“Good. Assholes.”
Tate knelt beside Scotty. “You all right, O’Brien?”
“Yeah.” I struggled to sit up, blinking away the lingering blurry vision. “I’m good.”
“What happened?” he asked, his attention locked on my nose.
“I stayed back to talk to Pops, and when I came outside, Scotty was surrounded by Bitter Hill guys. It was pretty clear they meant to take him out.” I glanced at Pops, who frowned at me. He probably thought I should have let them finish the job. “I jumped in and shot one. I didn’t hear the other guy come up behind me, so they took me down.”
“That right?” Tate asked Scotty.
He nodded. “Yeah. They jumped me the second I was out the door. I didn’t see them coming, so I didn’t stand a chance in fighting them off. If not for Chris, I’d be dead right now, and they’d be laughing because they won.”
“Well, they didn’t win.” Tate smiled and rocked back on his heels. “Good job, boys. Do you need that nose looked at, O’Brien?”
Scotty nodded. “He does.”
“Nah. It’s broken.” I struggled to my feet, refusing to take any of the hands that were offered to me. O’Briens didn’t need help. They took care of themselves. “All it needs is to be repositioned, and some time to heal.”
“But—” Tate’s forehead wrinkled. “You need help repositioning it, though.”
I rolled my shoulders. “I’ve got it. I’m fine.”
“All right.” Tate stared at me with respect and stood. “If you say so.”
“Damn.” Brian shook his head. “Fucking O’Briens.”
“Hey.” Pops laughed and crossed his arms over his chest. He might be pushing sixty-three, but he was still harder than a wall. “I’m right here.”
“Yeah, I know.” Brian walked past him. “And you’re all insane.”
I forced a grin. “We’re just tough. I got this. I had worse before I could even walk.”
“Yeah.” Scotty frowned at Pops. “We know.”
Pops shifted on his feet. “Always was a clumsy kid.”
“Come on.” Scotty side-eyed me. “Let’s get you home so we can set the bones properly. Are you good with this mess, sir?”
“Assholes.” Tate glowered at the corpse at his feet and kicked it. “Yeah. Go ahead. We’ll clean this up, and send Bitter Hill a nice little message back.”
I gave Tate a nod and walked with Scotty to his Escalade. The second I was in the passenger seat, I pulled the visor down and looked in the mirror. Bruises were already forming all across my cheekbones, in browns and yellows, and my septum was clearly crooked. It would need to be reset and taped.
Molly was going to flip her shit when she saw me.
Scotty got into the car and started it, not speaking. I poked at the side of my nose, cringing when it sent a throbbing shaft of pain piercing through my skull. “Son of a bitch.”
“You look awful.”
“Thanks,” I said dryly.
“Anytime.” He started the car and backed out almost immediately, stealing glances at me every so often as he steered toward the exit of the parking lot. “Why did you do it?”
I poked the left side of my nose. It hurt just as bad as the right. I took a deep breath through it. I could, so that was a good sign. “Why did I do what?”
“Save me.” He pulled onto the highway, his white knuckles moving on the wheel. “You could have let them kill me, and no one would know. Or you could have taken me out, blamed them, and been free. You didn’t have to do that. Save me.”
“I told you. I know what I’m supposed to do now. I know it sounds stupid, but I want to help. From the inside.” I closed the visor and shrugged. “I want to make the city cleaner, too.”
“Bullshit,” Scotty said, snorting.
I didn’t say anything back.
“You’re kidding, right?” he asked.
Again, I said nothing.
Scotty stared at me for so long I shifted in my seat.
“Dude. Watch the fucking road,” I snapped.
Scotty slammed his gaze back to the windshield. “You continue to surprise me, Chris.”
“Yeah. I’m good at that,” I muttered.
“Thank you.”
I nodded once, not meeting his eyes. I was as uncomfortable with thanks as I was with mercy. I didn’t know either one. “Whatever. I was just doing my job.”
Scotty stepped on the gas and flexed his jaw. “And what, exactly, is your job?”
“Keep you alive. Give you reliable intel. Hide your secret at all costs.” I tapped my fingers on the door, right next to the window. My nose hurt like a bitch, and all I wanted was Molly’s sweet touch to make it all better. “Keep my mouth shut.”
“At all costs?” Scotty stiffened. “What the hell does that mean?”
I closed my eyes. “Exactly what it sounds like it means. That I’ll do what has to be done to keep you breathing.”
“Why is it so important to you I stay alive?”
“Why the fuck do you think it’s important?” I snapped. “You’re Lucas’s baby brother.”
I watched the restaurant we passed off the highway. A man in a blue dress shirt, black trousers, and suspenders came out holding a little girl’s hand. She looked up at the man with so much love you could literally feel her adoration in your chest. It was warm, and it spread slowly, taking over until suddenly you felt happy for no fucking reason at all, just watching it.
“Yeah.” Scotty switched lanes and stepped on the gas. “And?”
“And I’m going to keep you alive, no matter what I have to do.” I ran my fingers over my nose again. “Is that going to be a problem?”
“No.” Scotty shook his head and let out a long breath. “But you know you don’t owe anything to Lucas, right?”
I froze, my hand hovering in front of my face. I’d only told one person I felt like I did, and I didn’t like to think she was spilling information to the Boys, but he had to have heard that somewhere. “Who said I thought I did?”
“No one.” He pulled off the exit that led toward the Cape—toward my Molly. “I’m just taking guesses. Something tells me I hit too close to home for you.”
“You don’t know shit,” I snapped.
“How far are you willing to go to keep me alive?” he asked quietly.
“As far as I need to go,” I said quickly.
“Back there, at the clubhouse, it was almost as if you were trying to make Tate suspect you.” He stole a quick look my way. “Like you wanted him to think you were playing him, or me, or both.”
I lifted a shoulder. “Why would I do that? If he thinks I’m a narc, he’ll kill me.”
“Yeah.” His fingers tightened. “You keep playing games like that, and he’ll start thinking you’re the Boy, not me.”
I said nothing to that.
“I had guys out there, you know.” He glanced at me. “Listening in. If it got too bad, they would have come out. I always have a team with me. So . . . be careful next time. Don’t do anything stupid to save me.”
My jaw dropped. “‘If it got too bad?’ That looked pretty fucking bad to me. What were they waiting for before jumping in to help you? A handwritten invitation signed by the president?”
“I had it under control. I have a code word. Once I say my word, they’ll come out of the woodwork. They’re everywhere. Places you’d never—” He gripped the wheel. “Never mind. You don’t need to know how it all works, but I’m just trying to tell you not to endanger yourself too badly next time. I’ve got guys for that.”
“I thought that was a fed thing.” I narrowed my eyes. “Not a cop thing.”
“I never said I was a Boy, did I?” He shifted his hands on the wheel. “You assumed that’s what I was, and so did Lucas. But I never said those words.”
> Well, shit. That changed things. If he was a fed, he had men in vans watching his every move. And that meant anything they saw me do . . . was now on record. “Shit.”
Scotty didn’t say anything.
“Are you going to tell me what you are?”
Scotty let out a breath. “Does it really matter?”
“What happens if Tate makes you?”
“We’ve got stuff in place for that, too.” Scotty swallowed. “I can’t tell you anything more than that. But I’m relatively safe, so you don’t need to worry.”
So I might not actually have to die to keep Scotty safe. Stupid, ridiculous hope flooded into my chest. If I didn’t have to die to save Scotty, if I didn’t have to sacrifice myself, I could keep Molly. I could start planning for the future—a future with her by my side. If I played my cards right, we could be happy.
In my life, I’d never once let myself think I could have that. Real happiness. But Molly, for whatever reason, seemed to accept me as I was. Flaws and all. And I certainly more than accepted her. If I wasn’t going to die . . .
Could I get that? Could I get her?
CHAPTER 22
MOLLY
A lot of hours and a bottle of wine later, I opened the front door, smiling at Mitchell as he passed through it. It was dark now, and Chris had been gone all day. “Thanks for keeping me occupied. You helped pass the time for me, and believe me, I needed that distraction.”
“Anytime.” Mitchell laid a hand on my shoulder and gave me a gentle smile. “And hey. You know I’m here for you, if you ever want to talk. I’m a good listener.”
He was. That was one of his best qualities. I placed my hand on his, squeezing. “Thanks. I—” Headlights pulled up the driveway. It was a black Escalade. “Oh God.”
Relief punched me in the chest.
That was Scotty’s car.
“What’s wrong?” Mitchell asked, frowning toward the truck.
“Nothing. It’s just . . .” I motioned toward it. “That’s him.”
“Your boyfriend?” Mitchell asked.
I let him go and nodded. “I think so. I have to—”
“I’ll go. Give you two your privacy.” He stared at the car, then me. “Be careful, though. Please.”
I blinked at him. Why would he say that now, of all times? Did he know more than he was letting on? “Of course.”
He walked past the truck, nodding at the tinted windows as he passed.
Once he was gone, Chris opened the passenger door and came out. The second I saw him, I gasped. His face was covered in blood—his blood, from what I could tell. He’d removed his shirt, but it was balled up in his fists and was clearly soaked in even more blood—not sure whose.
I lifted my hand to cover my mouth, my heart pounding so hard it was a miracle it didn’t pop right out of my chest. “Oh my God.”
Chris leaned in the car, said a few things to Scotty, closed the door, and tapped the hood of the truck as he walked toward me. His eyes were hard and angry. “Who the hell was that?”
“What happened to your nose?” I asked, ignoring him.
“A foot slammed down on it. It’s broken.” He grabbed my arm as he passed, tugging me behind him into my house. “Who the hell just left your house? He looked like a fed.”
“He’s not.” I swallowed hard, staring at what used to be his nose but was now a broken mess. “God. That looks . . . We have to take you to the hospital.”
He snorted, letting me go and urging me inside the house with a hand across my lower back. “No.”
Once we were inside, he kicked the door shut and locked it, tossed his shirt to the side, and leaned back against the door. For a second, he let his guard down, and he looked . . . tired. Like if he had to endure yet another fight, he would crumble.
And, God, I was terrified that he just might.
“Son of a—,” he said under his breath, breathing heavily. “This is gonna hurt.”
“All that blood.” I swallowed, eyeing the shirt, and stepped back. He looked so different, standing there shirtless, with blood literally all over his hands. “Is it yours?”
“No.” He gestured toward the shirt. “None of that is mine. Just the stuff on my face. Who the hell was in the house, and why was he touching you?”
“That’s just Mitchell. He lives next door. He stopped by—” I broke off and closed the distance between us. “Hey. He’s a doctor. We should ask him to look you over. You could have a concussion.”
“A doctor.” He shook his head, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “No.”
“But—”
“I said no.” He pushed off the door and caught my chin. Looking up at him, with his bloody and discolored face, sent chills down my spine. “You shouldn’t have brought him in here. What if he noticed something was off? What if he calls the Boys?”
I blinked. “The what?”
“Cops,” he said from between gritted teeth.
“Oh.” I tried to back up, but his hold on me didn’t budge. “He wouldn’t. Besides, what harm would calling the cops do? You’re not a fugitive.”
“No, but Bitter Hill might have guys on the payroll.” He let go of me and dragged a hand through his hair before stalking up the stairs. “This was supposed to be a secret, us being here. You never should have opened the fucking door.”
I followed him slowly. “He knew I was here. If I didn’t let him in, that would have raised a flag.”
“So did letting the preppy asshole in,” he snapped. He pushed into the bathroom and stood in front of the sink, staring at himself in the mirror. He slammed his hand down on the counter. “Son of a bitch.”
I flinched. “Why are you so angry?”
“Who the hell is he to you?” He stared back at me in the mirror, eyes flashing. “He looked at you like he’s fucked you—or wants to fuck you.”
“Mitchell?” I let out a nervous laugh. “I didn’t . . . no. I told you, I don’t get around much. And he was not the guy I was with—not that it’s any of your business if I was. I’m sure you weren’t a monk when we weren’t together.”
He gripped the edges of the sink, his head lowered, shoulders heaving with each breath he took. “Shit. I’m sorry. I’m being an asshole. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
He was jealous. That’s what was wrong with him. “Your nose is broken, for starters,” I said gently, taking a step toward him, trying to be okay with this whole mess. I wasn’t okay at all. Not with his broken nose. Not with the blood. “What happened?”
“Scotty got jumped outside of the club. I was the only one out there with him, so I jumped in. Got a broken nose for my efforts but took two of them down.” He gestured down to his bare chest. “The fucker that fell on me was a bleeder.”
He spoke of killing people like it was nothing.
Just another day on the job.
He killed people, yes, and I’d even seen him do it, but seeing him act like it was nothing—like those lives he took were inconsequential—it was chilling, to put it lightly. Like the lives lost didn’t matter to him at all. “Do you ever feel bad?”
“No. Why should I?” He snorted. “They were trying to kill me. It was me or them. I chose them. Would you have rather I chose me?”
“Of course not. But they were someone’s person.” I hugged myself. “A son. A father. A brother. A husband. They were someone.”
“Then they shouldn’t have been there, trying to kill me.” He locked eyes with me. “If you’re in this life, you don’t form attachments, and you don’t let people need you. All that does is lead to heartbreak and pain when you’re found dead in an alley. Why do you think I don’t date women seriously?”
If he didn’t date, what were we doing? When we were together, he acted like he cared about me. Like I was special. But his words told another story . . . and it was time I st
arted listening to those instead of what I thought his actions meant. “You’ve never been upset to lose someone?”
“Nope. Never.” He tensed, still staring at me in the mirror. “Life sucks, and then you die. The person that died goes wherever dead people go, and you’re still alive. Why bother with being sad when it won’t change a damn thing? It’s easier not to feel anything. To never love anyone or anything. Makes more sense, too.”
He gripped his nose, took a deep breath, and . . .
Snapped it back in place.
I covered my mouth, choking on bile. My stomach roiled in protest, and I backed up as more blood came gushing out of his nose. “I—I—”
Pressing my hand against my mouth more firmly, I shook my head and ran for the toilet on the other side of the bathroom. I barely hit the floor on my knees before the vomit came, Exorcist-style. Chris cursed and followed me, crouching to hold my hair out of my face. I clung to the toilet, trembling, and stared down at the contents of my stomach.
This was it.
This was my life now.
Watching my lover snap his nose back into place after casually telling me I meant nothing to him—and never would. He knelt behind me, smoothing my hair out of my face. The same hand that had killed two men and had snapped his nose into place was gently holding my hair.
It was too much. It was all too much.
I gripped the toilet harder, trembling for another reason now. My entire body ached and hurt, but it was nothing in comparison to my heart. “I can’t do this. I can’t . . .”
“Shh.” He reached past me, closed the lid, and flushed. “I’m sorry. I should have warned you. I didn’t know you were squeamish. You helped patch me up the other day, so I didn’t even think.”
I closed my eyes, breathing heavily. I still couldn’t catch my breath. It hurt more than I’d have ever thought possible, but it was time to end this. “Chris.”
He hugged me from behind, his arms around me secure. And so tender it hurt. “It’s okay. You don’t have to. Go downstairs. I’ll finish up in here, and when I’m done, we can have dinner. It’s—”
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