Page 26 of Killaney Blood

"Fine," I say firmly. "But patch-ups only. Nothing else. No bullshit. And you don't come here again. Actually, you never come here. Ever."

His lips curve into a victorious smile.

"You make it so inviting, it'll be hard to resist that, but fine," he says, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a sleek black phone. "Here. Keep this with you at all times. I'll only call when you're needed. Answer. No matter the time."

I take the phone.

Our fingers brush.

Shit.

I don't trust this man. Not even for a second.

But for once, he's offering something I might actually need.

And I'll be damned if I don't take it on my terms.

"Okay," I say and follow him out.

"Sweet dreams, Lyra," he says without looking back as he walks away. "Remember to always answer."

I shut the door and lean back against it.

I've made a deal with the devil.

Six months. That's all. I've handled worse.

But something tells me he's going to make me pay for every second.

10

LYRA

The apartment is silent except for the occasional creak of a pipe or stomp from my upstairs neighbor.

I stare down at the plastic tray in front of me.

I haven't taken a single bite. The smell of processed meat and artificial gravy turns my stomach, but I bought it, so I should eat it. Wasting food is a luxury I can't afford.

I fork the mashed potatoes and the whole pile almost lifts off the plate, so that's not helping.

I push another pea around the small black TV tray compartment and suddenly I hear a voice I haven't heard in a long time.

"You gonna eat those?"

I blink, and suddenly I'm not in my shitty apartment anymore. I'm on the floor next to a cot in a windowless room with gray walls and a woman sitting across from me, her knees tucked into her chest.

"No," I say, handing the plate to her. "Take them."

She doesn't hesitate. Her fingers scoop the peas into her mouth, one by one at first, then all at once.

Her name's Sabrina. She's been here before. Her fourth miscarriage, and I've had to help her through. I'm worried they'll get rid of her since she can't produce a baby, but maybe there's hope. Maybe she has other skills. I'm still here.

"Do you want more? I can see if I can get you something?" I ask her.

She shakes her head. "Yeah, but, I mean, I don't want you to get in trouble."

"No trouble," I lie. I never really know what gets me in trouble. Sometimes I ask and they give. Other times, I get hit. It depends on the day. The mood. The man I'm asking.