Firefly

by Molly McAdams

  His brow was pulled tight as if he was trying to figure something out—trying to figure me out. But I forced myself to ignore that current dancing along my skin . . . forced myself to ignore him. Because a part of me was still clinging to that rope, and he was here with a girl.

  That energy that always surrounded us buzzed. Awareness prodded, begging to search out those dark, knowing eyes.

  But I never looked toward him again.

  And I ignored the slip of paper peeking out from underneath my plate.

  That girl.

  Something about those eyes promised every truth wrapped in the sweetest deceit. Flames ignited in my veins every time I was near her, my blood roaring with the need to uncover every one of those hidden truths. She felt familiar in an inexplicable way—something about her tugging at my memory, haunting me.

  And, Christ, if I didn’t want her to haunt my every thought.

  Libby suddenly hit my arm and hissed, “Are you even listening to me?”

  “No.”

  She scoffed. “Dare, I need you to talk to—”

  “Libby, look at this girl,” I said quickly, keeping my voice low. “A couple booths back and to the side. Who is she?”

  My sister finally stopped talking and turned in the booth to look. She took a long sip from her drink as she eyed the girl, not bothering to be subtle.

  “Am I supposed to know the answer?” she asked before looking over her shoulder at me.

  “She comes in here on Mondays. I thought she looked familiar.”

  “Well, she doesn’t,” Libby huffed as she sat back in the booth. “But I’ll ask her who she is if you’ll talk to Mom.”

  “Why are you even here if you and Mom are fighting? I can’t remember the last time you actually came to Brooks with me to check on things.”

  She looked around guiltily for a few seconds before taking another long drink. “Einstein and I forgot to get groceries. Needed breakfast. I hate the store. It’s free here. Feed me,” she said on a rush, each sentence getting softer and faster until it was too hard to hear her.

  I spared an annoyed glance at my sister before looking back at the girl.

  I twitched with the need to go to her. To lift her head so I could look at those eyes again. To lay bare every secret within them.

  For years it’d been like this. Silent. Charged. On the edge of igniting.

  We were like the resistance before a trigger breaks. The world around us had fallen into a silence so unnerving and intoxicating, and with each passing week we inched closer to when that silence would explode into chaos.

  “You notice when she comes in,” Libby suddenly mumbled, catching my attention. “How long have you noticed her? Or cared?”

  “Libby . . .”

  She looked at me curiously, like she’d just realized she was sitting with a stranger. “It’s been . . . it’s been years. And after finding out that Lily O’Sullivan might be alive—”

  “That’s enough, Libby.”

  “You’re more concerned with some girl you don’t know than avenging your—”

  “I said that’s enough,” I growled, the warning and demand clear.

  I let my head fall into my hands as memories assaulted me. My chest moved exaggeratedly as I tried to force my breathing to slow—tried to force every want I’d just had away.

  It was like the entire universe was mocking me by placing this girl in my life, week after week. Taunting me with a torrent of emotions I’d never wanted to experience again. Daring me to make a move.

  I had . . . and I’d been slammed with the cruelest memories ever since.

  Being captivated by someone for any reason was something I couldn’t afford. Something I couldn’t allow.

  My obliterated heart couldn’t take it.

  Kicking at Libby’s foot, I ground out, “Let’s go,” and stood to leave.

  I kept my head down as we walked, but was unable to stop myself from glancing over my shoulder—searching her out—one last time when we reached the door.

  The warning glare from her friend said what I’d already told myself dozens of times—I needed to forget about her. But that would always be impossible. The need to move closer, the need to beg her to let me be someone who deserved her, told me as much.

  “I gotta get out there, Lil. Need to get on the street,” Beck mumbled the next night as he walked into my room. “You need anything before I go?”

  I glanced at him from the window seat, but went back to looking outside without responding.

  The only thing I wanted was to know more about Texas . . . something Beck knew since I’d already tried to get additional information out of him a handful of times over the last two and a half days.

  He’d stayed firm on his decision not to give me anything.

  Rather, he’d stayed loyal to Kieran by not giving me anything.

  “I told you, Lil, this life’s a burden. Be glad you don’t know,” he’d said repeatedly. “Fine, you wanna know somethin’? Kieran loves you and would do fucking anything for you. Think on that. Know and be content with that. Stop digging because that’s gonna get you nowhere, except maybe dead, and we’ve been working our asses off to keep you breathing.”

  As if I didn’t already know that.

  But that was the last time I’d asked. It was the last time I’d spoken to Beck at all.

  “Look, you wanna be pissed? Then be pissed. But don’t fucking take it out on me or Kieran.”

  A disbelieving laugh punched from my chest, my head shook slowly. “Who should I be mad at?” I gave him a wary glance. “Mickey? What’s going on disgusts me . . . but when I think about it, it doesn’t surprise me he would do something like this. It surprises me that the two of you would—that you wouldn’t put an end to it. It disappoints me. It hurts to be so ashamed of the two of you that I can barely look at you, Beck. At least with the drugs, people are seeking you out. They’re making a conscious effort to seek you out so they can put something in their bodies . . . so they can harm themselves. But those girls they’re taking? They’re innocent. They don’t want what’s happening to them and they don’t want to be ripped from their lives.”

  His shoulders fell and his mouth opened, but no response came.

  “You want to know what hurts more than knowing you both kept this from me and that you’re a part of it? It’s that this is what Kieran chose over me.”

  “He did—”

  “And it kills me that if Aric were still here, none of this would be happening,” I continued, my voice getting louder and louder. “He would’ve put an end to this as soon as he found out about it.”

  A dark laugh rumbled deep in his chest, but there was no humor behind it. A muscle in Beck’s jaw ticked, his eyes were filled with frustration. “That so, Lil?”

  “He was never afraid to challenge Mickey when he went too far—that’s why people followed and trusted him. He would’ve seen this put to an end years ago, not done whatever Mickey demanded. Kieran and I would’ve been—” My words ended with a sharp inhale as the air in the room changed, grew heavy.

  I stood from the window seat, my eyes searching just before Kieran ground out, “You should be headed to Raleigh, Beck.” His tone and expression were detached if you didn’t know him.

  But Beck and I did.

  There was an edge that warned Beck not to say anything else. And after everything I’d found out the other day, it suddenly reminded me of Mickey.

  I turned back to the window, unable to look at him anymore when that thought made my stomach roll and eyes burn with unshed tears.

  The front door slammed shut seconds later, but in that moment, I couldn’t feel bad for fighting with Beck before he went to work. I still wanted to scream at both of them and hit them until they felt the pain I experienced when Kieran had slipped up about Texas.

  But I knew it wouldn’t do any good. If they’d been working with Mickey on this for so many years—and all behind my back—nothing I said would make them stop now. />
  “Beck’s under orders, Lily. You can’t question what he’s doing. You can’t yell at him for doing what he’s told.”

  Pain speared my chest, making it difficult to breathe. “Is that an order?”

  The only warning I had before Kieran was slipping up behind me was the sound of his bag dropping to the floor just before his fingers curled around my arms and he pulled me against his chest. His hold soft but unyielding. All Kieran.

  “When have I ever given you an order?” he asked, his voice a low growl.

  I didn’t answer, because I knew I couldn’t without being hurtful.

  There had been so many times over the years when Kieran had told me not to do something in order to keep me safe, and I’d known in most of those moments he’d been right. But right then I wanted to hurl every one of those occurrences back at him.

  “Is he dead?” I asked instead. When Kieran didn’t respond, I looked over my shoulder and searched his stoic eyes. “The man in Texas . . . is he dead?”

  “No.”

  “W-what? Why? I don’t—I don’t understand why you would be sent—”

  “Mickey wants him alive,” he said simply, firmly. The conversation was over.

  I hated knowing what Kieran did for Mickey . . . for Holloway. I hated knowing he’d been trained his entire life to be this person, so much so that he was Nightshade and Nightshade was him.

  In all the years I had known him, I’d never wanted him to come home, knowing he’d just ended someone’s life.

  But over the last days I’d been anxious for the time I’d wake to him slipping into bed, anxious to have the confirmation that the man in Texas was no longer living—no longer taking and hurting stolen women.

  Knowing that Kieran had left him alive left a sinking feeling deep in my gut.

  I tried to turn in his arms to fully look at him, but his grip tightened, preventing me from facing him—as he always did. Tearing out of his hold, I whirled on him, my voice a soft rasp as I tried desperately to hold back the tears. “Mickey wants him alive? And you just do whatever Mickey wants, don’t you?”

  Kieran’s eyes hardened. His jaw clenched. That monster inside him flickered to life.

  “What about me, Kieran? What about you? What about what we want?”

  He slowly backed up to lean against the dresser, his shoulders lifting slightly. “It’s not that simple.”

  “It is. It can be. But you refuse to let it be.” Tears burned my eyes and my throat tightened when I reminded him, “That man buys stolen women. You had a chance to end him, and you didn’t take it.”

  I studied his cold, unapologetic expression as he watched me from across the room. My anger and resentment built as he continued to stand there without a hint of remorse. Without a hint of regret for pushing us further apart with each passing day.

  Then again, he couldn’t regret what he didn’t know . . . what he didn’t understand.

  It didn’t matter that our relationship had been straining—cracking—under the knowledge of his deceit when he’d left just days before . . . Kieran didn’t linger on arguments or tears once they ended.

  He loved me. Fiercely. But he couldn’t see what was emotionally broken because he wasn’t wired that way—because he was too focused on keeping me physically safe.

  I laughed, but it sounded pained. “I don’t know why I’m surprised,” I whispered as I stepped to the side, nearly crumbling from the weight of my agonizing pain and grief. “Why wouldn’t you keep him alive? You’ve had years worth of chances to get us out of here, and you’ve chosen Mickey every time.”

  I caught sight of Kieran’s hardened façade falling just before I turned for the bathroom, but I hadn’t made it past the bed before his strong hands grasped my arms to haul me back into his embrace.

  “Chosen Mickey?” Kieran asked roughly, his lips brushing my ear. “I’d choose a grave before I ever chose him over you.”

  “And yet, he’s who you answer to,” I said through my tightened throat, my words soft and laced with pain. “He’s why you do what you do. He’s why we’re here.”

  “Lily . . .” My name was agony as it climbed up his throat. A strangled noise followed before he dropped his forehead to my shoulder and tightened his grip on my arms. “Why can’t you see?” he asked, the words nearly too low to hear.

  “Why can’t you?” I choked out as the tears slipped free. Once again, I tried to turn in his arms but was unable to move.

  A lifetime of knowing Kieran. A lifetime of loving him. And throughout all those years, there had been one thing he’d always refused to give me—refused to tell me. One thing I still silently begged for.

  For him to hold me while looking into my eyes.

  “See me,” I begged. “See what you’re doing.”

  “I’m protecting you. Ev—”

  “You’re breaking my heart,” I cried. “You’re destroying us.”

  “Lily,” he said on a harsh breath. His hands loosened but didn’t release me. We stood like that in silence for long moments until he whispered, “Everything I have ever done has been for you. Everything.”

  I didn’t hear him leave. I only felt the emptiness of the house once he was gone.

  I usually went to sleep alone, and stayed that way unless Kieran was able to come home. But he’d never walked away from me for any reason other than work, so I’d spent the night pacing the room, waiting for him.

  He hadn’t come back.

  It’d made for a long night and was the reason I was in the kitchen waiting for water to boil for coffee when Beck got home at four.

  Beck’s and Conor’s laughs were unmistakable, and caused a smile to tug at my mouth, despite my frustrations with Beck. But the third laugh that joined in a second later made me pause.

  Rough and low, foreign—almost as though he didn’t laugh often and wasn’t sure how. But that sound was my childhood. That sound was everything before Aric’s death. That sound was something I had fallen in love with.

  I found myself walking closer to the front door, trying to keep my steps as silent as Kieran’s in hopes I would hear another laugh before he realized I was on the other side of the wall.

  But when I finally got close enough to hear their conversation, the humor was gone.

  “. . . no one else I can trust with this,” Kieran said.

  “But Lil,” Conor said after a few seconds, his voice hesitant. “We’ve never—”

  “You think I don’t fucking know that?” Kieran growled, his tone toeing the line between Kieran and Nightshade. “But if this meeting is happening tonight, it can’t be missed.”

  “It’s happening,” Beck confirmed.

  “I’m working with Mickey tonight,” Kieran said after a few seconds, sounding defeated. “Beck’s with us before he hits the streets—and that’s during the time of the meeting. There’s no one else.”

  There was a heavy sigh then Beck said, “Lil never comes out here. She only talks to you if you go inside. She won’t realize you’re gone.”

  “Can’t I tell her I’m getting her ice cream or something?” Conor asked, pleading.

  The silence that followed his question was answer enough for both him and me.

  “I’m not going to be able to look at her today,” he said with a groan. “I’ll tell her if I do. I don’t know how to leave her unprotected during my shift.”

  “It’s not your shift,” Kieran said. “It’s mine. It’s always mine. I’m the one leaving her unprotected.”

  The guilt in his voice slammed into me, stealing my breath.

  I grabbed at my aching chest, but when Beck started talking again, a low, warning whistle began in the kitchen.

  I rushed through the living room into the kitchen as quietly as possible, and turned off the stove just as the kettle’s scream sounded through the house—alerting the guys that I was awake.

  Forcing myself to breathe slowly, steadily, I scooped coffee into the French press, then poured water in to let it brew.
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  I’d just grabbed a mug a few minutes later when the door opened and Beck’s heavy steps filled the house.

  I glanced up to ask if he wanted coffee, but paused, sucking in a sharp breath when strong, familiar arms wrapped around my waist.

  “Why are you awake?” he asked in that rough tone as he rested his forehead on the back of my head.

  “Couldn’t sleep.” I set the mug down to grip the edge of the counter. “Where were you?”

  Why didn’t you come back?

  Where did you sleep?

  Why did you let the mob get between us?

  Why can’t you see that it is?

  “Outside with Conor.”

  His answer surprised me. I was sure he would’ve gone back to his old room in the main house. Or Conor’s room in Soldier’s Row. Anywhere to sleep after such a long job.

  “All night?”

  “Where else would I go?” I didn’t need for him to say the rest. I’d heard it for years. I need to make sure you’re safe.

  What Kieran was saying, and what he had done last night, made the conversation I’d just overheard that much more confusing.

  Since that night, I’d never been without one of the guys watching me, guarding me. And now there was a meeting happening tonight that was so important Kieran would pull Conor away from watching me.

  But not important enough that Mickey would go.

  Or could go . . .

  And in that moment, I knew that whatever this meeting was—wherever Conor was going—I needed to go there too.

  “You could’ve done that from inside the house,” I mumbled as I grabbed the mug and reached for the French press.

  Kieran released me only to grab and still my hands.

  “I plan to. From our bed.”

  As I said, Kieran didn’t linger on arguments or tears once they ended . . . because he couldn’t comprehend emotional damage.

  “Kieran,” I began warily, but paused when his hands tightened around mine.

  “Everything, Lily . . . everything I do is for you. See that,” he pleaded hoarsely. “Fucking see that.”