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22

STAR

“Finn says Dagda’s awake.”

Moving the pillow off my shoulder, I squinted at him as I yawned. “Talking? Or just awake?”

“Finn knows what your intentions are. He wouldn’t have texted me with the update otherwise.”

Rubbing my hands over my face, I mumbled, “Did you catch any sleep?”

“Some. Worked on securing the gun permit for Liam. Did you manage to put any pressure on the Rabid Wolves before you crashed?”

That was when I remembered where I was—one of Conor’s desks. Well, my desk now.

That was why my back hurt like fuck, and he must have been the reason for the pillow.

Stretching my arms wide open, I wriggled to right some of the cricks in my spine, mumbling, “I asked Nyx for any recent intel and informed the Canada Revenue Agency that they hadn’t been declaring all their income on one of their more popular bars.”

He chuckled. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

I winked at him. “I’ll do worse to you if you do. That’s the cost of being loved by me.”

“Hey, that’s not fair,” he argued.

“It’s plenty fair. I love you, ergo you have the power to hurt me more.”

“True.” His nose crinkled. “Okay, Dagda. We going?”

“What time’s our flight?”

“We still have four hours before we need to be at the private airfield.”

“Oh, plenty of time then.” I yawned again then stretched some.

“You’re not as eager as I thought you’d be to meet him. Haven’t you been waiting for this for years?”

I shrugged. “I’m not the same woman as back then.”

“Why? Because you’re still pissed at your mom?”

“That plays a part in it, but not all. I’m just… different. ”

He made no comment other than to dip down and pull out an energy drink from the fridge he kept under my desk.

Frowning at the sight, I drawled, “That won’t make up for good sleep.”

“Like you can judge,” he teased as he tossed me a can too.

I settled it on the desk. “I sleep some . That’s more than you. You do too much, Conor. I did half of what I had to do tonight because of you. So thank you for that.”

His yawn cracked his jaw. “Come on, let’s get this shit with Dagda over with.”

I took the can with me as we headed downstairs and opened the tab when I thought it wouldn’t blow up in my face.

Conor set the GPS to our location and I jumped behind the wheel of a more fitting Mob ride—an SUV tank that would have served us well in the sandbox.

Thanks to it being four in the morning, traffic was quieter than usual. We got to the building in short order and there was a Pointer waiting to get behind the wheel so he could park it for us.

Oddly enough, the building was in the center of the city, not on the outskirts, and it appeared to be a now-defunct mall.

We were quiet as we headed inside, and I grimaced at the black-site hospital which was located next to a water feature and between two non-functioning escalators.

The ward's walls were made of thick, heavy-duty plastic that was shaped like a cube so Dagda was enclosed in a sterile environment.

Because it was transparent, I could see him sitting up in his hospital bed, his chest covered in blood-stained bandages, which told me his wounds were still leaking.

“Infection?” I inquired.

Conor hummed.

I cut him a look, saw the exhaustion in his eyes, and silently promised him we’d sleep on the flight over the Atlantic. No way in fuck was I letting him head to the funeral tomorrow as tired as he was now.

It was a weird feeling caring about his well-being. Not because he didn’t deserve it, but because I’d never felt that way about a man before. I guessed I had with Maverick; however, it wasn’t like this .

I wanted to cup Conor’s cheek and press a kiss to his eyelids.

I wanted to get into bed with him, to make sure that he slept.

I wanted mushy shit. Mushy when I’d never let myself get like that before.

I didn’t know if it was a weakness or a strength, which put me on edge, but I had to trust that it’d work itself out in the end.

Loving Conor was the simplest thing I’d ever done, but that didn’t mean complications wouldn’t arise from it as a result.

I was prepared for those complications, and that was all I could do.

“You’re staring.”

I hitched a shoulder. “You look tired.”

“I am.” He rubbed his eyes. “Ma mentioned something that got my mind racing and it made getting into the Canadian gun registry harder than it should have been.”

“What did she mention?”

“Match-fixing.”

When he gave me no other context, I rubbed his arm. “I need sleep too. We’ll get some rest on the plane.”

Quickening my pace because I wanted this interview over with, I made my way to the makeshift ward in the abandoned mall with him at my back.

A nurse in scrubs opened a zipper from inside the cube and shot us both disapproving glowers before she took her leave.

Dagda wasn’t wearing an oxygen mask, but he had it piped up his nose. His face wasn’t cut up any, but his chest was a maze of gunshot wounds.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” I drawled unsympathetically.

His eyes flickered open, and there was curiosity there. No fear. Intriguing . “Lodestar,” he greeted.

“My reputation precedes me?”

“No, you’re too much like your mother.” Eyes drooping, he chuckled under his breath. “You mean to tell me that I survived that fucking mess only to meet my end in this hellhole?”

I knew what he meant—black-site hospitals were the worst. The security vulnerabilities made it hard to rest and recuperate which was a vicious cycle because that was the only way you’d get out of the ward.

“I made a deal with your niece. I’m not going to kill you, Dagda. But I want answers.”

His expression was disbelieving. “What kind of answers do you think I have?”

“My mother was a Jorgmundgander hit?”

He tensed. “She was.”

“And she died?”

That had his brow puckering. “What kind of question is that?”

Conor cleared his throat. “Someone led us to believe that Star’s mother might be alive.”

Dagda frowned. “Impossible.”

“How do you know?” I insisted.

“You want the details?”

“I want whatever you, as an ally of the Five Points, can give me.”

Dagda flicked a look at Conor. “She’s yours?”

Conor merely dipped his chin.

Though the question pissed me off, I knew why he asked.

“Got her in the throat.” He sighed. “Watched her die through my scope.”

I thought back to that traumatic day at the funeral home. It had started with an argument because Dad hadn't wanted me there. Then, I'd seen her and I'd understood why he'd tried to protect me.

Mom didn't have it in her to be still. But she was.

Her skin was faintly clammy when I'd pressed my lips to her forehead, with a smooth, porcelain-like texture that had felt fake. There'd been no color on her cheeks aside from an unnatural blush.

I remembered Dad had the undertakers put her in her favorite sweater and jeans. He'd said she'd be more comfortable like that.

Had they dressed her in a turtleneck to hide her wounds?

It made more sense than using reconstructive makeup.

Mind stuck in the past, I loomed above Dagda, stuck a thumb over the bloodied spot on one of his bandages, and pressed down.

His heart rate increased to the point that the machine started beeping, but he only clenched his jaw.

“No way she could have survived.”

“You sure about that?”

He gritted his teeth when I didn’t let up, but he didn’t shove my hand away, didn’t try to stop me. “I’m positive. 100%. I watched her pass.”

The nurse from earlier tried to rush in, but Conor blocked her as he reasoned softly, “Star.”

Disregarding his warning, I maintained my stare into Dagda’s eyes. Not relenting until I was certain he wasn’t bullshitting me.

Only then did I pull back.

“You’ve no idea why Jorgmundgander targeted her?”

“I wasn’t in on the decision-making process,” he rasped, gaze darting to his blanket-covered knees. “I was a tool. Nothing more.”

Blood-stained hand held high, I retreated. I grabbed the corner of his bedsheet as the nurse busied herself around him, glowering at me as she ministered to her patient while I wiped the blood onto his coverings.

“Though I promised your niece that I wouldn’t kill you—” The nurse gasped but I ignored her. “—if I leave this room and find out you have lied to me, I won’t be afraid to break that promise. Understood?”

His nostrils flared, further exposing the tubes that supplied him with oxygen. “Understood," he croaked. "I’m an ally now. We’re on the same goddamn side.”

“So long as you remember that, we’re good.”

He dipped his chin as I made my way to the cube’s point of entry.

Once I left the sterile environment, I breathed a little easier, turning on my heel to study the mall and its many, many security risks.

“You didn’t have a better place to hospitalize him?”

Conor shrugged at my question. “No idea. Finn tends to be the one who deals with this.”

“Why Finn?”

“He’s the money man. You think this shit comes cheap?”

I thought about the equipment they used, never mind the medical care they’d require. “True.” I studied a movie poster from two years ago. “You didn’t approve of my methods.”

He arched a brow. “Killing him at that point would have served no purpose. I was just warning you to pull back before you took it too far.”

I shoved my hands into my pockets as I twisted around to look at him. “You’re a spy’s perfect boyfriend, aren’t you?”

A sparkle lit up his tired eyes. “I’ve been called many things in my time, but not that.”

“Remind me to get you a mug made up with it for Christmas then, hmm?”

His grin hit me in all the good places, places that only existed because of him.

When he pressed his lips to mine in a quick peck, I laughed as he mumbled against my mouth, “I’ll remind you. Don’t worry.”