I shrugged. “He might.”
James had come by too, tattoo parlor closed for the afternoon. He was at the kitchen island, nursing an energy drink. He shook his head. “This isn’t ahe mayorhe may notsituation. You beat one of his fighters when he told you to lose. You’re still with Ingrid. And she just told us he cornered her at a coffee shop.”
So she had. After Samuel’s arrest, I’d called the guys here to discuss things, make sure everything was fully out in the open as we tried to work out what to do next.
I had come clean to Ingrid about my history with Darragh: how he’d approached me as an up-and-coming fighter and lured me in with money to throw fights, manipulate betting odds, before trying to drag me deeper into his world.
Understanding had crossed her porcelain face. “So that’s what he wants with you. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Same reason you didn’t tell me about your father, doll,” I’d rumbled back. “Didn’t want you anywhere near my mess. But Darragh went after you anyway. Least you can do now is know what you’re dealing with.”
And she did know. Most of it. I hadn’t gone into the full detail… the beatings, the threats, the sting of that belt, the silver fang of the buckle tearing welts into my back that I’d buried under ink. She didn’t need to hear that. She’d been through enough already.
She’d told me about the coffee shop after: Darragh cornering her, the threats, all of it. It had been a long, awful conversation, and I wasn’t surprised when she put her head down on my lap and didn’t get back up. After everything these last few days she was running on empty.
My thumb traced the line of her jaw before I tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She was so fragile, so broken by the people who were supposed to love her.
“So what’s the plan?” asked Kane. “That’s what we’re here for, right?”
“Plan is to protect Ingrid, keep her safe, no matter what it takes.”
“That’s… not a plan,” he countered.
I felt Ingrid stir against me, her small hand clutching the fabric of my jeans in her sleep.
Kane let out an irritated sigh. “Only good thing right now is her father’s locked up.”
“We don’t know for how long,” James countered. “You said he’s not on bail, but how long is it until he convinces one of his business partners to pull some strings and get him out anyway?” He glanced over to me. “Your dad could do it. He’s done it for you before.”
My jaw clenched. He wasn’t wrong. I’d been arrested—how many times?—and Noah had always found a way to get me loose. The police weren’t immune to the right kind of pressure from the right kind of people, and Noah had every reason to keep Samuel free. Their business together depended on it.
I ran a hand down my face, the exhaustion of the last forty-eight hours finally starting to seep into my bones.
“If we speculate, we won’t get anywhere,” I muttered. “We do need some kind of plan... but for now, I’m gonna lay low.”
They didn’t push it further; they knew me well enough to know when I’d hit my limit. This whole situation was going to blow eventually. Every time I thought I had a handle on it something else lit up. But Darragh was a problem for another day. Right now, my world was reduced to the girl on my lap and the mountain of medical bills for my mother that I still hadn’t figured out how to pay.
And my father. If I had any energy left I’d go to his office and break his legs just for being the reason any of this started. But I wasn’t leaving Ingrid. Not after spending days pushing her away.
The guys stood to leave. “It’s getting late,” Kane said. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
When they’d gone, the apartment went quiet except for the sound of Ingrid breathing. I moved to pick her up and carry her to the bedroom, but her eyes opened. She looked up at me, gaze hazy and soft.
“You’ve had a long day, doll.”
She didn’t move away. Instead, she turned into me, snuggling her face into my shirt as if trying to crawl inside my skin. I stroked her hair, feeling that familiar, possessive ache inside me.
“Do you really think he’ll be out of jail soon?” she murmured.
“Someone’s been listening,” I mumbled. “You were supposed to be asleep.”
“I was. I kept drifting in and out, only caught bits and pieces.” Her face grew serious. “You think your father will pull strings to get him out?”
I sighed. “I don’t know, doll...” Her abuelita had connections, sure, but our fathers dealt in a different kind of currency—influence and favors that could bypass the law entirely. “Let’sfocus on what we can control.” The words felt forced coming from my lips given there was little in my life I actually had control over.
Ingrid sat up slowly, her eyes red-rimmed and exhausted. She gave a soft nod, then whispered the words that always managed to undo me.
“Kiss me.”
