Page 23 of Killaney Blood

Frank looks bothered. Too bad.

"You're serious?"

"Dead serious. Tell him to figure it out."

"Fuck, Lyra. He's, you know, he'll make you regret shit like this," Frank says.

"I've regretted a lot of things," I reply, turning back to my patient. "This won't even make the list."

He takes another step closer and for a moment, I think he might grab me, out of fear for himself, or me. But he turns and walks out, shutting the door behind him.

Screw it. I can't think about it any longer; I've got work to do.

I finally get Nick's bleeding under control and his people come and take him.

The rest of the night drags on. Broken noses. Dislocated fingers. An idiot who tried to fight with a fractured rib.

By the time it's over, I'm soaked in blood, sweat, and exhaustion.

Frank hands me an envelope on my way out. It's bigger than usual.

"What's this?" I ask, already knowing.

"Your cut," he says. "Told you bigger tournaments are a bitch, but the pay's nice."

I pocket it without counting. The amount doesn't matter. What matters is that I'm being paid fairly and not being owned.

"Can I give you some advice?" Frank asks.

I nod.

"Killaney won't take shit like that lying down. I'm not saying it’s right, but that envelope can get lighter if his men lose, you catch my drift?"

I bite my tongue because I want to speak my mind, but Frank gave me a shot; he's my boss, so I breathe through it.

"Hey, I'm not trying to make you upset. I want you to do well. Just telling you how it is, and my hands are tied if things go south with him."

"Thanks Frank, I’ll keep that in mind. Have a good night."

"You too, Lyra."

I get outside and the night air is still. I make my way over to my crappy car and stick the key in and unlock the door.

I throw my bag on the passenger seat and my car starts on the second try, a record. I drive in silence, thinking about what Frank said, with anger and subtle hints of understanding running through my mind.

When I get home, I toss my keys onto the counter, take off my boots, and peel off my clothes in the hallway. The shower takes forever to heat up, of course, but when the steam finally starts to rise, I feel like I can finally breathe again and scrub the night off me.

As I’m washing myself, I can’t help but think about him. I mean, why is he always asking for me? Showing up, demanding my help for little things. I’m a medic for everyone, not just him. He's borderline bullying me at this point always in my face about something.

Ugh, I just want some peace.

I get out, wrap myself in a towel, and sit on the couch. I lay my head back and stare at the ceiling. I've been doing that a lot lately.

I close my eyes and drift off into sleep.

I hear a noise and my eyes shoot open. I'm in that dream state where you're not sure if you actually heard something or it was a dream.

What was that?