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If it was done right.
And because I’d experienced that so young, I knew what it felt like, knew that it wasn’t for me anymore and that I didn’t have to go out there and find something to replicate it. You couldn’t replicate the un-replicable, and to be honest, I had no desire to ever find myself feeling like I’d once felt. It was an insidious weakness, and I hated being weak.
I liked being strong.
I’d taught my son that too. I’d taught him to be independent, resilient, but seeing him armed with an intent to use the weapon I’d instructed him with set my nerves on edge.
“Look at the car on the street.”
Scowling, I stepped forward. His tone had me hugging the wall, moving over to him on the other side of the window so I could peer out. His gaze was intent, his concentration absolute—so absolute, in fact, that I wished he could be that dedicated to his frickin’ math homework so I didn’t get any bullshit from his teacher. I peered out onto the street, trying to see what he was seeing.
We lived in the city, but it was a good part of town. I hated driving, hated commuting even more so I made sure that, wherever we lived, it was near where I worked. I only had to walk a few blocks to hit the college campus, which made this neighborhood incredibly expensive, but I could afford it.
I’d long since stopped caring about how much things cost, and only instilled a sense of value in objects so that Seamus wouldn’t grow up to be a precocious spoiled brat.
He didn’t know how wealthy I was, wouldn’t until the day I died and he inherited everything, but that was for another time, another place.
The street was neat, manicured in a way that I didn’t like but dealt with. Everything was perfect. And when I said everything, I meant it. The roads wouldn’t dare get potholes, the houses were all flawlessly painted, not even needing a second coat of paint on them. Driveways were cobbled or tiled or paved without a single weed sticking out from between the cracks.
It was the kind of street where not even the lightbulb on a streetlamp would flicker. And if it did? The city would have someone out within the day to make sure it was replaced.
So what he saw—
Then, I just happened to catch a glimpse of the BMW.
It was black. Dark.
And in the shadows.
There weren’t many on this street because there were a lot of streetlamps, but he’d parked kind of catty-corner, in a way that made him difficult to see from a certain angle.
Our angle.
I cut Seamus a look, then rasped, “Give me the gun, baby.”
He shook his head, but his hands were shaking. “No,” he squeaked. “I have to keep us safe.”
Reaching over, I pressed a hand to his shoulder and murmured, “You know how good a shot I am. I’ll protect us.”
His shoulders quaked, and I could feel his fear from over here. It tinged the air with pungent teenage sweat, and it made me want to hug him, wrap him in my arms, and tell him that I’d protect him until kingdom come, that he never needed to worry.
But there was definitely somebody watching us.
Somebody that wasn’t affiliated with the Points, because I knew how the Points worked.
Outside our door, they were in a massive SUV. If Eoghan had asked for a detail to follow that SUV, it would have been a matching tank, not a sleek sedan that wasn’t even pointed in our direction. That was hiding in plain sight.
The Five Points were blunt objects. Hammers, not scalpels.
I could feel sweat trickle down my brow as I accepted that, somehow, somewhere, we’d become involved in something we had nothing to do with.
Cupping Seamus’s shoulder tighter, I implored, “Please, sweetheart, give me the gun.”
“I saw him leave the car,” he whispered, his hands shaking around the weapon. “He was heading for the SUV.”
Something in his voice had me staring at him. “What did you see?”
He gulped. “Someone was shot.” His mouth worked as he twisted to look at me. “The man who came to the door, I-I think he’s dead.”
