she said. “I’m not supposed to—”
“Look, you’re here and it’s not for him… apparently.” Did Whisper think otherwise? “Come, sit down, we should talk.”
Curiosity drew her forward. “About?”
“The family,” Whisper said. “You haven’t switched allegiance, have you?”
“No!” she said, offended, then faltered. “Connel doesn’t want me involved.”
Whisper finished the whiskey and put the glass back on the table in the far corner. “Maybe, maybe not.” She crossed to sit on the couch. “But I think we can help each other out.”
Yes, she was intrigued, no denying that. By what? Connel? Her interest in the family? The investigative nature of her job? Any or all those reasons may be guilty of luring her to sit on the couch by Whisper.
“Help each other with what?”
“Ire’s on a kick.”
“You said that already.”
“He wants the city. McDades have taken over ninety percent of Gambatto territory. And this Harvest deal, what he’s got going on at City Hall, it’s gone to his head. This isn’t going to keep the peace. He won’t stop at Harvest; he wants to keep going. To push deeper into Manzani territory.”
“Does Evander know that?” she asked, turning on Whisper’s suspicion. “I mean…” She slipped off her shoes to tuck her feet under her. “If Evander Manzani wants his own cut, if he wants to cut his father out, at some point, he intends to take over Manzani territory.”
Whisper relaxed. “Which puts him at odds with Ire.” Sersha shrugged in agreement. “I don’t think Vex is stable.”
Vex was what they called the youngest Manzani son, Evander, on the street.
“I know he’s not,” she said.
“He’s obsessed with you? That’s what I heard.”
“It comes and goes. Sometimes he’s everywhere, then he’ll get distracted by something else. He loops back eventually… or he used to.”
“Maybe his arrangement with Ire changed that? You think our boy nixed it?”
“I don’t think anyone has that power over Evander. He’s challenging his own father, for goodness’ sake.”
“True dat,” Whisper said, head bobbing in a nod. “A guy without limits is… dangerous.” A phone on the desk buzzed. “Damnit.” Whisper got up to go check it and groaned. “God, people are idiots…” She marched toward the door. “Stay here. I’ll be back.” The moment she opened the door, some guy tumbled in, like he’d been leaning against it. Unimpressed, Whisper looked at her, blank. “Idiots. We’re surrounded by idiots.”
Whisper stepped over the guy and went out. It took him a minute to get back to his feet. It was funny. Stupid funny. Until the guy closed the door with him still on the inside. Okay, so she was being watched? It wasn’t like she wanted to hang out in Connel’s office alone. Someone obviously didn’t believe that. Was it a trick? Was Whisper setting her up to see what she’d do? Except her memory was just fine. Even without the guy’s presence, she’d have been vigilant of being recorded.
Tossing her purse on the other end of the couch, she got up.
“Stay on the couch,” the guy said.
She blinked at him. “Excuse me?”
“I told you to sit your ass down,” he said, marching closer.
“I don’t think so.” She knew better than to be in the corner against a guy like that. “All I want is a drink.”
She got two steps when he grabbed her arm to throw her down on the couch.
She’d never been afraid in that room and wasn’t about to break the trend. Getting to her feet, she didn’t care if he read her defiance as a challenge.
“You think I’ve never met a bully before?” she asked. “If a woman says she wants a drink, it’s polite to let her get it… or you could fetch it for me.”
“I’m not your bitch,” he snarled, getting in her face.
Her smile mocked him. “No, you’re Ire’s.”
She swerved around him and was quick enough to get further than before. Ha! Next time he snatched her arm, she was ready and braced enough to struggle.
“Let go of me!”
“You heard her.”
The Irish lilt in that American voice froze the moment. For a beat, she waited, then the thug turned toward it, showing her its origin.
Ire.