Chapter 18

Myla

I ’d been arguing with Cian since I met him. It was what we did. Neither of us liked to be wrong, and we had some very different opinions, so it was a bit inevitable. Becoming a couple had changed things, though. While we now had the added bonus of makeup sex, which I was very much a fan of—the arguments had started giving me massive anxiety.

I no longer had the option of walking away to let us cool off for a few days. Not only did Cian really hate that, but I could no longer imagine not seeing him or speaking to him for days.

The problem was that I wasn’t sure how to put an end to whatever argument we were having. Bowing out gracefully had never been my strong suit, which was probably the consequence of growing up the only girl in a houseful of older brothers. I needed to figure it out.

After calling Lou on my way home to tell her that we’d probably be adding Bas to our girls’ night out, I headed home to change with a knot in my belly.

The disagreement about taking someone with us to watch our backs felt remarkably similar to the fight we’d had after the guy from an allied club had gotten handsy with me. It chafed because I knew I could take care of myself. It also made me feel guilty because I knew that bringing someone with us was a small concession to make so that Cian wouldn’t worry.

He also wasn’t wrong about the added safety of having one of the Aces keeping an eye on things. Any time my mom and aunties went out? They had someone with them. It was a fact of life for old ladies. I just hated being told what to do.

The stop at my house was a quick one. I dropped my laptop bag on my bed and stripped out of my work clothes, throwing on a pair of jeans and a shirt that Cian had told me months before looked good on me. Even when I was irritated with him, I still remembered every piece of clothing he’d ever mentioned—and there had been a lot of them. My man had never been stingy with compliments.

By the time I got back into my car, I’d figured out a way to extend an olive branch without telling Cian that he was right and I was wrong. Lou said that Aunt Ashley had forgotten Saoirse’s cake back at the property, and it sounded like someone was going to have to run back and get it, but my house was closer than Titus’s place. It was easy enough to grab it on my way to the party. It would make me a few minutes late, but that wasn’t a big deal.

Back during one of the summer parties out at the property, Ashley had told me about how she used to accidentally lock her keys in the car all the time. She’d known the locksmith’s number by heart and had called him so often that he’d assumed that she was just trying to manufacture ways to see him. He was hot, so she’d admitted that she played into that instead of admitting the truth—that she was an airhead who kept locking her keys in her car. They’d ended up dating for a few months, and when they’d eventually broken up, Ashley had started stashing a key outside her car just in case. She did the same with the RV when she bought it.

There was a key stashed in a little magnetic case just inside the passenger side wheel well.

I figured bringing the cake to the party would remind Cian that I wasn’t there just to make his life harder, but I also came with some benefits too. I was thoughtful. Willing to lend a hand.

He’d see right through it, but I didn’t care. At least he’d know that I tried to extend an olive branch, even if he was also fully aware that there would be something else that we disagreed on tomorrow.

The property was deserted and quiet, and the house was dark, but they must’ve all ridden together because there were still three cars parked out front when I pulled up. I unconsciously threw my purse over my shoulder as I climbed out of my car and used my flashlight to light the way over to where the RV was parked in the carport. I’d forgotten how dark it was without any of the lights from town.

Carefully watching where I was going, I hurried over to the RV and reached up into the wheel well, searching blindly for the little key Ashley had hidden. I finally found it on my third pass through. My hand was disgusting by the time I was done.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I guess.

Saoirse’s cake was sitting right on the little table inside, and I grabbed it quickly since Ashley didn’t know that I was even in her little home away from home. It would definitely be weird to linger.

I’d like to say that I was paying attention to my surroundings—it was dark and I was in the middle of nowhere—but it didn’t even occur to me to have my guard up.

So when I stepped back outside the RV and realized that there was a man in the yard, I yelped and dropped the cake, effectively ruining the whole reason I was out there in the dark in the first place.

“Can I help you?” I asked, fumbling with my purse.

The guy didn’t say anything at first. It was almost as if I’d surprised him, too.

“This is private property,” I added. “You need to leave.”

My hand wrapped around a familiar shape, and the comfort of it steadied me a little, even though I was still shaking with nerves.

“Looking for Richie,” the guy said, taking a step toward me.

There wasn’t anything wrong with his tone. There wasn’t anything threatening about the way he was standing or behaving. There wasn’t anything off about him at all.

But I’d been raised to keep my guard up. To watch for things that other people took for granted. I’d been told over and over again to pay attention to my gut. That if something felt wrong, it probably was.

“You need to leave,” I ordered.

“I’m trying to find Richie,” he repeated.

Now, later, I’d realize that it was very bizarre that someone would look for Richie all the way out in Oregon. It made absolutely no sense. But right then, I was just confused and a little weirded out that I’d have to break the news to some strange man.

“I’m sorry,” I said, taking a small step toward the RV. “Richie’s dead.”

The guy laughed, and ice slid down my back.

“No, he’s not.”

“He is,” I argued. “I was there.”

“Richie is definitely not dead,” he said through a chuckle.

“Don’t come any closer.”

“I think you know where he is,” the guy said, ignoring me.

I had the distinct impression that he was stalking me, trying to get close enough to rush me before I could get back into the RV.

“I know where his ashes are,” I retorted. “Now you need to leave .”

“Hey, I know you,” the man said, taking another step forward. “You’re the brother’s girlfriend. What’s his name? Cian, right?”

I couldn’t let him take another step. I was clutching my purse to my stomach, the strap wrapped around my back.

“You have no idea who I am,” I replied. “Get the fuck in your car and leave.”

“We could have fun, you and me,” the guy said, a smile in his voice.

Something about him was wrong . The situation was wrong. I didn’t understand what was happening, but I knew with a certainty born of instinct and my dad’s voice in my ear—this was going to end badly for one of us.

It wasn’t going to be me.

“Man, I’m not sure if you’re hard of hearing or just a fucking dick,” I replied. “But you need to leave.”

He laughed again, and my heart started beating at the base of my throat.

“I really need to find Richie,” he said, ignoring my words as he started toward me. He wasn’t running, but he was moving quickly. I only had a couple of seconds before he reached me.

I didn’t bother running. I knew it would be a waste of time. Instead, I let the purse swing back down to my hip and lifted the gift my brothers had presented to me on my twenty-first birthday.

He made it close enough that one of his hands tangled in my hair before I was able to pull the trigger.

Unfortunately for him, I didn’t panic. I didn’t try to wrestle him away.

I shot him.

His other hand wrapped around my throat.

I pulled the trigger again.

I gasped, trying to breathe, but I didn’t try to pry his fingers off my neck. I knew better than to try and grapple with him. The moment I lost control of the gun, it was over.

It only took a couple of seconds before his eyes widened, like he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. As he fell, he ripped big chunks of my hair out, taking them with him.

He coughed and rolled to the side, one hand pressing against the wound in his torso.

I took a few steps back, holding my nine-millimeter steady.

I wanted to help him. It went against everything inside me to leave him struggling on the ground, but instinct kept me back. I could still feel the echoes of his fingers gripping my throat.

Shaking, I pulled out my phone.

It rang twice.

“Hi, baby girl, where are you?” my dad answered.

“Daddy,” I whispered, swallowing down the bile in my throat.

“Myla,” he barked, his tone changing completely. “Where are you?”

“I’m at the property,” I replied. It felt like I was speaking around broken glass.

The guy was still coughing. Still laughing, but no sound was coming out. He lifted his head to look at me, grinning with blood in his teeth.

I took another step backward.

“I’m on my way,” Dad said. “You safe?”

“I shot someone,” I rasped, struggling to raise my voice.

“You what ?”

“You said I should call you first.”

“Do not move, Myla,” Dad barked. “I’m coming.”

“I’ll be here.”

I dropped the phone down to my side and stumbled back to the stairs of the RV, sitting down hard. My throat felt like it was closing up, and my scalp throbbed. I focused on pulling air into my lungs through my tight throat and letting it back out again.

He’d stopped moving around, but he was still alive. I could hear him trying to breathe.

I didn’t dare put down the pistol.

I couldn’t tell who the first person to arrive was, but I recognized the single headlight and the familiar sound of Harley pipes and knew it was a friend. I took my finger off the trigger, but I didn’t put the pistol down.

“Myla?” my brother Otto yelled frantically, pointing a flashlight toward the house.

“I’m over here,” I tried to call back, but my voice was wrecked. Using the RV door as a brace, I pushed myself to my feet. “Over here, Otto.”

“Anyone else?” he asked, running toward me.

“Well,” I looked down at the body. I wasn’t sure how to answer.

“Holy fuck,” Otto blurted as he skidded to a stop, his light illuminating the man I’d shot.

“He—I—” I squinted as the flashlight swung in my direction.

“Are you hurt?” Otto shouted. He rounded the body and came toward me fast. “Myla, are you hurt?”

“What?” I looked down in confusion.

I was covered in blood.

“It’s not mine,” I mumbled. “It’s not—he was—it’s not mine.”

“Thank Christ,” Otto breathed. His hand went to my face, and I flinched away. “You’re all right, sissy. You’re okay.”

“I think I need to sit down,” I murmured, my body starting to sway.

“Gun first,” Otto ordered, gently prying it from my fingers. He tucked it away efficiently and lifted me into his arms like a baby.

“I shot him,” I whispered, laying my head on my brother’s broad shoulder.

“Thank God,” he replied. “Good job, Myla.”

Otto carried me to the porch steps and crouched down in front of me. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I was getting the cake,” I whispered, putting my hand to my throat. “Ashley forgot the cake, so I came to get it. It was going to be a surprise. Cian and I were fighting, and I thought if I did something nice, it would make things better. It was an olive branch.”

I looked over into the darkness by the RV. “But I dropped it.”

“He doesn’t care about the cake, My,” Otto said, rubbing my knee. “What happened after you got the cake?”

The roar of Harleys would have drowned out any answer I’d given. Bike after bike came down the road, going way too fast. The first bike stopped on a skid, spraying gravel.

“Myla!” Cian bellowed.

“I got her,” Otto yelled back, rising.

He got to me in an instant.

“Where are you hurt?” he asked, falling to his knees in front of me. His hands pressed against my chest and stomach, searching.

“It’s not my blood,” I croaked. “It’s not mine.”

“Whose is it?”

I stared at him. “I don’t know.”

“He’s over there,” Otto pointed into the darkness.

“I don’t give a fuck,” my dad spat back. “Myla? You okay, baby girl?”

“I’m okay.” I wanted to stand up and show him that I was—I just didn’t have it in me.

“Baby,” Cian said gently, his hands still searching. He ran them down my arms, my hands, my hips and back, my thighs and shins. “What happened?”

“I came for the cake,” I replied distractedly, my eyes on the men who were moving as a group toward the carport.

They were going to see. They were going to see what I’d done. Oh, god. The moon wasn’t bright, but there were some forms in the darkness, some voices that I would know anywhere. My gramps. Dragon. Uncle Will. Leo. Cam. Brody and Bas. Gray.

My brothers came toward us. Titus, Micky, and Rumi crowded around me.

I struggled to inhale. My throat was so tight that I started to panic.

“What?” Cian asked desperately. “Baby, what?”

I scratched at my throat.

“She can’t breathe,” Cian yelled, panicked. “She can’t fuckin’ breathe.”

Then Uncle Mack was there, inches from my face.

“Slow, Myla,” he ordered, pulling my hands from my neck. “With me.”

I shook my head.

“Right now, Myla,” he said firmly, gripping my chin. “With me.”

I wheezed in a breath, copying him.

“That’s it. Now out. Slow, honey.”

“It’s not workin’,” my dad said.

“It is,” Uncle Mack replied. “In again, Myla. Slow.”

It was agony. I wanted to gasp so badly, but I trusted Uncle Mack. More than that, I trusted that my dad would tear him to pieces if he was wrong—so I inhaled slowly.

“Back out.”

I exhaled.

As Uncle Mack walked me through it, I looked over his shoulder. The men were talking in low voices. I couldn’t hear what they were saying.

“Better,” Uncle Mack said, leaning forward to kiss my forehead. He got to his feet as Dragon and Gramps reached us.

I couldn’t even look at them.

“Point blank. Center mass,” Dragon told my dad. “Myla?”

I couldn’t meet his eyes, so I just turned my head in his general direction.

“Good job, kid.”

I nodded, looking away again.

“I need to get her home,” Cian said, his hands on mine, rubbing them. “She’s fuckin’ freezin’.”

“Someone get Myla a blanket,” my dad ordered.

“Can we move this inside?” Gramps asked Cian.

“Yeah,” he said, tossing Otto his keys. Sliding his arms beneath my knees and behind my back, he lifted me and followed my brother into the house.

When the lights switched on inside, I winced.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Holy shit.”

“Jesus.”

“Goddamn it.”

Some of it was murmured, some of it was shouted. All of them were surprised.

“Get her a shirt,” Titus ordered, pushing through the men who’d crowded into the room.

I stood like a mannequin as Cian yanked off his cut and hoodie. My brothers created a wall around me as Cian pulled the sticky shirt away from my body and cut it down the middle, gently stripping it off. My bra followed. Then I was wrapped in Cian’s scent as his hoodie was pulled over my head. It hung to my thighs.

He helped me into a kitchen chair.

“Hawthorne boys, Wanker, and Gray can stay,” Dragon said firmly. “Everyone else out.”

The room cleared.

“What happened, sweetheart?” Gramps asked, sitting down at a chair across from me.

“I came to get the cake,” I replied. “Ashley forgot Saoirse’s cake.”

Cian made a noise behind me, and his hand found my shoulder.

“All right,” Gramps said. “Then what?”

“Ashley told me where she kept the spare key, so I found it.”

“Yeah.”

“And I got the cake,” I replied.

Gramps looked at my dad.

“Where’s the cake?” Dad asked.

“I dropped it.” My voice wobbled.

“Why’d you drop it?”

“Because there was a man in the yard.”

“What was he doin’?”

“He was just standing there.”

“Did he say why he was there?”

“He said he was looking for Richie,” I replied.

Cian’s hand tightened. “He was lookin’ for Richie?”

“I told him that Richie was dead, but he just laughed.”

“Then what happened?”

“He said he knew me. That I was the brother’s girlfriend.”

The hand on my shoulder disappeared.

“He said we could have some fun.”

“Lock it down,” my brother Mick ordered. I turned to see what he was talking about.

“Myla,” Dad said. “Eyes on me.”

I turned back.

“I told him to leave.”

“Did he seem like he was going to leave?”

“No, he came closer.”

“What did you do?”

“I told him to leave again.”

“Okay.”

“And then he just—” I gestured with my hand, holding it far from me and then back toward my chest quickly.

“He ran at you?”

“He wasn’t that far away.”

“He rushed you?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you do?”

My ears were ringing. How long had they been ringing?

“What did you do?” Dad repeated.

“I pulled the trigger.”

He swallowed hard, and I watched his Adam’s apple bob. “Did he reach you?”

I winced, raising a hand to my neck.

“Let me see, baby girl,” Dad ordered softly, pulling the sweatshirt away from my neck. He stared for a moment. “Someone get your sister some ice.”

“Is it bad?” I asked.

“You’re all right,” he murmured. “He got to you.”

“He grabbed my hair,” I replied. “And then my throat.”

“Did you fight him?”

“No.”

“You didn’t?”

“I didn’t want to let go of the gun,” I whispered. “You said to never let go of the gun.”

“That’s right. You did good.”

“I shot him again.”

“What happened after that?”

“He fell.”

“Did he say anythin’ else?”

“No, he just laughed.”

Someone slammed out of the house.

“He’s dead now, isn’t he?” I asked quietly.

“You don’t worry about that,” Dad said, taking a bag of frozen corn from Rumi so he could press it against my throat. “You sit right here for a few minutes, yeah? I’m just gonna go outside.”

“Don’t leave,” I replied in a rush, gripping his cut in my fist.

“Rumi’s gonna stay with you.”

“Where’s Cian? I want Cian.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” my older brother said dryly, spinning the chair next to me so he could sit in it backward.

Dad walked away while I was distracted, the rest of the men following.

Cian wasn’t with them.