Chapter 19

Cian

“A bsolutely fuckin’ not,” I argued, staring at Tommy in disbelief.

“It’s the only way to get her clear of this shit.”

“No it’s not. You know it’s not.”

“What are the chances that motherfucker has a man on him?” Tommy growled. “FBI is probably sittin’ in the trees waitin’ to see what we do.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Gray muttered.

“It was self-defense. She’s got the marks to prove it.”

The irony of Tommy saying those words when just a couple months before I was justifying the same shit when I’d stabbed the same motherfucker wasn’t lost on me.

But that was when I was going to be jammed up.

This time it was Myla.

“That gun is licensed,” Mick said. “She ever has to use it again, they’re gonna connect the dots.”

Tommy looked to Dragon.

“Can’t say I like it,” he said slowly. “Agree it’s the best option we’ve got.”

“Done.”

“Not done,” I snapped.

“Watch it,” Grease warned.

“Don’t make me lay you out,” Tommy said darkly. “That’s my daughter in there.”

“That’s my old lady in there,” I shot back.

“Then fuckin’ act like it.”

“What the hell do you think I’m doin’?”

“Get your head outta your ass, Cian.” Tommy took a step forward, and I straightened my shoulders. “This is FBI shit. That motherfucker your old lady just killed? He’s on radar. He’s gone, and it’s only a matter of time before shit lands on your doorstep. You think Myla’s gonna handle that shit? You think she’ll keep her mouth shut?”

“She knows the deal.”

“No shit,” he barked. “I taught her the deal , asshole.”

“This is gettin’ us nowhere,” Grease muttered.

“It’s the only way, Cian,” Titus said, meeting my eyes. “You know it is. She’ll have to talk to the cops, and then it’s over.”

Pushing my hair back from my face, I gripped the back of my neck and turned away from the circle. They were right. I knew they were right. But it had fucking killed me to listen to Myla recount what had happened, and the thought of making her do it again with people that didn’t give a shit about her? I couldn’t fucking stand it.

“Leave the garbage where it is,” Dragon ordered behind me. “Everyone but Cian and Tommy need to take off. The minute you see taillights, you call it in. Wanker!”

I turned back around. “Your sister got a card for those FBI fuckwads?”

“I’ve got one.”

“You call them. Not local police. Those agents that made a deal with Richie.”

“Got it.”

“I’ll stay a minute,” Gray told Dragon. “Clear the tracks in the gravel.”

“Leave no trace.”

“Will do.”

Everyone headed for their bikes.

“She’s askin’ for you,” Tommy said, jerking his chin toward the house. “You should go back in.”

“She’s—” The words tangled in my throat.

“Don’t make me regret not buryin’ you. Go take care of my daughter.”

“Where you gonna be?”

“Watchin’ to make sure that motherfucker stays dead,” he mumbled, turning toward the carport.

I stopped on the porch and called the agent from the hospital. The amount of curse words the man could utter in fifteen seconds was truly impressive, even if I didn’t like the guy. He told me to stay put, and he’d send someone soon.

Rumi was talking quietly to Myla when I let myself in the front door.

“Dragon said to take off,” I told him.

“Love you, little sister,” Rumi said softly. “Good job.”

“I don’t know why people keep saying that,” she rasped.

“Because you’re alive,” Rumi replied as he got up from his seat and carefully slid it back into place.

“Hit me up if you guys need anything,” he said, slapping my shoulder as he passed me.

“Hey Rumi,” Myla called out quietly. He paused and looked at her over his shoulder. “I love you, too.”

When I’d first seen her sitting on the steps, I’d had so much adrenaline flowing through me that I’d felt like I could take on an army with just my fists. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, I wasn’t sure that I was good for much of anything.

“Hey baby,” I called, walking toward her slowly.

“Everybody left?” she asked, looking up at me in confusion.

“Your dad’s still outside.”

“Oh, okay.”

“I put a call in to the police. The FBI, actually. They’re gonna send someone out to talk to you.” I pulled out the chair that Rumi’d been sitting in and pulled it closer to her.

“I’m going to jail, aren’t I?” There was no emotion in her voice.

“No,” I replied instantly, sitting down. “Fuck no.”

“I killed someone.”

“You killed Julian Kitz,” I clarified.

“Did you check his wallet?”

“No, we’ve met.”

“You knew him?”

“Baby,” I said softly, reaching for her hands. “He’s the man that hurt Aisling.”

Myla jerked back in surprise. “What?”

“He’s the one who shot Richie and hurt Aisling.”

“Oh my god,” Myla whispered, her eyes going unfocused. “That’s why he was here.”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“I’m so sorry, baby.”

“What? Why?”

“You got caught up in my family shit—” My words trailed off as she glared.

“Am I not your family?”

“Of course you are.”

“Then shut up.”

“Myla—”

“No, shut the fuck up.”

“If Richie wouldn’t have fucked up so bad, none of this woulda happened.”

“ Richie. Not you. Not Aisling.” Her breath hitched. “Not me.”

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” I murmured, lifting her hands to my mouth. “Jesus Christ, Myla.”

“What do I say to the police?” she asked nervously.

“The truth.”

“He didn’t have a weapon,” she whispered.

I stared at her in disbelief.

“I shot someone that was unarmed.” Her voice wobbled.

I stood and tugged her to her feet, leading her down the hallway to the bathroom. The light in there was stark and bright, and she winced as I situated her in front of the mirror. Reaching up slowly, I pulled down the neck of the hoodie she was wearing.

“He had a weapon, baby.” I kissed the back of her head softly as she stared at the perfect outline of fingers that were starting to purple on her neck. “He almost ripped out your throat with his goddamn hand.”

There were little scratches where his fingernails had dug in.

I shuddered.

“He would’ve killed me,” she whispered.

“Yes.”

She was quiet for a long moment.

“Okay.”

I turned her in my arms and let out a long breath as she pressed her forehead against my chest, her arms sliding around my waist.

“I love you,” I murmured.

“Were you scared?”

“Out of my mind with it.”

“Me, too.”

I pressed my lips to the part of her hair, leaving them there as I breathed her in. She was okay. She was standing in my arms. Whole. Safe.

“I accidentally dropped Saoirse’s cake,” she mumbled against my shirt.

“I think she’ll forgive you.”

We made our way back out to the living room and settled onto the couch with Myla in my lap. Everything was silent. I couldn’t stop touching her. Rubbing her back. Lacing our fingers. Pulling her closer. Kissing her face. Her ear.

I reached up to run my fingers through her hair, and she jolted so violently that my heart started racing again.

“What?”

“Don’t—”

“What’s wrong?”

“He had a hold of my hair,” she explained hoarsely. “He took a lot with him when he fell.”

“Oh, shit, baby,” I replied, looking at her head. “Let me see.”

“It’s kind of to the side,” she murmured. “Above my ear and in the back by my neck.”

“Come on,” I ordered gently, helping her to her feet. “Come into the light.”

I led her to the kitchen.

“It’s right here,” she said, tipping her head carefully as she pointed.

I delicately separated the strands of her hair and found a bloody bald patch just a little above and behind her right ear.

“Is it bad?” she asked softly.

“No, no, not that bad.” It looked painful and raw. “Where’s the other one?”

“Here,” she said, slowly leaning her head forward as she pointed.

The place above her hairline was worse.

“This one hurts more,” she said.

“Yeah, looks worse, too.”

“Is it bleeding?”

“Just a little. It’s all scabbed over now.” I let her hair fall back into place, hiding the wound. “Any others?”

“My entire scalp hurts,” she said tiredly. “But those are the worst ones.”

“They’re here,” Tommy said, poking his head inside the door. He looked at Myla. “Good?”

“I’m okay.”

He disappeared again. A few moments later, I let two men in suits inside.

“Hi, I’m Special Agent Robinson, and this is my colleague Special Agent Gibson.”

“Cian Kelly,” I said, shaking their hands.

They looked to Myla.

“Myla Hawthorne,” she said, her voice still broken and raspy.

“We know a little from Special Agent Morales,” Robinson said, not unkindly. “But we’d like you to walk us through what happened tonight.”

“Okay,” Myla replied nervously.

Gibson looked at me. “Could we have a moment?”

I just stared at him.

“We understand the situation,” Robinson said. “And we can speak to Ms. Hawthorne here, alone, or we can talk to her at the field office.”

“I’m okay,” Myla said, laying her hand on my lower back. “It’s okay.” She looked at the special agents. “He’s a little anxious about letting me out of his sight.”

I shot her a look. Anxious?

Leaning down, I kissed her softly. “I’ll be right outside.”

“I know.”

“Right outside,” I told the agents.

“Understood,” Gibson said.

Outside, the carport was lit up like a parking lot, and people were swarming the area like ants. Tommy was sitting at the edge of the porch on one of my aunt’s lawn chairs.

“What’s goin’ on?” he asked, looking nervously at the doorway behind me.

“They wanna talk to her alone. Said if they couldn’t do it here, they’d take her in.”

“Motherfuckers.”

“Agreed.”

We sat in silence.

“Boys have scared the shit outta me a fair amount over the years,” Tommy said after a while. “But nothin’ compared to tonight.”

“I sent her a shitty voicemail right before she called you,” I confessed, staring at the deck between my feet. “She was probably fightin’ for her fuckin’ life while I was bitchin’ at her for not showin’ up to Saoirse’s birthday party.”

“Get that shit outta your head,” Tommy ordered. “Doesn’t matter.”

“I had no fuckin’ clue. Spent the day feelin’ like there were bugs crawlin’ on the back of my neck, my head on a swivel, and I didn’t worry for a second that Myla was in trouble.”

“No way you coulda known.”

“Shoulda been more careful.”

“You asked for eyes out here for over a month,” Tommy reminded me.

“He needed time to heal up,” I said, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. If I would have finished the job when I had the chance, he never would’ve gotten anywhere near Myla.

“Yep.”

“Shoulda killed him.”

“Yep.”

“Fuck.”

“Yep.”

I scrubbed my hands over my face.

“No use lookin’ back,” Tommy said seriously. “If you never listen to anythin’ I say from here on out—fine. But don’t let that shit fester inside ya. It’ll ruin what you’ve got with my girl.”

It sounded as if he knew from experience.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Tommy watched me for a minute before nodding. “She’ll straighten your ass out.”

Myla and the agents were in the house for over two hours. At one point, a woman with a fancy camera went inside and came back out a few minutes later, carrying a plastic bag.

“Shirt,” Tommy said quietly. “Titus left it in the sink.”

When Myla finally led the agents outside, Tommy and I stood.

“We’ll be in touch,” Robinson was saying to Myla.

“Okay.”

“Go get checked out,” Gibson added.

The men turned toward us, and Tommy lifted something from the seat beside him, setting it on the table.

“It’ll have my son Otto’s prints on the barrel,” he said, nodding to the rag wrapped pistol. “He got here first and took it from Myla.”

“And this is registered to you?” Robinson asked Myla, pulling a glove on his hand.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” He picked up the pistol. “We’ll be in touch.”

“How long are they gonna be here?” I asked, jerking my chin toward the carport.

“Not sure. Through the night at least,” Gibson replied.

“I can take her home?”

“Ms. Hawthorne is free to go.”

Gibson and Robinson left the porch, heading toward the body.

“Good?” Tommy asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You ready to get outta here?”

“Please,” Myla said.

She walked steadily down the porch steps and straight to my bike.

“You sure?” I asked, running my thumb over the apple of her cheek. “I can drive your car. Pick up my bike in the morning.”

“I want to feel the wind,” she replied simply.

“All right.”

I let her pull my helmet on, wincing every time she did.

We fired up our bikes and got the hell out of there.

I realized as we rode back to Myla’s that the property had lost all its appeal. I’d never pull up the driveway again without thinking of the panicked ride out there. I’d never see the porch steps without seeing Myla there, staring blankly ahead, covered in blood. I’d never see the kitchen table without remembering how carefully I’d cut Myla’s shirt and bra off because she was so stiff that I knew I’d never be able to get it off over her head.

When we pulled up outside of Myla’s house, her mother was sitting on the front porch. She met us in the driveway.

“Okay?” she asked, running her hands over Myla’s shoulders and arms, their faces close.

“I’m okay,” Myla replied, her voice hitching.

“Get her inside,” Tommy ordered.

It was a testament to how scared Heather was by the way she instantly obeyed. I didn’t think I’d ever seen it happen before.

“Molly’s here?” Tommy asked as we walked toward the house.

“Yeah,” Heather replied. “Will, too.”

I was confused until we walked inside and I saw the open medical bag on the coffee table. I’d forgotten that Will’s wife, Molly, was a nurse.

Lou and Frankie watched from a distance as Molly immediately stepped in, grabbing the first aid bag as she led Heather and Myla down the hallway.

“What happened?” Frankie asked, her normally brash voice lowered to almost a whisper. “Nobody will tell us anything.”

“Sit down, girls,” Tommy said gently. He looked at me and jerked his head toward Myla’s bedroom.

When I stepped into Myla’s room, she was sitting on the bed in nothing but a bra and tank top, and she didn’t try to hide the relief in her eyes when they met mine. Heather sat next to her, holding her hand.

“It was smart to put ice on your throat,” Molly said softly when Myla looked back at her. She brushed a bit of Myla’s hair away from her face. “It kept the swelling down.”

“She need to go to the hospital?” I asked, closing the door behind me.

“They already took photos?” Molly asked.

“Yeah.”

I ground my teeth together, remembering the woman with the camera.

“Then, no, you don’t need to go in,” Molly replied, smiling gently at Myla. “I’m so proud of you, honey.”

“You want to lay down?” Heather asked with a grimace. “It’s been a hell of a night.”

“No, not yet,” Myla replied. She climbed carefully off the bed and grabbed her robe from where she’d thrown it on the dresser that morning.

“I think it’s time you give that back,” Heather said dryly, looking pointedly at me.

“A deal is a deal,” Myla rasped, tying the belt. “You bet me he would call that day, and he didn’t.”

“The spirit of the deal—”

“No takebacks,” Myla said quickly.

“What’s this about a bet?” I asked, looking between them.

“Nothing,” Myla replied, coming toward me.

Molly and Heather stood up as Myla wrapped her arms around me. “Is my dad still out there?”

“He’s talkin’ to your girls.”

“Good.”

“Have a feelin’ he won’t be leavin’ for a while,” I murmured. “He might knock out a wall and start buildin’ himself a bedroom.”

Myla smiled sadly. “I’m okay.”

“I know.”

“I told you I could take care of myself.”

I jolted. “Don’t start with that shit again.”

“I mean, I think I proved it pretty dramatically.”

I looked over her head at Heather. “You hearin’ this shit?”

“She’s her mother’s daughter,” Molly said dryly.

Out in the living room, something was happening. I reached behind me and cracked Myla’s door to hear what was going on. My sister was there.

“Come on,” Myla said, obviously hearing her too.

When we got back into the living room, Tommy and Aoife were facing off.

“I’m sorry, but she’s had a shitty night,” Tommy said. “Don’t think she’s up for any company.”

“I’m here for him,” she replied, pointing at me as our eyes met. “You okay, baby brother?”

Myla sent me a soft look before walking toward the table where Lou and Frankie were sitting, their faces swollen and wet.

“I’m all right, E,” I replied to my sister, catching her as she hurried toward me.

“I’m going to kill him,” she said, resting her chin on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Cian.”

“Not your fault.”

“This won’t ever end.”

“It’s over now.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” I pulled away so I could look into her eyes. “Gray’s been in touch with ’em. It’s understood that our family is off-limits. Julian Kitz was just a fuckin’ psycho. He wasn’t actin’ on their orders.”

“They’ll keep looking for him,” she argued. “You know they will.”

“As far as anyone is concerned, Richie’s dead,” I countered firmly. “No reason to think he’s not.”

“Not yet.”

I nodded. At some point, they’d know he was alive, but by then they’d also know that he was in the custody of the US Marshals—not with us.

“Richie’s alive?” Myla asked, staring at us wide-eyed.

I hadn’t realized that she’d wandered back in from the kitchen and was watching us.

Instant nausea made my stomach flip.

Aoife winced and glared at me. “You didn’t tell her?”

“I didn’t tell anyone,” I replied, turning toward Myla.

“Richie’s alive,” Myla muttered, her eyes unfocused. “The hits just keep on coming.”

Fuck.

“He couldn’t tell ya,” Tommy said, perched on the back of the couch. “It was need to know.”

“Bullshit,” Myla shot back. “That has to do with club business. This isn’t club business.”

Tommy’s mouth snapped shut. She wasn’t wrong.

“Myla—”

“I think I want to go to bed now,” she said tiredly. She looked at her aunt and uncle. “Thanks for coming.”

“Always,” Molly replied as she pulled Will to his feet. They quickly said their goodbyes and left.

“You sure you don’t want us to stay?” Heather asked Myla, her hands on Myla’s shoulders. “I can take the couch. Your dad can sleep on the floor.”

“I’m not sleepin’ on the floor,” Tommy corrected. “I’m too old for that shit.”

“You’re gonna sleep in the car if you don’t shut it,” Heather replied, not even bothering to look at him.

“I’m good,” Myla said, her lips twitching. “I’ll call you in the morning.”

Soon, the only people left were Aoife and Myla’s best friends.

“I’ll go, too,” Aoife said. “We’re sleeping at Titus and Noel’s tonight.”

“One of you can take my bed.”

“I already put Sean in there,” Aoife replied. “You need to clean that pit.”

“It’s not that bad.”

Aiofe snorted like a pig and gave me a hug before turning to Myla.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said softly. “Let us know if you need anything.”

“I will,” Myla replied.

I walked my sister to the door and watched her from the porch as she got in her car and drove away. When I came back inside, Lou and Frankie had their arms around Myla, their voices so low I couldn’t hear what they were saying.

Locking the door behind me, I walked toward them.

“Your poor neck,” Lou murmured.

“Are you going to get in trouble?” Frankie asked.

“It’s just sore,” Myla replied. “And no. I already talked to the FBI. They’ll do a formal inquiry, but no. It was clearly self-defense, and they took photos.”

“You should’ve aimed for the leg or something,” Frankie said. I jerked to a stop, not quite sure I’d heard her right. “Then we could’ve each given him a little kick to remember us by.”

“Sorry,” Myla said with a scoff. “I just wanted him to let go of my throat.”

“You never think ahead,” Frankie muttered. “Selfish.”

“It’s a failing,” Myla agreed, letting out a little teary laugh.

“It’s okay, I forgive you,” Frankie replied.

“You should’ve told someone you were going to get the cake,” Lou said softly. “Then we would’ve known—I thought you weren’t there because you were mad at Cian. I didn’t even think—I’m sorry, My.”

“I was only there for a few minutes,” Myla replied, shaking her head a little. “It all happened pretty fast. You guys couldn’t have stopped it.”

I leaned against the wall and waited while they fussed over her some more. Eventually, Lou and Frankie headed to their own rooms and Myla walked over to the sink for a glass of water.

“You pissed?” I asked quietly.

“I’m not sure what I am,” she turned to look at me. “Am I the only one who didn’t know?”

“Ronan and my sisters know,” I replied. “And the club.”

She nodded. “Aisling said something to me about Aoife being in limbo with Richie that first night I went to dinner,” she said softly. “I wondered what she meant. I thought something was wrong with his estate.”

“She probably assumed you knew.”

“Why didn’t I?”

“I didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Cian, we just talked about how you have to tell me shit.” She slammed her glass down on the counter with a thump.

“I didn’t want to talk about it,” I shot back, the urge to argue with her wrestling with the urge to treat her like fine China. She’d been through more that night than anyone should have to go through. I didn’t want to make it worse. I’d never want to make it worse. “It’s like sayin’ Bloody Mary in the mirror or some shit. Felt like talkin’ about it, tellin’ someone else that he’d turned rat would bring that shit to our door or somethin’. The less you knew, the better.”

“How’d that work out for you?” she asked sarcastically.

“Not great.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you even sorry about it?” she asked in disbelief.

“Not tellin’ you?”

“Yes!”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Well, then could you say it?”

“I’m sorry,” I snapped.

“Yeah, that sounds really sincere.”

“I wanted you as far from it as I could get you.” I swiped my hand through the air. “I never wanted any of Richie’s shit to touch you. If you didn’t know anything, you were safer.”

“But I wasn’t.”

“I know,” I roared.

Myla didn’t even flinch.

“But, if I’d known,” she said.

“What could you have done differently?” I asked quietly. I felt like an asshole for yelling.

“Maybe nothing,” she said. “Or maybe I wouldn’t have been so confused, and I would’ve pulled the nine-millimeter faster. Maybe I would’ve realized that something was wrong sooner. I don’t know.”

I looked at the bruises on her throat. Those were on me.

“You’re right,” I replied.

“I’m always right,” she said tiredly. She walked around me and headed toward the hallway. “I’m going to try and get some sleep.” She paused, her back to me. “Oh, yeah, I got your voicemail.”

She may as well have slapped me. I actually would’ve preferred it.

I waited before following her into the room. I needed a few minutes to get my head together. My hands shook with a delayed reaction, and I sat heavily on the couch, curling my fingers into fists before shaking them back out again.

I’d almost lost her. It had come so close.

If she hadn’t been carrying, he would’ve killed her. I knew it without a doubt. He’d known she was mine, and he’d had a score to settle. He was after Richie, sure, but she’d practically fallen into his lap, and a man like that wouldn’t waste an opportunity.

And I’d been at Saoirse’s dinner, pissed at her for not showing up.

Seconds later, I was out the back door and emptying the contents of my stomach in the yard.

I’d fucked up.

When I was finally sure that there was nothing left, I went back inside. The house was quiet as I shut off all the lights and stopped in the bathroom to brush my teeth. My reflection made me wince. I looked haggard as fuck.

Myla was in bed when I let myself into the room, the blankets pulled up to her chin. For a moment, I just stared.

She’d pulled her hair into a loose braid. I’d never seen her wear it like that before. It made the nape of her neck look so delicate and fragile.

Without a word, I stripped down and crawled in behind her. She wasn’t asleep, but she didn’t acknowledge me when I kissed her shoulder and wrapped my arm around her waist.

Neither of us spoke or slept for a long time, but at some point, I drifted into a fitful sleep.

When I woke up, she was gone.