Plausible Deniability

The next morning finds Aila dining with Bobby and YaYa. The two talk of nothing and everything at once. Aila can hardly stomach her grandmother asking after the black market, the weapons funnelling in and narcotics going out. She’d known Niall had his fingers in a variety of pies, but she forgot what a kingpin does. The soiled hands that wreak havoc and justice.

Bobby excuses himself from the table as Lilyen clears the dishes away, and YaYa thanks the maid before turning toward Aila. “You look distressed, my little butterfly.”

“Guess I didn’t think about the other things they do,” admits Aila. “I’m so used to—to being shielded from it, I suppose. The only time I know something is when we have meetings.”

“I heard you watched a man die.”

“I did. YaYa... I wanted to do it myself. Now I feel like my soul is dirty, and I can’t ever make it clean again.”

YaYa sighs, reaching across the table for her granddaughter’s hand. “Aila Maleigh, listen to me. I know what you’re feeling. I felt the same when your Papa first got involved. But this life? It may make you dirty, but it also cleanses you. Your eyes are open, truly open, for the first time.”

“How did Papa get involved?”

YaYa smiles and spins a tale of Felix Greene stumbling into a bar in the middle of the night. He’d been mugged, he said to the barkeep, and needed a place to drink away the memory before he went home to his family. However, he only had the five dollars in his shoe, so please make the drink as strong as five bucks could get him.

The man behind the bar stared at him for a long moment then asked if Felix wanted to make money. “So your wife doesn’t know you’re broke,” he suggested.

Felix took the offer.

So the bartender led him to the back room where a young man—too young for the position he was in—allowed Felix to place a bet with no money down. Felix appraised the odds on the chalkboard, made a gamble on the worst of them, and won by pure luck. Bobby was impressed. It was luck, sure, but it also got the man’s attention. He offered Felix a job as the bookkeeper.

“You’ll never be mugged again,” Bobby promised. That was enough for Felix: He accepted.

It wasn’t until a month later that Felix realised what he’d gotten himself into. He still stayed— “He was gone every night, all night,” says Yaya, “but he enjoyed the rush that came with knowing he was powerful in his own right. That the very sight of him on the streets struck fear into the hearts of everyone.”

“Papa liked it?”

“Oh, yes. He wasn’t a cruel man. He refused to get his hands dirty besides fixing books and taking bets. But he loved the protection the position provided him. No one would dare mess with Bobby Horan’s crew. It also kept your mother and me safe.”

“Why’d you move to Tarris?”

“Strickland.”

“Seems he has a lot to do with the horrible shit around here,” mutters Aila.

YaYa snorts and shakes her head. “The man is a menace. He’s always done what it takes to keep his power, even if it meant slaughtering his people. He targeted your Papa because Horan was quickly gaining money. More money meant Bobby could overthrow Strickland easily. He’d have the manpower, the weaponry. Without Papa, however, Bobby’s influx would dwindle until he was destitute.”

“Did—?”

“No. I told you, Papa died from heat stroke seven years after we moved. Butterfly, I’d never lie to you.”

“One more question,” Aila says, waiting until her grandmother raises a thin brow in acknowledgement. “Why do you call me ‘butterfly’?”

“Because when you were a small thing, a butterfly landed on your nose as you laid in your cradle in the garden. You were my caterpillar for years until your personality shined through. Such a sweet, soft, determined one you were. You became my butterfly.”

A knock sounds on the frame of the door, and Aila turns to see Zayn leaning against the wood. He smiles, apologises for interrupting, and announces it’s time for Aila’s next lesson. She sighs and rolls her eyes at her grandmother, then they both follow him down to the basement.

He leads Aila to a table at one end of the cavernous room. A velvet-lined mat covers the tabletop, and a variety of blades gleam in the lights. YaYa stays to one side while Zayn pushes a dagger into Aila’s hand and tells her what to do.

Aila gapes at him, mind frozen to a standstill. Surely he can’t have said—? “You want me… to…”

“Yes.”

“I can’t.” She swallows thickly and shakes her head, trying to shove the blade back to Zayn. “I can’t do that.”

“Aila, love, you’ve done great so far. Really, you have. But that means nothing if there isn’t something to up the ante.”

“I—“

“Oh, get on it with it already,” Tania calls from the other end of the room.

Aila glances at the woman, her friend, and lets out a quivering breath. She can’t do this. Tania will lose her life is Aila does this. Warm hands settle on her shoulders, tugging her around, and Zayn gives her a soft smile.

“You can do this. You’ve hit every single target you’ve aimed at. When you messed up, you did it over and over again until you got it right.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t throwing a knife at someone’s face then!”

“Trust me.” Zayn’s lips quirk, and he glances at Tania from the corner of his eye.. “You couldn’t possibly make Tania any uglier.”

“Fuck you, Malik,” Tania singsongs, so nonchalantly and easily.

Before Aila knows what’s happening, a loud thunk echoes through the room. Tania doesn’t look up from inspecting her nails as she yanks the knife from the board beside her head. She lobs it back to Zayn without watching where it goes. It embeds itself into the wall behind him.

“See? It’s that easy.”

Aila knows they won’t let her back down. Liam stands at the door, blocking her only exit, and Harry sits poised at the sidelines. Mully paces behind her, prepared to force her to a stop if she tries to run. Even YaYa stands close enough to impede Aila’s attempts of escape. So with a trembling hand, she clutches tighter to the hilt.

“Okay, what do I do again?”

“Deep breath, aim, then release.”

She nods to herself. It sounds so simple. Something even a drunken octopus could do. But as she stares down the room at Tania, it feels anything but simple. The world goes black at the edges, swirling into nothingness. Tania grins, adjusting her stance, and tucks her hands into the pocket of her leather jacket.

Zayn snaps his fingers beside Aila’s ear, and she twitches in surprise. “C’mon, Aila, we’ve been here for ten minutes already. You should have done this twenty times by now. Let’s fucking go.”

“I’m trying to concentrate,” she mumbles only for him to scoff.

“Think you’re gonna have much time to concentrate out there? When you’re trying to keep yourself and your family alive, but the other side is doing the same? You won’t have these moments of peace every time you try to kill someone. So just throw. The. Fucking. Knife.”

“I—”

“Well, look at that. Lou’s dead because of your indecision. And there goes Harry, Mully, Liam, Tania. Niall.”

The blade leaves Aila’s hand without her permission, and she rounds on Zayn even as the sound of metal on wood fills the room. “Don’t you ever say that again,” she hisses. “D’you hear me? Don’t ever tell me I’ll get any of you killed, especially not Tania.”

He doesn’t cower under her slapping him—punching him—but he eventually grabs her wrists to hold her still. His brown eyes gleam with something she can’t read. It’s warm enough.

“Look, love.”

The black hilt protrudes from the board an inch away from Tania’s face. The woman herself beams before jogging back to Aila’s side. Aila freezes when arms loop around her neck, but she lets Tania hug her tightly. When they part, Aila frowns at the shock on everyone’s faces.

Tania cups Aila’s cheeks with warm hands. “You did good, even if it took Zayn pissing you off to get you there.”

“I’m going to kill him. I swear, I will actually kill that asshole.”

“Hey, he was nicer than I expected.” Tania pats Aila’s cheek, grinning. “Go take your anger out on him, babe.”

“Let me at him,” Aila growls.

Tania steps out of the way with a laugh. Aila rushes toward Zayn, ignoring the cold slap-slap-slap of stone against the bottoms of her feet, and launches herself at his back. He stumbles with the sudden force, weight, but keeps himself upright. His chuckle floats in the air—the dark edge should frighten her. All it does is strengthen her anger at what he said.

She clings to him as he tries to throw her over her shoulder. He isn’t getting rid of her that easily, she thinks as she scrambles further up his back. Zayn’s fingernails tear at her skin, try to find purchase. She won’t give him the chance. Kissing his cheek, she follows it with a swift swing of her foot to his stomach. His breathless laugh spurs her on.

It becomes a dance of sorts, once he manages to dislodge her. Both attempt to land punches while the other darts out of reach. Zayn moves more quickly than she does and grabs her from behind. Aila squeaks when he lifts her off her feet, squeezing her too tightly. YaYa catches her attention. Points to her legs. Aila nods.

She reaches back to wrap her arms around Zayn ‘s head and kicks out her legs, hopes there is enough force to knock him off balance. She throws her torso forward with as much momentum as possible. If this doesn’t work, she will have to live with the embarrassment.

Aila rolls and lands on her back, but Zayn does as she’d hoped: He flips over her head, hitting the mat with a loud groan. She lies there, grinning up at the ceiling, and throws her arms in the air. He swats at her legs, though he smiles as brightly as she is.

A slow clapping sounds from the doorway, and Aila hurries to her feet. Her stomach churns as Bobby steps into the gym, his brow raised. Exchanging a look with Tania, Aila waits for him to examine the targets. The practice dummies missing their heads from the garrottes she learnt to use. The bullet holes in mannequins.

“You’ve done quite well, haven’t you, Miss Greene?” he murmurs, and she swallows harshly.

“Yes, sir.”

“Take on Porter.”

“Excuse me?”

He turns to her and smiles. It’s cold, humourless. “Porter doesn’t know you, does he? He won’t go easy on you.”

“That’s enough, Da,” Niall spits out, but he doesn’t leave his position by the door.

YaYa frowns but doesn’t intercede. If her grandmother won’t protest, Aila has no reason to. “No, no. I’ll—I’ll do it.”

Bobby’s eyes light up as much as she’s ever seen, and he steps off the mat. The man he brought with him steps on. Aila shudders at the lack of expression on his sharp face. She will never best him. One look at the hulking form before her tells her she may just die.

At least then Bobby will be happy. She tells the voice to shut up, even as she gets into position. This man isn’t Zayn, isn’t Liam or Harry or Louis or even Niall. He has no obligation to keep her alive.

Bobby calls out “Begin”, and Porter obeys.

The rhythm she had with Zayn is gone. There is no finesse to this fight. Porter barely blinks as Aila fights back as much as she is able to. True to Bobby’s word, Porter doesn’t go easy on her. The first punch sends agony tearing through her jaw, and she comes close to choking on the blood already filling her mouth.

Each blow ricochets throughout her body, but Aila doesn’t give up. She can’t. If she fails, she loses Niall. Bobby would never allow the relationship to continue. Bobby may even take her life to prevent Niall from going behind his back.

She has to prove herself worthy of him.

Aila grits her teeth as her head bounces off the mat. The world swims, her vision pulsing at the edges, and her body screams for relief. Instead of lying there, she shoves herself up from the floor and stands on shaking knees to face Porter. The man’s lips curl—amusement, maybe?—even as he lunges forward. She ducks the first swing but fails to notice the second.

Blood drips from her brow, slips down her cheek, and she draws in a breath that rattles in her chest. Her stomach churns even as she lashes out—left, right, kick, left. Porter’s eyes widen when her knuckles slam into his cheek, but it’s a brief victory: His hand wraps in her hair, his other hand on her throat.

Aila finds herself staring at the ceiling seconds later with no oxygen and a split lip. Porter doesn’t release her, grip tightening when she struggles against the hold. Her right leg comes up, and she shoves her knee into the back of his head. He curses as he stumbles, and she gulps in breaths and climbs back to her feet.

It’s harder now to stay upright. Everything in her wants to lie down and never move again. But Bobby demanded this.

Bobby demanded a show, proof that she isn’t delicate. Evidence that she can do what needs to be done.

So she pushes herself, forces her body to obey her commands. Porter grunts when she scrambles up his back, arms wrapping around his throat and legs around the trunk of his body. He’s wider than Zayn, less lean muscle, and she can’t get a firm grip.

Yank and twist, that’s all it is. Tania’s voice echoes in Aila’s ears, though it’s nearly inaudible under the ringing already there. She struggles to do what she was taught, but Porter is more experience. He grasps at the back of her tank-top and her bicep, flinging her over his shoulder as if she is nothing but a bag of potatoes.

She stays down this time. She can’t breathe, can’t move. The man’s fist lands squarely in her gut, another to her jaw, and Aila takes it. Her body won’t do any more.

“Enough.”

Porter rises smoothly to his feet, stepping back at Bobby’s demand. Harry and YaYa are there immediately, and Aila lets him examine her injuries. She couldn’t bat his hands away if she tried. Porter had pounded her muscles into jelly.

Harry’s lips press together, and his brows pinch as he prods at her ribs. A storm brews in his green eyes. He curses under his breath but doesn’t say more. The Fucking prick is enough to relay what he feels and thinks of Niall’s father right now.

“Broken?” she gasps out, closing her eyes when he shakes his head. “Good. YaYa? I hurt.”

“I know, butterfly.”

Her grandmother helps her to her feet, and Harry slides an arm around Aila’s back as she sways. She hadn’t lied—she can feel nothing but throbbing agony in every molecule. Bobby grins when she finally can lift her head.

“Impressive.”

“I didn’t win,” she protests. Her voice cracks, and she swallows the blood on her tongue.

“Oh, love. You had no hopes of winning. Porter here was a heavyweight. Ex-military. But you held your own. You kept fighting when you knew you were beaten. You did better than I expected for someone so... new. Green, you might say.”

“Are you quite done?” Niall bites out from where he leans against the wall. Aila’s gaze drifts to his face so dark with rage. He scowls when all his father does is laugh. “Or should my fiancée take on everyone you’ve brought with you.”

Bobby takes Harry’s place at Aila’s side, beaming down at her. “Let’s go, Aila. Maura is expecting us for lunch.”

Aila, not Miss Greene. She stumbles beside him as he and YaYa guide her up the stairs. Liam’s hands on her ass keep her from pitching backwards. Now she’s done as Bobby asked—exceeded his expectations—his demeanour is far warmer than before. He seems unable to stop smiling. She lists heavily into his side, stifles whimpers of pain.

She can’t show weakness. Not now.

Not ever.

Maura gasps as the group traipses into the dining room. “Oh, what did you do?”

“Only a bit of training,” Aila replies, though her voice isn’t as nonchalant as she’d hoped.

“You promised you wouldn’t do this,” snarls Maura, rounding on Bobby. “You swore you wouldn’t torture her like that.”

He shrugs unrepentantly as he relinquishes Aila to Niall. “She was already fighting Zayn here. Besides, she did beautifully.”

“Why don’t you get cleaned up, pet? The food will keep.”

Maura gives Aila a gentle smile, one at odds with the fire in her eyes. Aila can only imagine what the woman will say to her husband once she’s alone with him. Aila nods and lets Niall lead her from the room. His lips tug down with each stuttered breath falling from her lips as they make their way up the stairs.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t think he’d do something like that.”

“I’m not.” At his quick look, she blows out a breath only to trip over a step. He holds her more securely until she’s on her feet again. “It—It proved I can do this. Your dad was right. Porter didn’t hold back, so it reassured me I have what it takes. And it was fun. Painful as fuck, but fun.”

“Let’s get you in the shower. You’re gonna regret that bout soon.”

Niall leans her against the shower wall, hands tender as he washes her body clean. Blood mingles with the hot water, swirling pink down the drain, and Aila closes her eyes. His words come true: The longer she stands there, the more her muscles seize up. The sharper the pain becomes. Though he tries to keep her up, she slides down against the wall until her ass hits the floor.

“Leave me here to die,” she groans. Niall’s soft chuckle floats in the air, and she swats a hand in his direction. “Seriously, I don’t think I can move.”

“You’ll be okay, I promise.”

“Fuck me, is this how you lot feel every time?”

“Weirdly enough, you get used to it. And I’m not fucking you when you’re like this.”

“Not even if I beg?”

He kisses her temple, warm lips against throbbing sink. “Not even then, though it’d certainly be hard to say no.”

“I’ll make you hard,” she grumbles.

“I already am, my love.”

It should be awkward that he dresses her, but no shame wells up. The doting he’s bestowing upon her is what any fiancé would do. Should do. She grabs his hand once the lightweight sundress settles on her frame, tugging him toward her, and kisses him despite the pain searing through her lips.

“Please?”

“Aila, no,” he groans. “Don’t make it more difficult on me not to take advantage of you.”

“But you like me begging.”

He pauses, stares down at her with dark eyes filled with lust. Want. Concern. “One condition,” he says after a long minute. “You just lie still and let me take care of you.”

“You’ll fuck me?”

“No,” he murmurs, kissing her gently, whispering against her lips, “I’ll make love to you.”

She could cry with the tenderness of his words. With his actions as he pushes the dress up, pulls her panties down. With how gentle he is as he slides into her. Careful thrusts, soft kisses, and Aila’s eyes prickle with tears when she finally cries out with his thumb pressing circles against her and his cock finding its home again and again.

Making love is far different than anything they’ve done before, and Aila already wants more.