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“Are you joking? You still think you can keep this from Jack?”
I shook my head, but that was a bad idea. I closed my eyes to stave off the nausea. “I can’t explain…”
“Oh, stop thinking so hard. You’re making me sick. I’ll come up with something good.”
“Thank you.”
He muttered something incoherent under his breath, guiding me toward the vehicle. He buckled me in, then circled the hood. I took a few shaky breaths. I still felt dizzy, but my stomach was settling.
Eoghan threw the car into gear. Within seconds, we were hurtling through the darkened streets of New Jersey. I couldn’t stop shaking. I twisted my fingers in my lap, my knees bobbing. After a few minutes of silence, he spoke.
“Do you have a death wish?”
“I was hoping not to die, actually.”
“It’s not your place to be taking out our enemies, Wings!” Eoghan yelled, slamming the breaks when a light turned red.
“Well, no one else had a chance! That bitch killed Connor and irrevocably scarred Shannon. And she was threatening my relationship.”
He gunned it through the empty intersection. “How is that?”
“Jack has been agonizing over the choice between keeping me in his life and seeking vengeance for his brother. He chose vengeance, so I’ve taken it off the table.”
Eoghan looked at me like I was spewing insanities.
“What?” I asked, annoyed.
He shook his head, refocusing on the road. “You really fucking love that asshole, huh?”
Laughter bubbled up from my lungs, but it wasn’t funny. It was my coping mechanism working harder than it ever had before. Months of stress and worry and anxiety burst through my mouth in long peals. Tears fell from my eyes, commingling with the blood. I gasped for air, hitting my knees with the heel of my hands.
“You’re a lovesick lunatic.”
His comment did nothing but tickle me further. I didn’t know if I was sobbing or laughing, or perhaps dying. “I sh-sh-should g-get that ta-tattooed somewhere.”
“Please don’t make any more stupid decisions tonight,” Eoghan begged, resting a hand on my shoulder. “I need a break, or you’ll do me in.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Emma
Mick tugged on the thread. My entire scalp moved in response. I kept my eyes shut, careful not to squint too hard as he worked. He’d numbed me, but I felt the heat from the wound and the pressure from his hands.
“Just a couple stitches,” Mick murmured, concentrating. “I’ll take them out in five days. Shouldn’t leave a scar.”
My reply was stiff. “I don’t care about the scar.”
“Next time you want to go to the shooting range, ask me.” Mick grunted, pursing his lips. “If you have a computer problem or you need to be babysat, that’s what Eoghan’s for. Got it?”
I had the decency to look embarrassed. Everyone had so readily believed the lie Eoghan had spun. That I had asked him to take me to the shooting range under the Emerald. And, when he wasn’t looking, I’d shot the gun and it had recoiled, injuring me.
“Jack’s gonna have a field day.” Mick placed a second butterfly bandage on my head wound. “I thought I told you to call me when he woke up. We don’t want him running off again.”
“He’s not going anywhere,” I muttered, taking the little white pill Mick held in his hand. He poured me a glass of water from the tap, his brows raised, waiting for an explanation. “I locked him in the panic room.”
Mick almost dropped the glass. I grabbed it, swallowing the pill without asking what it was. I trusted Mick—not like I trusted Eoghan, but still. He wasn’t going to give me anything I couldn’t handle.
“You locked Jack in the panic room,” he repeated, casting a strange look at me. It was the same expression Eoghan had worn when I’d first told him about my deal with Don Luca. Disbelief and awe.
