A fuzzy bagpipe version of the wedding march blared.
Chapter Thirty-One
The elevator doors opened and Broch stepped through, Catriona draped in his arms. She’d fallen asleep shortly after downing three tiny bourbons on the plane, awoken briefly to disembark, and then fallen asleep again in the car on the drive home. He only needed to get her to her apartment and felt confident she’d be asleep again moments after he placed her in her bed.
“We should check in with Sean,” she mumbled as he walked her down the hall to her door.
“Aye, we will.”
She pulled on him to lift her face closer to his neck. She kissed him there, and he smiled.
“Whit are ye doin’, sleepy lassie?”
“We’re married now. I can do that anytime I want.”
“Ye said it was fake.”
“Close enough though, right?”
Broch lowered her feet to the ground and propped her against the wall beside her door. He stood close and she looked up at him, sliding her hands along his ribs to rest on his chest.
“Ravage me.” Catriona said the words in a whisper, but punctuated them with a giggle.
He pressed his lips to her forehead at her hairline.
Sae adorable.
“Ah would, but whit aboot all yer bruises?”
She looked up at him and touched her finger to her mouth. “I think my lips are good.”
It was a lie. Volkov’s fists had connected with her lips at least once, and the evidence remained. But Broch kissed her, as gently as his rising passion would allow and largely towards the right, undamaged side of her mouth. His hand slipped to the small of her back and drew her closer to him.
“Let’s get ye tae bed.”
“That’s what ah’m talkin’ about.”
“For sleep. Ah’ll join ye soon enough. Ye’ll be tired o’ me.”
She scoffed. “I doubt it.”
He heard a jingle and looked down to see she’d pulled her keys from her pocket.
“Open the door.”
He took the keys and pushed them into the lock.
“Oh yeah, baby.”
He looked at her, laughing. “Yer a nutter.”
She giggled and thudded her head against his chest. “I am so tired.”
He pushed open the door and bent down, slipping his arm behind Catriona’s knees.
“Up we gang, lassie.”
He lifted her and she wrapped her arms around his neck again.
“Aw, you’re carrying me over the threshold.”
Broch strode through the door and stopped upon spotting a pair of eyes staring at him from the sofa.
Sean sat there, watching television.
“Did I leave the TV on?” Catriona lifted her head from where it rested on his shoulder.
“What are you doing here?” she asked upon spotting Sean.
“Hello to you, too.” Sean dipped to grab the remote and turn off the television. “Something wrong with your foot?”
Broch let her to the ground. “She’s covered in a hundred bruises, bit ah think her feet ur fine.”
Catriona tried to stand on her own but ended leaning on Broch, her head tilted back and eyes closed. “It isn’t a hundred bruises. I did pretty well, considering. I messed him up good.”
“Aye, ye did.”
Sean’s expression crinkled with concern. “Messed up, who?”
“We ran into a guy who likes beating up women. I had him on the ropes but Dez shot him. That was definitely more effective.”
“Dez shot someone?” Sean rounded the sofa to inspect Catriona’s busted lip. He sucked in a breath as he saw the extent of her injuries. “Who did this?”
“It’s a long story. But the short version is he’s dead and Tyler’s back. I think.”
“He is. I saw him earlier.” Sean sniffed. “Have you been drinking?”
Broch pinched the air. “She drank those wee bottles.”
Catriona rolled her eyes. “Just a few.”
“A few in the hotel ’n‘ a few oan the plane.”
Sean grimaced. “It’s six o’clock in the morning.”
Catriona shrugged. “Not really. Not when you haven’t slept in two days and spent half that time tied up in a basement watching women...” Catriona trailed off and walked towards her kitchen. “I could use a shot or two more to be honest with you.”
Sean looked at Broch. “Maybe you can tell me what’s going on?”
Before he could start the story, Catriona interrupted.
“We’re married now, y’know.”
Sean looked from Broch to Catriona and back again. Broch shook his head.
“Nae really. It was a lark.”
Sean put his hand on his head. “I thought I came here to tell you a story, but now I think I need to hear what happened to—”
“Sean, you’re here. Thank god.”
Broch felt the door bounce against his hip and turned to find Fiona standing in the doorway with their luggage, one piece in each hand.
Sean’s apparent agitation increased tenfold. “Fiona?”
“Fiona?” echoed Catriona as she straightened from where she’d been searching in the lower kitchen cabinet. Upon spotting Fiona, her lip curled. “You’re in my house.”
Fiona lowered the suitcases to her left and shut the door behind her. “He’s insane.”
Catriona leaned across the kitchen island. “Why are you in my house?”
Fiona scowled at Catriona and then looked at Sean. “What’s wrong with her? She looks like she’s been hit by a truck.”
Sean shook his head. “That wasn’t her, actually. Who’s insane?”
“Rune. He said he killed you.”
“I suppose he did.”
“What?” Catriona had been trying to climb on a bar stool and she paused, teetering, wincing with the effort. Broch steadied her ascent and helped her position herself on the seat.
“Thank you,” she whispered before addressing the group. “Can someone please tell me what’s going on? And explain it to me like I’m brain dead, because I pretty much am.”
Sean frowned. “That’s what I came to tell you.
