Page 10

Chapter Ten

L orcan and ten other men hover around vans and SUVs two blocks from The Cage. Even though we’ve been running errands together for weeks, this area is new to me because it’s in O’Malley territory. Being here causes my heart to beat an irregular rhythm. Sometimes I fear I’ll have a heart attack from trying to control my outward appearance while my insides go haywire. I need to dump the note in my pocket. There’s no way to know what it says with this many people near, and keeping it is too risky. Taking it out, I crumple it. On the way past a garbage can, I drop the paper in.

As we approach, Lorcan’s focus homes in on me. He moves aside and jerks his head for me to position myself next to him. I slip in beside him and survey the others, wondering how to bring up Finn’s sudden appearance in Newport.

As though he senses my unease, Lorcan’s focus turns to me. “Finn followed you.” His lips twitch with amusement.

I narrow my eyes. “You knew?”

“It’s why I let you go alone. Figured my incompetence would lure him into action.” He winks, and smugness leaks out of him.

Anger sparks in me, but I can’t say anything. He doesn’t know he could have gotten me killed. And, if he knew why, he’d kill me himself.

“Smart.” I mirror his half smile. “He certainly fell for it.”

He smirks at me and then focuses on everyone else. “Right.” Lorcan raises his voice above the din of the men. “We’re negotiating a joint venture. Do not shoot anyone unless we’re fired on first. Does everyone understand?” His Boston accent is back in full force.

There are murmurs through the crowd, but no one dares to speak up. I frown as I listen to Lorcan organize the men according to weapons and skills. It’s not an attack, but he’s planning for the tide to turn. Considering the O’Malleys are suspected in the death of his father, this deal is unbelievable.

“Why them?” I ask Lorcan while the other men check weapons and talk amongst themselves.

“Money is money. Money. Power. They’re the only two things that matter.”

“This deal would be that lucrative? You think they might have murdered your father.”

The intensity in his eyes sears me. “You’re questioning me?”

I flush and glance away.

Taking my chin in his hand, he brings my face back to him. I grit my teeth.

“You don’t question me.”

“Understood.” I push the word out. “Won’t happen again.” Knowing me, it’ll happen several more times. Carys let me say whatever I wanted. Becoming the silent spectator without an opinion is going to be difficult, maybe impossible.

He releases my chin. Out of the corner of my eye, Antonio smirks. My fingers itch to reach for my gun and put him in his place on the ground.

With a sweeping motion of his arm, Lorcan gets us moving. We approach the door of the club like a mob. He’s front and center. I’m on his right side, Antonio on his left, and everyone else placed behind us. Lorcan may not trust the O’Malleys, but he’s still putting himself on the front lines. Is it impressive or stupid?

The door is black steel. Lorcan knocks, and a small door opens in the center. He passes through a piece of paper, and I mourn the note I threw out. If I’m searched here, having that paper could have been deadly. Malik isn’t usually careless, but there’s no way to be sure. Whatever was on the note is lost until I see him again.

Lorcan enters first. Stupid . It’s not brave.

I follow close at his back, fingers hovering over the gun at my side that’s easiest to access and best concealed. It’s tiny, but it gets the job done if I have to fire in a hurry.

As soon as I’m through, the crowd of well-built men greeting us sets my heart racing. My gaze flicks around the entry, trying to take in as much as I can as fast as possible.

What the hell is this? In the middle of the warehouse is an enormous cage. The limp body of a slight, but muscular man is being dragged out of the fenced area by two men dressed in red with the words Cleanup Crew emblazoned on their backs. Is he dead or unconscious?

Hundreds of people are sitting in bleachers. There are tellers off to the right with a big sign indicating the fighters, the odds, and the bets placed.

“What’s doin?” Derry O’Malley ambles to us out of the crowd.

His hair is thinning, and his stomach protrudes from his middle like a beach ball. He’s not quite as tall as me, but he’s broader, as though he might have been a fighter years ago. Definitely past his prime. While Lorcan has an air of danger around him, Derry seems slippery, slimy even.

Lorcan rolls his shoulders and extends his hand. “Wicked busy night.”

Derry takes his hand and peers over his shoulder at the cage. He smirks. “Business is good. Hope it’s better after our chat.” He acknowledges a few of the other men in the group, and then he zeroes in on me. “You bringing chicks with you now?”

I tense, prepared for Lorcan to be dismissive.

“Derry, this is Kim. She’s my everything person, and you better give her the same respect you show my boys.”

His emphasis on the phrase Carys used threatens to crack my stone-faced facade. I swallow the smile.

Derry’s dark eyes skim over me again, narrowing. “Understood.” Annoyance is clear in his tone. The O’Malleys are notorious for their terrible treatment of women. “All the same, I’d rather deal with you or your boys.”

“You want a deal, you play nice with whoever the hell I send.” Lorcan’s voice is tight.

Derry grimaces and stares at his men behind him. “Follow me to the office, and we’ll hammer this out.”

I manage to catch Lorcan’s gaze, and the dimple in his cheek appears when his mouth quirks up, as though he understands my nonverbal thank-you. Even if he’s put my head on the chopping block beside his, I’m grateful I won’t have to battle for my respect.

We’re led down a wide hallway lined with photos. Across the top is the slogan We Honor the Fallen and at first, I think it’s some kind of veterans’ memorial. Except it becomes clear these are fighters who’ve died. Each flicks past, meaningless, until I latch onto a familiar face. My breath leaves me in a rush, and my body starts flashing hot and cold in alternating waves. I falter. The guy behind me runs into my back.

“Sorry, Kim,” he mumbles as he squeezes around me.

Lorcan is busy talking to Antonio and doesn’t notice I’ve fallen behind. When they get to the office door, Lorcan pauses and examines me.

I’m frozen to the spot. Too scared to see the photo again. Afraid it’s real. Afraid it’s not. I blink several times, not meeting Lorcan’s gaze.

“Kim?” He gestures to the interior of the office.

“Bathroom?” I’m too stunned to get anything else out of my mouth.

“There ain’t no chicks’ toilet here,” the biggest of Derry’s brawny guards says. Using a thumb, he gestures around the corner. “You can use that one.”

I shove open the door to the wheelchair accessible bathroom. The door clicks closed behind me, and I press on the soap dispenser over and over. Suds overflow my hands. Every time I glance down, there’s a flood of red with flecks of gray across my hands, staining them. Impossible to get out. I wash them over and over.

Chadwick Lee. Chad. My half-brother. My dead half-brother. His face flickers in my memory, and I close my eyes, forcing it back.

How is his photo on that Goddamned wall? Did he work for the O’Malleys? Did they do it?

Bile bubbles into my throat. I only just get to the toilet before my stomach lets go, my whiskey lunch resurfacing. Seeing the contents of the bowl, I realize I haven’t eaten anything today.

“You all right in there?” a male voice calls from the other side of the door.

I sink to my knees and close my eyes. “Yeah.” My voice is weak.

Get it together, Kim. Get your head in the game, Kimi. Deep breaths.

The door opens without a knock. Why didn’t I lock it?

“Kim?” Lorcan’s words have the lilting quality that warms my body.

With the wall for support, I try to rise, but my legs almost give out. He rushes to my side and wraps a strong, sturdy arm around my waist.

“What the hell?” He examines my face, confusion and annoyance warring in him.

“I’m not feeling well.”

Concern overtakes the other emotions, filling his hazel eyes, and his lips purse. “We’ll reschedule.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I just need a minute.” Easing away from him, I tug down my jacket and straighten my shirt. My hands are raw, red.

“Kim.” His voice is pitched low. “I’m not putting you in that room if you’re feeling rough.” The bright color of my hands catches his attention, and he snatches one to examine. “What’d you do?”

“The soap.” With my head, I gesture to the sink.

He watches me, curiosity tinged with anger dancing across his face. “Did my deartháir mor do something to you earlier?”

I tug my hand from his larger ones. “No, no. I’m fine. I must have eaten something that didn’t agree with me. It came on suddenly, but I’m fine now. I can do this. I’ll be fine.” Even as I say it, my hand shakes when I yank again on the bottom of my jacket.

“That room is full of men who could kill us. It’s not the time for false bravado. Could you shoot a gun right now?” His voice is an urgent whisper.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” Under my lashes, I can’t meet his gaze.

He sighs. While he looks at me, his hands clench into fists and then relax over and over. “Come out when you’re feeling better, or I’ll have someone come get you when we’re done. You hear shots, you get the hell outta here. Exit out to your left. You understand me?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

I don’t glance up until the door clicks closed behind him. At the sink, I press my hands into the sides of the vanity and stare at myself. Any credibility I’ve built the last few weeks is being destroyed the longer I’m in here. My black eyes peer back at me in a face that appears sun-kissed. I yank my hair out of the ponytail and redo it, trying to blank out my mind.

Chad. My Chad in that photo.

When I focus on my hands, Chad’s sticky hair coats them, blood seeping between my fingers as I scream for help in a deserted street. My chest aches at the memory. With my eyes closed, I swallow, and my throat is scratchy. I pushed these memories down so far I didn’t think they’d ever resurface.

It’s been twenty years. Might as well be yesterday.

I will get answers. When he died, I was too young; I didn’t understand. Seeing his picture on the wall is like having a window pried open in a hot, stuffy room.

I’m not closing it again.

War might be inevitable.

If the O’Malleys killed Chad, I’ll be the one firing the first shot.