though he could tan very easily, and was tall for his age. He would be a lady killer one day but never be privy to who his biological parents were.
Cillian didn’t want to start crying about a life that would never be; it would get him nowhere and besides, the boy was probably better off. He didn’t wish this life on his children but it was the only one he could offer them because it was all he knew.
What exactly could a kid with a high school education who was a mechanic by trade do with his life and bring in the kind of money he did that was legit? Exactly nothing. Besides, Kian was a cop—technically, a homicide detective—and what a more perfect upbringing for a child whose parents knew the ins and outs of crime?
Gisela might not have broken the law the way he did on a constant basis; instead she played with it and used laws to her advantage to get clients who were both guilty and innocent off on all crimes with which they were involved. It kept her in designer shoes and handbags, but it also kept her at a distance from his world, and for that, he was mildly content and relieved. It would kill a small part of him to know that he’d trapped her into a life she’d been trying to escape.
He stood and put on his cut. He knew what he had to do and the night before he had to kill someone, he had a ritual, which he never deviated. He needed to get fucked up and then fucked by a professional. Brianna’s subpar skills wouldn’t do him a damn bit of good.
“Off to Reno?” His father didn’t look up from a stack of papers he’d pulled out and were slowly going through.
“Yep. You know me.”
“Well, be careful, son, and try not to get into any trouble.”
Cillian smiled and it was one that would have dropped panties all over the world had there been any lucky women to see it. “You know me, Da. Trouble is me middle name.”
Chapter Two
Gisela
“Are you going out tonight?”
I looked up from the stack of files on my desk before I met Kyra’s blue eyes. “I don’t think so. I need to get some work done and I’m not really up to hanging out and getting hit on, know what I mean?”
Kyra shook her head. She had the most gorgeous auburn hair with burnished gold highlights, light freckles on her face, which she used cover-up to conceal, a patrician nose, slightly full lips and a tall, slender athletic build.
We were complete opposites in every way except we were both considered beautiful women.
I was barely 5’4” although I wore heels to make up for my short stature. I knew my olive skin with a hint of caramel was perfect and without a blemish. My long, naturally curly yet silky dark hair took quite the beating between flat irons and wearing it in a chignon or a French Roll when I was in professional mode.
I had my father’s amber eyes but the rest of my face belonged to my exquisite mother and her strong, Teutonic genes. A face that was feminine but precisely perfect in proportion in terms of my features. I didn’t inherit any of her height but I did have her figure with the exception of 32-C breasts, which were the result of an overly zealous boyfriend during my high school years who did nothing but caress and feel on them every chance he received.
Ugh, don’t think about Cillian now…that’s a road you don’t wanna go down, I chastised myself before I looked up to see Kyra staring at me quizzically.
“Everything all right?” she asked.
I sipped from a glass San Pellegrino and smiled. “Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“We have a couple of paralegals to sort through all that shit, you know. Why did you ask for all those old case files anyway?”
I shrugged nonchalantly. “It keeps me on my toes. Besides, I haven’t had one case go to court that I haven’t plead out before it went to trial.”
“And that is a bad thing why ?” Kyra sat in front of my desk in one of the
Cillian didn’t want to start crying about a life that would never be; it would get him nowhere and besides, the boy was probably better off. He didn’t wish this life on his children but it was the only one he could offer them because it was all he knew.
What exactly could a kid with a high school education who was a mechanic by trade do with his life and bring in the kind of money he did that was legit? Exactly nothing. Besides, Kian was a cop—technically, a homicide detective—and what a more perfect upbringing for a child whose parents knew the ins and outs of crime?
Gisela might not have broken the law the way he did on a constant basis; instead she played with it and used laws to her advantage to get clients who were both guilty and innocent off on all crimes with which they were involved. It kept her in designer shoes and handbags, but it also kept her at a distance from his world, and for that, he was mildly content and relieved. It would kill a small part of him to know that he’d trapped her into a life she’d been trying to escape.
He stood and put on his cut. He knew what he had to do and the night before he had to kill someone, he had a ritual, which he never deviated. He needed to get fucked up and then fucked by a professional. Brianna’s subpar skills wouldn’t do him a damn bit of good.
“Off to Reno?” His father didn’t look up from a stack of papers he’d pulled out and were slowly going through.
“Yep. You know me.”
“Well, be careful, son, and try not to get into any trouble.”
Cillian smiled and it was one that would have dropped panties all over the world had there been any lucky women to see it. “You know me, Da. Trouble is me middle name.”
Chapter Two
Gisela
“Are you going out tonight?”
I looked up from the stack of files on my desk before I met Kyra’s blue eyes. “I don’t think so. I need to get some work done and I’m not really up to hanging out and getting hit on, know what I mean?”
Kyra shook her head. She had the most gorgeous auburn hair with burnished gold highlights, light freckles on her face, which she used cover-up to conceal, a patrician nose, slightly full lips and a tall, slender athletic build.
We were complete opposites in every way except we were both considered beautiful women.
I was barely 5’4” although I wore heels to make up for my short stature. I knew my olive skin with a hint of caramel was perfect and without a blemish. My long, naturally curly yet silky dark hair took quite the beating between flat irons and wearing it in a chignon or a French Roll when I was in professional mode.
I had my father’s amber eyes but the rest of my face belonged to my exquisite mother and her strong, Teutonic genes. A face that was feminine but precisely perfect in proportion in terms of my features. I didn’t inherit any of her height but I did have her figure with the exception of 32-C breasts, which were the result of an overly zealous boyfriend during my high school years who did nothing but caress and feel on them every chance he received.
Ugh, don’t think about Cillian now…that’s a road you don’t wanna go down, I chastised myself before I looked up to see Kyra staring at me quizzically.
“Everything all right?” she asked.
I sipped from a glass San Pellegrino and smiled. “Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“We have a couple of paralegals to sort through all that shit, you know. Why did you ask for all those old case files anyway?”
I shrugged nonchalantly. “It keeps me on my toes. Besides, I haven’t had one case go to court that I haven’t plead out before it went to trial.”
“And that is a bad thing why ?” Kyra sat in front of my desk in one of the
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