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“He got his arse kicked.”
“By who?” Fury heated my blood. “Who was that man Da’s second—”
“Just fucking get in.” Lachlan unlocked the door.
“Bollocks, does this thing have heat?” I rubbed my hands against the vents barely spewing warm air.
“It’ll kick in.” He peeled away.
On the drive, Lachlan explained Balor’s guard had been tackled by two frat boys while two others beat the crap out of Balor. The guy who Da’s second pummeled was the capo who hired Balor’s guard.
Punishment is like an STD, it spreads pretty fast and doesn’t end pretty.
“Is Balor all right?” I asked. “Where is he? The hospital?”
“No. Da said no hospital. Wants to keep this quiet. Between us. He sent a doctor to his apartment. Balor’s got a busted lip, a broken arm, and several bruised ribs from being kicked according to the doc,” Lachlan said with little emotion.
He’d just reached six-six and could kill a man with his bare hands, so he had to control his temper, or he’d end up in prison for the rest of his life.
“Why are you going to MIT? Why not Da and Kieran?”
Lachlan’s cold eyes strayed to me for an eerie second and then he looked away. “To deal with the guard.”
My throat tightened. “The guard?”
“No matter what, guards are responsible.” His voice gave me chills. “It’s what Da wants. We don’t question him or tell him no. You understand that, right?”
He learned that the hard way spending a year in a torture camp the one and only time he didn’t listen to Da.
“Aye, but what about the guys who beat up Balor?”
“They’re not guys. They’re overgrown kids spawned from rich fucks with Harvard lawyers on speed-dial. Plus, we’ve all dealt with assholes. Balor needs to learn how to defend himself.”
I’d been wrapped up in my classes at Columbia, a stupid History program that would go to waste because I’d be working for my father anyway. After that night, I’d planned to tell him I was quitting school. He needed me. Now. I’d protect Balor, show Da I had what it took to be on the protection team.
If we hadn’t been on I-95 North passing Bridgeport, Connecticut, I’d have asked Lachlan to stop and let me out to go home. But I had no jacket, and no way to get back to Astoria other than the train.
Fuck…
We arrived in Cambridge, Massachusetts four hours later. I’d not been there before since Balor had started MIT in the fall. Lachlan parked his car and strode to a large building like he owned the place. I’d guessed he’d gone there when Da dropped off Balor.
Balor lived in an apartment a few blocks from the main campus. Freshmen usually had to live in dorms, but Da wanted him protected because he chose a school so far from Astoria. Plus, he was only eighteen and had four older brothers protecting him from neighborhood bullies until he went away to college.
Lachlan’s phone rang and he answered, “Alo? I’m here now. When will they be here? Aye.”
Watching him put his phone away, I shivered against the cold. “Who was that?”
“Kieran. Two new guards will be here in a few minutes.” Lachlan rang the buzzer for Balor’s apartment.
The main entry door opened, and a warm lobby greeted me. My muscles finally unclenched from the cold. Balor’s apartment was on the fifth floor, but Lachlan took the stairs, his crazy long legs tackling three, even four steps at a time. I had to book it to keep up with him.
He hammered his fist on Balor’s apartment door.
His guard, who lived with him, opened it. The guy turned white seeing Lachlan but played it cool.
“The doctor just left,” the guard said, his Irish accent sounding a little hoarse. His face was bruised with a deep gash on his cheek. “He’s coming back to set Balor’s arm in a cast.”
“I’m fine,” Balor hollered from the living room sofa, watching television on a seventy-two-inch flatscreen above a roaring fireplace.
