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“He was g— gonna call the cops! He s— saw the gun,” her croak sets off alarm bells in my head. “Liam— he wouldn’t listen to me.”
“Then you had every right to defend yourself,” I say, and she peeks out from under her elbow. Her eye-rolling is somewhat unnerving. She's clearly terrified, and I'm not sure if I should tell her that no one will ever come to her rescue. I smile and nod as I tenderly push her hair back. “People who refuse diplomacy, even on the most mundane level, end up in situations they can’t handle. Liam was going to call the cops on you owning a gun after your place was broken into? What kind of logic was that?”
“He said I was acting... weird,” She sniffles harshly, but her voice is more stable now. I frown, my thoughts furrowing my brows as she wipes her face haphazardly with both her palms. “He demanded—demanded—to know where I was last night. I don’t— Liam never acted like that before.”
“Did you tell him anything?” I ask, and Heather’s gaze drifts away from me briefly before she shakes her head. Of course, she wouldn’t say she was at the mansion of the Irish Mafia, getting a cast made for facial prosthetics that’d help her assassinate the mayor. But still... “How’d he know about the gun?”
|I dropped my purse, and everything came out,” Heather admits, her lips and chin wobbling dangerously. “He— he saw, and started screaming at me! And I tried to explain it’s for protection, but he just wouldn’t listen.”
“Hmm,” I grumbled deep in my chest, peeling away the few strands of hair that stuck to Heather’s hot, wet face. “Sounds like his problem, then. He should’ve taken a moment to hear you out instead of jumping to conclusions.”
“You’re blamingLiamwhen I’m the one that—” Trailing off, Heather sits up to shake her head roughly. Gradually, life returns to her. Maybe, this isn’t as bad a situation as I initially thought. “How could you say that, Jack?”
“You understand the difference between an accident and intentional. For instance, you’re in a car and slip on ice. That’s an accident. If you drive drunk, though, that’s intentional,” I reply, and a sparkle ignites in Heather’s eyes. “In both situations, you may kill someone, but circumstances matter, Heather. You may be careful, knowing there is ice, or maybe you think ‘I’m sober enough,’ but intent doesn’t change the circumstances. You might not have intended to shoot Liam, but the circumstances demanded it, and it happened.”
“T— that is the shittiest analogy I’ve ever heard,” Heather replies blankly, her voice monotone, and I shrug.
“The point is that Liam’s dead, and you can’t change that,” I answer. She sucks in a sharp breath. “The only thing you can do is rationalize it and move on. Besides, you’re getting some good out of this. He rarely paid his rent on time or in full; he ate your food, all that crap, right? So now, you won’t have to deal with all that.”
“How can you say killing him benefits me?” Heather asks, a thread of anger in her tone, and I shrug again. Standing up, I walk over to her dresser to grab the box of tissues sitting there. Tossing it to her, I lean against the dresser to cross my arms over my chest while she fumbles to catch it.
“In a few hours, there’ll be no trace of him downstairs, and as a gift, I’ll even have the cleaners muck out his stall,” I reveal, and Heather’s eyes snap to mine before she blows her nose. “You may have gotten that promotion, but there is no pay increase, right? So, you’ll have to consider renting out the room again. It helps if the room doesn’t stink of stale beer and body odor. You have three unused bedrooms, including Liam’s?”
“You’re thinking too far... into the future,” Heather replies tiredly, wiping her eyes and chin with a tissue. “I just— it just happened an hour ago, and you’re talking about replacing him.”
“It’s unfortunate, but these things happen. Mistakes happen, Heather, and all you can do is adjust,” her face twists in distaste, and I roll my eyes at her impudence. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t be upset. I’m saying–”
“I know what you’re saying, Jack,” She snaps nastily, gnashing her teeth as she pulls her knees up to her chin. The hairs on the back of my neck bristle under her glare; those eyes just get me hot and bothered. Especially with that tortured expression on her face. “I appreciate you trying to comfort me, but you’re doing a crap job!”
“It’s recognizable as an attempt,” I grumble more to myself than her, satisfaction spreading through my veins. I nod, ignoring Heather for a moment of self-absorption. “That’s more than I expected of myself.”
“You’re... such an ass, wow,” Heather guffaws, and I chuckle lightly. She relaxes a little, her shoulders no longer knotted in her ears. Despite the grimace on her face, she huffs and turns away from me. “He didn’t deserve that.”
“What did he deserve, then, Heather?” I question, and she looks at me quizzically. “More importantly, why are you equating what he didn’t deserve with what you’ve done? Would it be easier for you to kill him if he were a rapist? A murderer, himself? A child abuser? But because he was just a generic, shitty human being, you feel... what, exactly? There are always gradients. Just because you’re on the low end doesn’t mean you’re not worse in some ways.”
“What the hell doesthatmean?” Heather questions sharply, defensively, and I know I’ve hooked her. Sauntering over to her, I sit on the edge of the bed next to her and wrap my arm around her neck. Drawing her down, I cradle her head in my lap and stroke her hair and cheek. She’s stiff, unsure, but gradually begins to relax as the seconds tick by in silence.
“He took advantage of you,” I murmur, glancing down, and Heather tilts her head to look up at me through bright, swirling, chocolate eyes. “I know you’ve thought of it, Heather. What deplorable bullshit would Liam stoop to should you try to throw him out? That’s why you’ve held off. But...just like a bully, you were afraid of him, even a little bit. You can feel bad because of what you did, but don’t ever feel bad for doing it to him.”
“That’s a much better speech,” Heather mutters, burying her face in my abdomen and wrapping her arms around my waist. I’m surprised, a slight smirk stretching my lips.No, I’m not surprised.
I’m... happy. Happy?
“You’ll come home with me for the next few days,” I say, my tone brokering no argument, but she doesn’t react. Holding my breath, I peel back her hair to find her passed out. Smiling tenderly, I stroke her cheek and jaw. “Hopefully, you realize you’re better suited for this than you think, Heather. Because it’d be a damned shame if I had to kill you.”
“Boss,” Jimmy gingerly opens the door, freezing when he sees me, his face burning bright red. I arch a brow questioningly, and he clears his throat and shakes his head. “Uh, uh, so, ah—”
“Spit it out, Jimmy,” I growl, covering Heather’s ear—the last thing I need is her waking up. I need her rested and ready, and I glance down at my watch; hardly 2pm. I need to figure out a way to explain away the moving truck outside. I have to brief Heather on her first job. I should leave someone to investigate what the fuck happened in this house.
“Um,” Jimmy breaks my whirring thoughts, and I gaze at him steadily as he half-hides behind the door. “Robert wants to know if you’re changing the schedule again. He sounded pissed on the phone.”
“I’m not,” I answer. “Tell him to untwist his panties. We’ll go ahead as scheduled. This was good. Great, even.”
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
Heather
"You said," I say to Jack, who is lying next to me, ankles crossed and thumbing through his phone. His arm propped under his head suddenly extended, and I stiffened as he absently rubbed my back. I rub my palms together nervously as I sit beside him on an unfamiliar bed in his mansion. “The first time I was here... you said you’d transfer my dad’s debt to my brother if you found him.”
