Get Lucky Page 6

  This is real.

  This is terrifying, and new.

  But I know this is something I never want to stop feeling.

  8

  Clay

  I lose track of time with her in my arms. The world, the universe, the job we’re here to do? All of it just sort of fades away, and for the first time in forever, my head just feels clearer.

  And damn does that feel good.

  After we both take her like that, we go again, but slower this time. This time, we each take our damn time with her. I watch, my cock rock hard and a smile on my face as Phoebe rides Eamon, easing up and down his fat cock over and over until she comes, clinging to his neck and kissing him fiercely. When it’s my turn, I take her against the wall, my hands gripping that tight little ass and my mouth on her neck as I plunge into her dripping wet cunt. I fuck her slow and deep, loving the way she comes again for me before I follow her over, emptying my balls inside of her until she’s so full of both of our cum it’ll be dripping down her thighs for a week.

  And the truth is, I want her like that always. I want her with us, forever, and forever marked by us.

  Phoebe stirs against my chest, her fingers entwined with one of my hands and one of Eamon’s as she looks up at the both of us.

  “So, why are you really here?”

  I glance at my friend, and with one look, I know there’s no lying to her. No fucking way. With her, it’ll be the truth, always. Because if she’s going to be with us—with the both of us—she needs to know what we are, exactly. We’re not monsters, but we’re no angels either. There’s blood in our past, and there’ll be blood in our future. That’s how we got to where we are today.

  “Terry,” I say quietly. “Terry is why we’re here.”

  Her eyes dart between us, her mouth opening like she wants to say something before it closes again.

  “To… check in on him running things?”

  Like I said, no lying. No bullshit. No sugarcoating.

  “To kill him.”

  Eamon’s voice is steeled as he growls the words, and Phoebe whips her head to face him.

  “What?”

  “We’re here to kill him, angel,” I say quietly, pulling her attention back to me. Her face pales, her head shaking.

  “No, you… no.” Her brow furrows as she shakes her head. “You can’t do that.”

  I frown. “Are you… close to Terry Morrow?”

  She makes a face. “God no, but…”

  She trials off, and Eamon and I glance at each other, trying to figure out where she’s going with this.

  “Phoebe—”

  There’s a pounding on the back door, shattering the moment. I snarl, jumping to my feet and moving for my clothes before I remember that neither of us brought guns into the poker game, per the house rules.

  Fuck.

  The pounding comes again, making Phoebe jump as she snatches her dress off the floor and holds it to her nakedness.

  “Clay! Eamon!”

  I breathe. It’s Collin, one of the small handful of guys we’ve traveled here with, and a very loyal right-hand man. I glance at Eamon, who’s also heard, and the both of us quickly grab our clothes.

  “One second,” I growl, yanking pants on. Phoebe follows our lead, tugging her dress back on. She goes for her panties, but I’m faster, grinning at her as I snatch them up before stuffing them into my pocket with a wink. Her face goes bright red, and her lip catches in her teeth in a way that makes me want to tell Collin to fuck right off so we can take her again.

  He bangs again anyways, and I grumble as I go for the door and yank it wide, shirtless. Collin sputters, tumbling into the room, his chest heaving.

  Eamon and I glance at each other again.

  Something’s good.

  “They… they’re…” Collin chokes catching his breath, like he’s just run a fucking marathon.

  “Jesus, breathe,” Eamon frowns, resting his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Just breathe, brother.”

  Collin swallows and looks up. “Sir, they—”

  His eyes dart past us, towards Phoebe, and my jaw clenches.

  “Mind your gaze, boyo,” I hiss dangerously.

  Collin goes white, yanking his eyes back to me and swallowing thickly. I’m not that mad that the gorgeous girl behind me has caught his attention, but I want to send a message.

  All, it’s fun to fuck with people when you’re at the top.

  “Sorry, Mr. Morehouse, Mr. Lear.”

  Eamon rolls his eyes, giving me a “quit it” look before turning back to Collin.

  “What is it?”

  Collin’s face hardens.

  “It’s Terry. He’s on his way here.”

  I smile thinly. “Well, that’s a good thing.”

  “No,” Collin shakes his head, his eyes wide. “No, Clay, it’s not just Terry. It’s Terry and a fucking army.”

  My jaw tenses.

  “We were in a pub, me and the other lads, drinking a few with some of the Morrow boys. I went outside for a smoke, and one came out on his cell phone. He didn’t see me there, and…”

  He shakes his head, his own jaw clenching.

  “Tell us,” Eamon growls.

  Collin’s face hardness.

  “They know, Eamon.”

  My frown deepens. “The hell do you mean they know.”

  “They know. I mean they know why we’re here, and Terry’s on the warpath, and his nephew is too.” Collin nods towards Phoebe. “Terry’s coming for you both, but Patrick and all of his crew are coming for her. They’re coming here, boys. Right fucking now.”

  Oh shit.

  Eamon swears, the both of us looking back at Phoebe. I almost smile. Damn, she doesn’t look scared, or like she’s about to freak out or lose it. Hell, she looks like she’s gearing up to fight. She looks like she’s preparing for it.

  And fuck is that hot.

  I turn back to Collin. “We need guns, and we need the others—”

  The wall next to me shatters in a hail of plaster. And believe me, I’ve been shot at enough that I’m diving for the floor before the second shot comes hissing through the open door.

  “Phoebe!”

  I roar, but Eamon’s already at her, tackling her onto the small sofa and covering her with his body as another blast of gunfire comes thundering through the door from the alley behind the bar. Collin grunts, grabbing his shoulder as he twists and hits the ground.

  I lunge for the door to slam it shut, but just as I get there, one of Terry’s guys who I recognize from the poker game early comes charging through the door.

  Bad fucking move. I catch him by the throat, flipping him and slamming him head down into the cement floor. The man goes limp, but I’m already moving, grabbing his gun off the floor and whirling as two more guys come charging in. Two shots, and they’re both down, just as Eamon roars and lunges towards me, slamming the door shut with a heavy clang.

  “Shit,” he grunts, whirling towards Collin. “You alright boy-o?”

  Collin grunts, gritting his teeth and nodding. “Through the shoulder. I’ll be fine.”

  Eamon nods, grabbing the two guns from the two guys I clipped. He checks one and keeps it, and hands the other one to Collin, But Collin grimaces.

  “I’m a lefty.”

  Eamon swears as my eyes land on Collin’s left shoulder. Yeah, he’s not shooting shit with that thing right now.

  “I’ll take it.”

  My brow furrows as I turn, a brow arched at the sound of Phoebe’s voice.

  “You can shoot?”

  She nods, but Eamon shakes his head.

  “It doesn’t matter if she shoots,” he growls at me. “You’re not letting her put herself in a position where she could get—”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  I turn again, frowning. There’s something edged to Phoebe’s voice. Something hardened. And before I can try and figure it out, she’s marching over, plucking the third gun out of Eamon’s hands and doing
a full check from mag to sights.

  Eamon’s brow perks up.

  “Okay, you know how to shoot apparently. But you’re not—”

  The wall next to us explodes in a hail of broken bricks and metal. Phoebe screams, and I grunt, pulling her to the ground and covering her as the automatic machine gun fire tears through the room. Glass, mortar, and plaster shower us as we scramble for cover, before it finally ceases.

  “You still in there you dumb Irish fucks!”

  Terry.

  I growl, raising my head just enough to peer through one of the new holes in the wall. And my jaw clenches at what I see.

  There’s easily twenty men outside, and I’m betting there’s another twenty at the front, securing the bar in case we try and head out that way. And there, front and center in his goddamn track suit like some kind of wannabe Goodfellas gangers, is Terry.

  He looks deranged—mad as hell for one, but also like he’s hasn’t left his hotel room in a month. And something tells me that’s not the far from the truth. A cigarette dangles from his lips, and even as I watch—even with what’s going on—I see him tap a little bump of coke out of a vial onto his hand before snorting it up.

  “Figured out why you boys came all the way over here, you assholes!” He yells. “You think you can take me out, huh? Well guess what, motherfuckers! This is my fucking town!”

  He taps out another bump of cocaine, making a whooping sound and waving his gun in the air like a complete fucking lunatic before he continues.

  “You come out now, and I’ll just shoot you. You make me and my boys come in there, and we’ll do it the long way.” He frowns. “Oh, and send that whore bitch out too who my nephew likes to call fiancée.”

  I glance at Eamon. Both of us turn to look at Phoebe. But damn if she doesn’t look cool as a cucumber, gun at the ready. Shit even the way she’s standing is like perfect defensive form.

  “What’s our move?” Collin grunts.

  …It’s a pretty good fucking question.

  We’ve got three guns, limited bullets, and no backup coming. All against forty-some-odd mob boys who want us dead. I grit my jaw, shaking my head.

  “We fight, and we protect—”

  “You don’t have to protect me.”

  We all turn to look at Phoebe, who’s shaking her head. There’s a look on her face I can’t quite place—something between sadness and apprehension. She moves towards us, and before I know it, she’s standing up on her tip-toes, touching her hand to Eamon’s cheek, and kissing him softly. She turns and does the same to me before pulling away, her face cramping.

  “I’m sorry,” she says quietly.

  I frown, shaking my head. “Sweetness, what would you possible need to be sorry for—”

  “For this.”

  She plucks one of her earrings out, twists the little thing in her hand, and suddenly, my jaw drops as sound crackles through it.

  It’s a fucking radio.

  But nothing prepares either of us for what happens next.

  “Code red, code red.” Phoebe’s eyes look away from us, a tear running down her cheek.

  “This is special agent undercover Carter, and I repeat, this is a code red shut down. Requesting immediate back up. Operation terminating rapidly. I repeat, requesting immediate intervention.”

  Something inside of me turns icy and cold. It’s like I’m numb—like this isn’t fucking real. I stare at her in… I don’t even know what. Shock? Pain? Anger? I don’t know, but I know Eamon’s looking at her the same way too.

  “Triangulate my position and engage immediately. Except heavy armed resistance from probably forty hostiles. Please be advices that operational target is present and needs to be taken alive. Be advised that I am with three armed friendlies. I repeat, three friendlies.”

  Something squawks into her ear from the tiny radio before she lowers it.

  The room is silent.

  “Phoebe…” Eamon breathes.

  “I—” her voice breaks. “I wanted to tell you! I just…”

  “You’re the fucking FBI?”

  My voice feels like it’s coming from somewhere outside my body, mumbling through the numbness.

  And then, we hear it—the sound of the cavalry coming in like a fucking thunderstorm. Sirens fill the air, and outside, we hear the chaos of Terry’s guys freaking out. Gunfire erupts, and whatever the bombshell she’s just dropped on us, it doesn’t stop Eamon and I from pulling Phoebe to the ground and covering her, until suddenly, the shots stop.

  There’s yelling outside, boots running for the door and the words “FBI, open up!” before the doors come crashing in.

  And Eamon and I are just fucking numb.

  I’m vaguely aware of the guns, and the men in full tactical gear. I’m aware of watching Phoebe—our Phoebe—marching over the captain of the swat team and a woman who looks like a Fed and identifying herself.

  At first, Eamon, Collin, and I are shoved to the ground, but Phoebe’s quickly shaking her head and running over. I hear the words “non-interests” and Phoebe basically saying we’re just three guys who happened to be in the back room and who helped her when the fighting started.

  I almost want to laugh when the Federal agents holding two of the leaders of the entire Irish mob shrug and let us go, clearly not knowing who we are. But, I don’t.

  I can’t laugh.

  I can’t even fucking think. I’m just numb. That is, until I see them cuffing Terry.

  Fuck that.

  “No,” I growl, moving for Phoebe and grabbing her arm. She whirls, looking up into my eyes, and then Eamon’s as he moves next to her as well. And for a second, that hard “agent” look disappears, and all we see is the fierce, fiery girl from before who stole our hearts.

  “Baby girl,” Eamon growls lowly. Phoebe blushes at his words.

  “I—I wanted to tell you, I just…”

  “Didn’t,” I say quietly. “You just didn’t.” My jaw clenches. “Are we…”

  She shakes her head. “No, you’re no one to anyone here. I told them you’re tourists who were in the bar when the shots came, and you came to help. They think I took down those first three men and armed you as backup. Though, I don’t know how long you have until someone who’s paying attention realizes who you are.”

  Eamon nods at Terry. “And him?”

  “Him? He’s…” she shakes her head. “He’s the reason I’ve been undercover. I didn’t think it would happen this fast with him hiding in that hotel, but here we are. Now we’re going to take him in.”

  I shake my head.

  “You can’t.”

  Phoebe bites her lip. “Clay—”

  “You can’t take him in.”

  She shakes her head. “What do you think I should do instead? Hand him over to you?”

  “That works,” Eamon growls.

  Phoebe barks out a cold laugh. “Jesus, you want to execute him right here on the street?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She stares at us, something close to disgust crossing her face.

  “Who are you?” She whispers.

  “Angel, you don’t know what he is.”

  “He’s a criminal,” she mutters. “And he’s due a process. That’s kind of what we do around here,” she mutters sarcastically. “As opposed to gangland executions in an alley.”

  “You don’t know what he is,” Eamon growls fiercely. “Angel, do you think we’re here to kill him lightly? For what, some kind of disagreement? Who do you think we are, monsters?”

  She swallows.

  “Phoebe, he’s done terrible thin—”

  “Agent Carter!”

  An important and official looking guy jogs over, ignoring Eamon and I.

  “Agent, we’re ready to take off with Morrow, if you want to ride along.”

  She nods quietly, saying nothing as the man jogs off before turning to us. Her lip catches in her teeth, and her eyes look at the both of us with such sadness that it breaks my heart.r />
  “I—I’m sorry,” she says quietly.

  “You can’t take—”

  “I can,” she hisses, tears brimming her eyes. “Because I have to. Because taking him in is my job.”

  She moves towards us, but when Eamon and I stiffen, her face crumples as she shakes her head.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry. Eamon, Clay…” she looks at us pleadingly.

  “You don’t know what he’s done,” I growl.

  “Yes, we do. That’s why we’re taking him—”

  “No, you don’t,” Eamon grunts. “Not this part.”

  He digs into his pocket and pulls out a small little thumb drive. And I know just what it is. It’s the collected information we have on Terry’s little side project, with the girls he has no business using in that way, at all. It’s got Kelsey Hanity on tape talking about what he tried to do to her, and pictures of the bruises he left on her. It’s got interviews from some of the girls our people pulled out of his little sex ring before Eamon and I came over.

  It’s got it all, and I watch as my friend passes it to Phoebe.

  “Don’t believe us? I mean, I know we’re just two criminals and your job is to not believe guys like us, and take us down—”

  “That’s not what this is,” she says fiercely. “That’s not how I see you two.”

  I shake my head, looking away. She’s right. Someone’s going to notice us soon, and then we’re going to be in a world of shit. Walking away from this hurts. Walking away from her is like a knife through the heart.

  But it’s what has to happen right now.

  “Just look at what’s on there,” I say quietly, my voice edged as I turn away.

  “Clay,” she whispers pleadingly. “Eamon—”

  “Agent Carter! Now!”

  She sobs quietly, and when the both of us turn back to her, we see her wiping her tears away as she shakes her head

  “I’m sorry!”

  So are we, I think.

  A landing helicopter whips up dead leaves and dirt, making us shield our eyes as she whirls away, red hair blazing and green dress billowing behind her.

  And then, just like that, she’s gone.