"Jesus Christ," she says, setting down her phone. "Did you go ten rounds with a brick wall?"
"Something like that," I say, heading straight for the refrigerator. I pull out a beer, crack it open, and take a long sip.
Keira sits up and brushes her red hair out of her face. "Dec. Let your fighters fight. You make enough off them."
"Where's the fun in that? Besides, I'm the best and I need to show it from time to time."
"Yeah, well you look like you lost."
I grin. "You should see the other guy."
Keira narrows her eyes and gestures to my face. "You cut your eyebrow?"
"Yeah. Got it stitched."
"Shit, did you go to the ER?"
"Nope," I say, taking another sip and sitting down across from her. "The medic there fixed me."
"Like a good a professional fix?" she says, taking a sip of her wine. "Or like maybe this will get infected, maybe it won't?"
"I'm sure it won't get infected. She's supposed to be good at what she does," I say and lean forward, taking part of the bandage off to show her.
She leans in to give it a look over. "Seems decent. Those stitches are clean as hell."
I nod and press the bandage back down.
"On that note," I say, setting the beer bottle down. "You'll never guess who did them."
Keira arches an eyebrow. "Who?"
"The woman who let Joyce die."
Keira's expression shifts from curiosity to shock. "The Albanian nurse? No fucking way."
"Way."
"You're telling me she stitched you up?"
I nod.
"She's working the circuit now. Freelance, she says."
"What did you do to her?" Keira asks.
"Nothing. Thought about a lot of things though."
"Huh." Keira looks thoughtful, twirling a strand of red hair around her finger. "Well, I'd kill a bitch for family, but this girl gets a pass I suppose."
I stare at her, disbelieving. "A pass? Are you fucking kidding me? Joyce died because of her."
"Don't you remember what we found out about her?" Keira asks. "Owned by the Albanians. Forced to live at that disgusting compound they used to have north of the city. Threatened to kill her family. Probably raped by all those sick fucks, too." She shrugs. "Plus, Joyce was kind of a dick. He got you into way too much shit, Dec, and almost got you killed like five times. Dad hated him. You were the only one who hung out with him, you know that."
My jaw tightens. "That's not the point."
"Then what is the point?" Keira challenges. "That you're still looking for someone to blame? If you want to be mad at someone still, be mad at the Albanians."
"I was," I say, my voice low and dangerous. "I killed quite a few of them afterwards."
