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His next laugh was louder. “Says the assassin who can paralyze people with a look.”
I lifted a shoulder in a shrug of indifference.
“Well . . .” He drummed his hands on his legs and pushed from the wall. “Guess I should head out of here and get to my corner. If everything goes right, we’ll finally be done with all this shit by this time tomorrow.”
I dipped my head. “It will.”
It had to.
After all this time. After everything we’d done. We needed to finish this, and we needed to do it right.
“If not?” he asked with a smirk as he backed out of his room.
“I’ll see you in hell.”
“Fuck yeah, you will.”
I waited by the door, even though every instinct told me I needed to go out the window.
Doors were a sure way to be seen.
Considering this door had a camera outside it, it was a definite way to be seen.
But I needed to be seen. As I’d told myself one hundred times already. Not that it made it any easier.
I glanced at the clock above the microwave in the kitchen, waiting for the eternity of minutes to pass.
Kieran had told me to wait twenty.
I hadn’t realized then that it would feel like years rather than minutes.
As soon as the last minute turned over, I opened the door and walked onto the porch, holding out a torn piece of paper to a stunned Conor.
“Did you need something?” he asked quickly.
I looked pointedly at the paper. “Food would be nice.”
He read the slip of paper, his brow furrowing and hand hastily fisting around the note. His eyes drifted to the side, as if to make sure the camera capturing our interaction wasn’t within viewing range of what he read.
Conor’s eyes lifted to meet mine, his head nodding subtly. “All right. I’ll, uh . . . I’ll head out to get that. Anything else?”
“My mom.”
The sympathy on his face was so sincere it made me feel bad for doing this to him. “I wish I could.”
I took a step toward the door and lifted a shoulder. “Then, no.”
Conor swallowed thickly and hadn’t even taken a step away when I stormed in and slammed the door.
The guy didn’t have a clue what was happening tonight. Beck’s orders.
But I knew he hated Mickey as much as the others, so I was praying he didn’t say a word to him about what was on that list of things I’d asked him to get.
Along with food . . . the morning after pill.
There wasn’t a chance in hell I’d risk having Mickey O’Sullivan’s baby.
I didn’t wait to watch Conor leave the porch. I rushed through the house to change into my old clothes. After taking a few minutes to put on some makeup and fluff my hair, I hurried to the front door.
