He ignored me, passing the man and parking in front of him, blocking his way.

Our victim stopped. I leaned forward, taking a good look at him. Sam must’ve killed his armed companion.

The man was not a man at all.

It was a boy.

Of fourteen. Maybe fifteen at most.

Gangly, long-limbed and wide-eyed, his pasty face sprinkled with acne.

My heart lurched and twisted behind my ribcage. He was obviously a minor. Maybe even an innocent one. I imagined he was born and initiated into the Bratva. It was hard to believe he would choose such a life for himself.

Sam got out of the car, blocking my view with his body, still protecting me, his gun aimed at the boy’s head. The boy dropped to his knees, raising his arms in the air in defeat. He didn’t seem to even realize there was a second person in the car.

“P-p-please,” he sputtered, weeping so openly, so loudly, it felt like he tore my chest in two and watched while I bled out. “I didn’t want to do this. I begged them not to. He was … I was … my father, I mean, put a gun to my head. I couldn’t say no. I couldn’t. You know what it’s like with dads like him. You know. You have one, too. You’re a Brennan.” He swallowed air, hiccupping, his face twisted in so much agony, it was hard to make out his features.

“You fucked up. Now it’s time to pay,” Sam ground out.

“No!” I gasped.

I shot out of the car, desperate to do something, anything to save this boy.

I tackled Sam without thinking, trying to bring him down to the ground with me. But he was much bigger and heavier than I was. It felt like slamming headfirst into a concrete wall. I flew backward from the impact, but Sam snaked his free arm around my waist, jerking me behind him, like the boy still posed a threat to me.

“Please, Sam, please.” I wrapped my arms around his chest and stomach and felt his muscles tensing against my fingertips through his shirt. A soft, barely audible groan escaped his lips. I took that as a sign.

“Please, he is just a boy. Young and misled. Like you were. If you don’t do this for yourself, do it for me. For what I did for your soldiers. For … for … for the chicken noodle soup!”

I held my breath, waiting for another stinging rejection and the pain that came with it. To my surprise, all I felt was a brief shudder passing through his torso. Goose bumps rose on my skin. I didn’t know why, but I felt this moment was monumental for both of us, though in very different ways.

“You have one thing going for you, and that is that I don’t want the fucking headache that comes with the territory of blowing your brains out in front of her.” Sam bared his teeth, lowering his gun just an inch.

I let out a relieved breath, feeling nauseous with relief.

My throat burned as I exhaled. I must’ve screamed bloody murder while we were being chased in the car.

“But I’m sending you with a message and a souvenir. The message is as follows: tell Vasily that I am going to have his head on a plate if he as much as tries to breathe in my direction again. Last time, I cut his face. Next time, I am going to decapitate him completely.”

The teenager nodded almost violently.

“W-w-what’s the souvenir?” He peeked at Sam through one eye, the other one squeezed shut in fear.

Sam smirked crookedly.

“This one is something to remember me by. A farewell. A reminder. A warning. Are you left or right-handed?”

The kid didn’t try to beg for remorse. He bent his head obediently.

“Right-handed.”

Sam fired a shot, the bullet grazing the teenager’s right arm, going straight through his nerve system.

“Here. This’ll ensure you’ll be a crappy aim for the rest of your life and choose a different occupation. In case you’re thinking of finishing your daddy’s job …” Sam chuckled.

Blood pooled beneath the young man, but he didn’t make a move to press a hand to his wound.

“Thank you for sparing my life, sir.”

Sam hoisted me over his shoulder, blood still trickling down his arm, and led me to his car. His blood ran the length of my thigh, and I shivered with unexpected desire.

I felt protected and wanted to protect him, and if that wasn’t majorly screwed-up, I didn’t know what was.

“Never interfere with my business again, Aisling, and never, ever show your face when we bump into my enemies.” He tugged my pants and panties down my upper thigh, the cold night air stinging my skin. Sam sank his teeth into one of my ass cheeks, biting hard.

“They’re your enemies, not mine.” I involuntarily thrust my thighs against his shoulder, begging for more. He opened the passenger door, tossing me inside and buckling me up like I was a toddler.

“They’ll think you’re my weakness.”

“They’d be wrong.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Very astute of you, Einstein,” he snapped. “But I’ve never been seen with women before. They’ll jump to conclusions.”

“Is that why you won’t marry Becca?” I challenged. “Because you wanted to spare her precious life?”

“First of all, who the fuck is Becca?” He rounded the car then started it.

“Are you serious?” A hysterical laugh bubbled from my throat. “Becca is the woman you took to the charity event.”

He drove away from the Back Bay and outside city limits. Boston’s skyline slid away through the windows, giving way to wildland. It made sense that Sam wanted to lie low for tonight, but what did that mean? Were we going to stay together, wherever it was? Where was he taking me?

“I thought her name was Bella,” he said.

“Nope,” I snapped.

“At any rate, yes, part of the reason why I’d never take a wife is because watching an innocent woman die because of me is not on my to-do list.”

“Sparrow didn’t die,” I pointed out.

“Troy was a fixer. A mostly good guy doing bad stuff. I’m an underboss. An all-around monster. I dabble in many things and have enough blood on my hands to fill up your Olympic-sized pool.”

“Where are you taking me?” I asked, tired of being repeatedly reminded how far from the realms of commitment Sam was. He didn’t want a wife, a family, children; even though he protected me, prevented me from dying tonight, it was more about his newly found moral code than his affection toward me.

“The Brennan cabin.” Sam tapped a cigarette pack flat against his muscular thigh, fishing one and tucking it into the side of his mouth. “A nice reprieve for you from your family.”

“Yeah…” I turned my head to the window “…I already feel so much more relaxed.”

Sam chuckled, lighting up his cigarette, yet again ignoring my acute disapproval of what he was doing to his body.

“You saved me tonight,” I said throatily, bracing myself for disappointment when he shut me down. I knew he would, too. Sam Brennan didn’t allow himself to feel anything. Especially toward women.

His eyes remained fixated on the road.

“Why?” I demanded.

“Because you’re my boss’ daughter.”

“You don’t care about my father,” I said.

“True. But I do care about his money. I’m on the fast track to becoming one of the richest men in Boston. Keeping you protected is in my best interest.”