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The underground fighting taught me many things. How to take a punch. How to deliver one with lethal precision. How to put a man down and make sure he stays there.

I'll put those skills to use. For Maeve. For Conor.

CHAPTER6

MAEVE

Ipace the safe house living room, checking my watch for the twentieth time in an hour. Declan left five hours ago. No call. No text. Nothing. I don't even think he has my number this all happened so fast.

Through the window, I watch darkness settle over Dublin. The city lights twinkle in the distance, so normal, so peaceful. A stark contrast to the chaos in my head.

"Mom?" Conor stands in the doorway, hair tousled. "Can we go home now?"

My heart breaks at the hope in his voice. "Not yet, honey."

"When?"

"We need to wait for them to fix the windows, it might take a little while." I cross the room and smooth his hair. "Are you hungry?"

He nods, and I take him to the kitchen. The third drawer down catches my eye—the one with the gun. I steer Conor away from the drawers to the other side of the cabinets.

The refrigerator has basic staples: eggs, milk, bread, cheese. Nothing fancy, but enough to work with, and way more than we have left in ours at home. I make Conor a grilled cheese sandwich, trying to act like this is completely normal.

"Who is that man?" Conor asks through a mouthful of sandwich.

I freeze, spatula in hand. The question I don't want to answer.

"His name is Declan," I answer. "He's... an old friend."

"Is he your boyfriend?"

"No." The denial comes fast. Too fast.

"Then why are we at his house?"

I turn away, busying myself with wiping down the counter. "The windows at home are broken, we can't stay there until it's been fixed, and all the glass tidied up."

"Is he a superhero?"

I laugh. "No, honey. He's just a man."

A dangerous man. A man I once loved with every fiber of my being. A man who left me pregnant and alone. A monster.

"Do you hate him?"

I stop wiping. "Why do you ask that?"

"You look mad when you talk about him."

Out of the mouths of babes. I sit across from Conor, resting my chin on my hand. "It's complicated, sweetie."

"Grown-ups always say that."

"We say it because it's true." I reach across the table and take his hand.

"Complicated, just means you don't want to tell me stuff."

"Declan and I were important to each other, long ago."