Page 123 of King of Pain

“Ronan Kelly is dead. Heart attack. The head of the Black Crows is gone, Chance.”

I exhale sharply, gripping the counter as my stomach tightens. I need to be sure this is the right move, though. “What does that mean, though, Murph? The Black Crows still exist, right? Blood debts and all—”

“Yes, he interrupts. But Ronan was old guard, Chance. He was the one who wanted blood over what happened with your father.”

I let out a short breath. “Yeah, I’m well aware.”

Murph continues, “Turns out, his new second-in-command—the guy that moved up ranks to replace your dad—is Mickey Doyle. He’s an old friend of your mom’s from high school.”

I frown. “Yeah, she mentioned him a few times. Just get to the point, Murph.”

Murph chuckles and says “Here’s the thing—Mickey and your mom were high school sweethearts before she met your dad. He hated your father, Chance. Even before everything went down, he couldn’t stand him. And now that Ronan’s gone, Mickey’s in charge. He’s the one calling the shots.”

I sink down into the chair, my mind spinning. “Holy shit.”

Murph exhales. “Yeah. I met with him this morning. He’s given the order—you are not to be touched. That includes anyone you care about. And Chance… he told me to tell you he’s sorry about your mom.” I blow out a breath, and Murph continues, “He said that if you hadn’t done what you had, he would have done it himself. He’s just sorry he wasn’t even aware your mom was gone by the time you handled things.”

I lean back, dragging a hand through my hair. “Oh my God, Murph. I can’t believe it.”

His voice remains steady. “Believe it. And since the cops in your dad’s precinct were too busy covering things up, there’s no evidence left on any of it. Mickey’s orders extend to them too—half of them are Crows anyway. But listen, Chance, I’d stay out of Boston.”

I shake my head. “Yeah, no. I’m never going back. I promised her.”

Rubbing my hands over my face, I hesitate.

“Murph—”

“Already handled,” he cuts in. “Pack your things tonight. A car will be there in the morning. The driver will have a new phone and cash for you. The passcode is your mom’s birthday. There’s a text on it from me with your flight info. He’ll take you straight to the airport. By this time tomorrow, you’ll be in Arizona. We’re putting you up in a hotel until we secure a place for you.”

A tear slips down my cheek, my heart squeezing. “Thank you, Murph. For… fuck, foreverything.”

“Don’t mention it, man. You would’ve done the same.”

I let out a slow, shaky breath. “Murph, there are some paintings here. They mean a lot to me. Can you have someone pack them up and ship them out?”

“Of course. Now go get your man.”

I hang up, gripping the phone in my hand, my heart pounding in my ears. I’m glad I shared that private part of myself—my sexuality and Ant—with Murph back when everything fell apart. I need to find a way to thank Murph for all he’s done.

But right now? Right now, only one thought pulses through me:I need to get to Ant. He’ll probably want nothing to do with me—but I have to try. I need to see him.

TRACK FORTY•FIVE

Hello Again

Anthony

I know that ass. I’d know that ass anywhere.

I stand frozen in the middle of the karaoke bar, drink forgotten in my hand as my gaze locks onto the thick backside of the man at the bar. The place is a cozy pub in midtown Phoenix—wooden tables, tall ceilings, and warm lighting bouncing off the aged wood floors. The buzz of conversation and the occasional off-key singing fill the air, but all of it fades into the background as I stare, my pulse thudding in my ears.

Jen dragged me out tonight against my will, as usual. She claimed I needed a night out, and I gave in, mostly because I knew she wouldn’t let up. Lexi and her husband Beau are here, too, along with Jen’s friend and coworker, Spencer—also an attorney. Spence is a model-level gorgeous twunk, and Jen tried to set us up a couple years ago. He’s a good guy, but there’s nothing there beyond friendship. He’s a little too buttoned-up for my taste. Still, he fits in well with our group, keeping the conversation lively with hisverysharp quick wit.

I should be paying attention to the chatter around me, but all I can do is stare at the man at the bar. My stomach twists with awareness as my fingers tighten around my glass.

The arrival of Butters draws attention around me. People recognize my pro football quarterback friend immediately, offering high-fives as he makes his way to our group. Butters grins and greets Jen before turning to Spence, who he hasn’t met yet.

“Butters, this is Spencer,” Jen says. I see her gesturing between them from the corner of my eye. “He’s also an attorney at the firm. Spencer, this is Ryan Buterbaugh, but we call him Butters.”