Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 90919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Every muscle in my body was tight as I let her pull me closer. She was the only reason I hadn’t already tore the room to pieces.
“What’s going on?” she asked, her eyes on mine. “What happened?”
I just shook my head.
“How can I help you?” she murmured. The question was so sincere that my throat got tight again.
Wrapping my arms around her shoulders, I ignored the pounding on the door as I stuffed my face into her neck. My body was vibrating with rage and fear and fucking sadness, but the scent of Myla’s soap felt like a cool shower on the hottest day of summer. Shocking, but fuck if it wasn’t a welcome reprieve.
“Wanker, you don’t open this door, I’m coming in there.” Myla’s dad said, his voice eerily calm. “I gotta break it down and you’re gonna wish your mama swallowed before I’m through with you.”
“Gross,” Myla hissed, pulling away a little. “He’ll do it, Cian. You better open it.”
I let my arms fall from her shoulders and nodded, turning away as she moved toward the door. I was gripping the sides of the sink with both hands, my knuckles white, when she swung the door open.
“Dramatic much?” Myla’s mom bitched. “Jesus, Tommy. You can see they’re fine. Now can you leave them alone?”
“Not happenin’,” Tommy replied.
“She’s fine,” Heather said in exasperation.
“He ain’t,” Tommy shot back.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Heather muttered. “You know he’d never hurt her.”
“Not on purpose.”
“I’m fine,” Myla snapped. “What do you need?”
“Go with your mother,” Tommy ordered.
“Yeah, that’s not fucking happening.”
“Wanker,” Tommy said, ignoring his daughter. “Need a word.”
I hated that fucking name, but I knew why he used it. I’d known why Will was using it, too, when normally they only pulled it out when they were giving me shit. It was a reminder of who I was, who they were, and the hierarchy that I’d pledged my life to.
Myla might get away with doing whatever the fuck she wanted—but I wouldn’t.
“Go with your mom, My,” I ordered. “Be out in a minute.”
“Are you sure?” Myla asked, moving in close to my side. “If you need a couple more minutes—”
“Yeah, I’m good,” I assured her. “Go.”
Myla walked out of the room, and from the corner of my eye, I watched most of the group outside the door drift away.
“Not hangin’ out with you in the shitter,” Tommy said. “Let’s go.”
I followed him out and walked quietly with the boys as they surrounded us. We took the stairs to the ground level and made our way over to the parking garage. Then we climbed all the way to the top. Tommy finally stopped in the middle of the surprisingly deserted rooftop parking lot.
“You know,” he said flatly.
“How do you?” I asked dully.
“Gray called me a couple of minutes before you came out,” Will said. “He’d been followin’ some leads, found the connection between Richie and that heroin fuckwad.”
“Richie said he was cleanin’ the money,” I mumbled.
I was fucking embarrassed, which was a little ridiculous. These men had seen me puking my guts out and nearly shitting myself on more than one occasion. They’d seen me do stupid shit a million times. They weren’t judging.
I was judging. I was fucking judging.
How could Richie have done something so stupid? A part of me wanted to go back inside and berate him until I lost my voice. I wanted to drag Aisling to the hospital so he had to look at her and see what his actions had caused. I wanted to punch him in every sewn-up bullet hole.
But another part of me, a tiny one that remembered all that Richie had done for us over the years, wanted to convince the men around me that Richie wasn’t as stupid as we all knew he was.
“Christ on a cracker,” Bas muttered.
“He say anythin’ else?” Leo asked.
“That he was sorry.”
“Yeah,” Tommy said, hands in his pockets as he stared at his feet. “Bet he is.”
“Walk us through it,” Will ordered.
“He woke up and right off started talking about how sorry he was,” I replied, glancing at him. “He asked about Aisling. Mentioned Julian. Said he didn’t know.” I let out a humorless laugh. “He didn’t know, but he was cleaning money using some remodel as a cover, so he must’ve known something, right?”
“He say how he met Kitz?” Gray asked.
“No.” I shook my head. “This might kill Aoife. It might actually be the thing that sends her over the edge. Dad dying? She could take it. Mom? Good riddance. Raising four kids when she was a teenager? No problem. But finding out her husband is in bed with a bunch of drug dealers? No. Fuck no.”
“More likely to kill him,” Titus murmured.
“I know,” Bas replied.
“From what I’ve found, it’s just the one,” Gray said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I can’t find any connection between Richie and anyone but Kitz. Problem is, Kitz is in deep, and Richie’s been laundering a fuckload of money.”