I Kidnapped the Mafia Heir, and He Never Tried to Escape novel · Chapter 5 of 24

Chapter 5: Wet Clothes

"Row," I said.

He rowed.

My father's lobster boat rocked on its mooring.

I'd been aboard her once since the funeral, to check the bilge pump, and I'd cried the whole time.

Mal tied the skiff off at the stern, and I climbed the ladder first with my wet jacket dragging at my shoulders.

The cabin was the size of a closet.

It had a bunk, a tiny galley, a chart table and a heater that took three tries to start.

My father's wool blanket was still folded on the bunk.

The cabin smelled like him, like pipe smoke and engine oil and the green soap he used on his hands.

Mal ducked in behind me and the room got smaller.

"Then the door is yours," I said. "Nobody here is stopping you from using it."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Your van was parked behind me six nights running," said Mal.

He stood with his back against the cabin door.

"Padraig's men were behind you the last three."

I went cold.

"They were tailing me?"

"They were learning your habits. By the time you took me, he knew where you slept, where you kept your boat, and which of your brother's friends would tell him what he needed."

"So you came to protect me."

"I came because I wanted to see what you'd do."

It was so honest that I nearly missed it.

"I've been the heir of this city for fifteen years," he said. "Nobody has ever pointed a weapon at me and meant it for themselves. You did it to save a kid. You were terrified, and you did it anyway, and you were terrible at it."

"I'm not terrible."

"Your taillight's out."

I laughed.

It broke out of me, thin and cracked.

Then it was too much, and I had to sit down on the bunk with my face in my hands.

When I looked up, he was kneeling on the cabin floor in front of me.

His coat was open and wet.

His hands rested on his own thighs, and he did not touch me.

"What do you want to do with me, Culhane?"

"I want to hit you."

"Do."

"I want to scream at you for letting my father's boathouse burn."

"That one's mine. I'll carry it."

"And I want," I said, and my voice dropped to nothing.

His grey eyes didn't leave my face.

"Tell me," he said. "It's yours to say."

"I want you to take your clothes off."

He didn't move.

"Slowly," I said. "I want to watch."

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