I cut myself off with a shuddering, frustrated breath. The rush of emotions when I talk about my baby sister is too much; it attacks me at once and makes it difficult to even articulate myself.
Killian’s harsh features ease up slightly, as if he recognizes how I’m feeling. He runs a hand through his messy, damp hair.
“I gave you my word we’d work to get her back,” he drawls huskily. “I’m a man of my word. You’ll have to trust me on that, alright?”
Before I can decide how best to answer—or even whether to—my backpack vibrates from the far corner of the room.
I cough loudly to cover the noise. Killian pauses on his way to the bathroom, head tilting in my direction as if he’s questioning what he’s heard. If it was just my cough or something more.
Then he seems to decide it’s unimportant enough to probe and disappears into the bathroom. The door clicks shut behind him and I release a breath.
I give it another second or two, waiting until I hear the faucet running before I move.
Three quick strides and I’m at my backpack, digging through the clothes and toiletries until my fingers close around the cheap burner phone hidden at the very bottom.
The screen glows with a single text message from a number I know too well. It sends cold dread surfing down my spine every time it appears.
Behave yourself, Myshka.
Do not think to run from us.
We will always find you.
I’m suddenly dizzy as I quickly delete the message then delete it again from the trash folder. I shove the phone back into the depths of my bag and bury it under everything else, as if that could somehow make it less real.
The bathroom door opens again and Killian reemerges with a scowl. “Damn water is already ice cold. I’ll have to address it again with Ms. Pileggi. You’d think in the twenty-first century warm water wouldn’t be a fucking luxury to come by.”
I hum in answer, trying to look casual as I swing my arms.
He pauses between me and the bed, his gaze sharpening. “You good?”
“Peachy.”
He grunts—his version of acceptance, I’ve learned—andthen he’s grabbing at the rollaway bed. It’s his night to sleep on it while I take the real bed.
He flips on the TV and seems to check out for the rest of the night, watching ESPN recaps in his moody, introverted silence.
I sink onto the edge of the bed and settle my nerves with deep breaths, all too happy to let him. It gives me a chance to remind myself that I have to focus on Eva.
I can’t let myself ever become distracted.
Whatever it takes to get her back, I’ll do it.
…even if it means playing a game where I don’t know the rules.
Tom has no problem giving me as many shifts as I ask for. He’s more than happy to have me working the pub floor while he occasionally wipes down glasses behind the counter and then disappears to the back for a nap.
But money’s money, so I take whatever I can get over the next few days.
Though it’s still not much, my chest swells with pride when I have enough cash to stash inside an old shoebox I find.
It’ll have to do for now until I can rescue Eva and truly start a new life.
You would think I’d open a bank account—it would be the first in my twenty-three years—but bank accounts leave paper trails. Paper trails are one thing I can’t afford right now.
I’m collecting a five that’s been left on my last table when the door swings open and Killian walks in with half a dozen men trailing behind him.
It’s the middle of the daily afternoon lull where we usually only get a handful of stragglers stopping by. Killian and theCallahan clan definitely tend to be too busy to drop by on a random Wednesday afternoon.
