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Was it mine?
“Why are you telling me this? No one in the mob has been forthcoming with me, least of all Jack.”
“Because I don’t want to lose my best friend.” He shrugged, but a world of torment brewed in his eyes. “And I like you. You’re good for him. You’ve given him something to fight for.”
I sniffled, breathing life to my insecurities, my fear. “I don’t know if I’m enough anymore, Mick.”
“Ah hell, lass,” Mick swore, handing me a handkerchief from the pocket of his vest. “I saw it in Jack’s eyes the moment we put his brother’s body in the ground. He wanted to give up then, but he stuck around for you.”
I was sobbing now, my head in my hands.
“Shit, I didn’t mean to upset you. Jack will have my head on a spike…”
I straightened, dabbing my cheeks with the warm cloth. “He won’t find out you spoke to me. I swear.”
Mick exited the car to open my door. I was so absorbed in our conversation that I hadn’t realized the vehicle was parked in Jack’s private underground garage.
Mick held out his hand and helped me from the SUV. The gesture felt like it came from a brotherly figure. I’d always appreciated Mick, but now I understood why he was Jack’s first lieutenant. There was a calming effect about him that I’d never noted before.
“Look at me, lass,” Mick commanded. I wiped my remaining tears before meeting his gaze. “Jack’s going to be angry we brought you tonight. The Russians know about your relationship with Jack now. We have a deal with them while the Babau runs rampant, but they’re still our enemies. So, you stay strong and don’t take his shit.”
I attempted to smile, but my lips twitched with the effort.
“Just remember,” Mick continued, his heavy brow lined with concern, “you don’t owe him anything. We all care about you, Emma. If this is hurting you too much, we’ll understand if you choose to part ways. We’ll take care of Jack…and you’ll always be protected.”
I stood taller, my chin lifting a notch. “I’m not going anywhere, Mick. My place is by his side.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jack
The room was spinning.
Somehow, I’d gotten home and into my bed. My body ached like I’d been hit by a truck. I wished it had been a truck that hit me. It would’ve been a quicker punishment, but not as fun.
I rose, groaning as my feet touched the floor. My bedroom was dark. I was shirtless and my jeans were covered in bloodstains. I probed myself, pressing gingerly to discover where I was injured. Or, better yet, where I wasn’t.
The taste of blood and whiskey washed from my mouth as I brushed my teeth, wincing at the bathroom’s harsh lighting. I didn’t know if it was my injuries or the hangover, but my head was killing me. My brain had grown too large, throbbing against the inside of my skull. My reflection was grotesque. Blood, swelling, cuts and bruises. I looked almost as horrific on the outside as I was on the inside.
Arrogant fucking bastard.
I had thought I could handle the consequences of killing Tony Greco. Sure, I’d murdered before. Seventeen people, to be exact. But a kill had never caused this much retaliation. A fucking kid. I was responsible for the death of a kid.
You can’t keep this up, Jackie Boy.
Meetings, surveillance, raids. Drinking from sunrise until well after sunset, working out before four a.m. The only time I let myself have a break was in sleep, with Emma beside me.
All of that had to change.
No more Emma. I didn’t deserve the solace she offered. No more meetings. No more anyone. This was my vendetta and no more of my men were going to die for it. I was supposed to be protecting them, but I’d failed thus far.
I had to go underground. I had to go rogue—just like the Babau—if there was any hope of finding him. Cathal had discovered a spot where the Mafia played cards in the evenings. We were sitting on it, tracking who was coming and going. I would start there. Sofia told me of another, but it was riskier, so I’d kept it to myself.
First, I had to deal with Emma. I had to get her to go back to her apartment. She would be starting school soon. I couldn’t risk her getting caught up in everything. I’d rather she be safe and away than in danger by my side.
After my shower, I dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, careful to avoid exacerbating my injuries. I looked better now than I had before. Head wounds always bled a lot, but with the blood gone I looked close to human. More human than I felt, anyway.
I entered the kitchen, pouring myself a large drink to curb my migraine. As I held the cool glass to my forehead, I realized with malice that the bottle I’d poured from had a red bow tied around its neck. It’d been a Christmas gift from my father. He had given it to me hours before I’d tried to kill him.
