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But I’m not in Astoria surrounded by my brothers and our army.
I’m in a strange city.
She’s a prosecutor. And I’m a fucking criminal.
Shaking the irrational emotions away, I chalk them up to weakness on my part, given the few intense days I’ve had. I flew to Seattle with my brothers because Darragh, Cormac’s twin, called to tell us his house was surrounded by hitmen. We settled that with a bloodbath. Then I flew here to Las Vegas yesterday to get Cormac off on all his criminal charges.
Yeah, that’s all this is…
Weakness. Off my game.
Something buzzes in the other room. I reach for my gun but remember I left it in my hotel room. I was in that damn courthouse most of the day. It hits me, I’ve been without any kind of weapon for close to twelve hours.
Off. My. Game.
Jillian’s phone sits on her kitchen counter charging. Passing it, I give it a glance before heading out of her condo.
It’s locked with a picture of a pink Las Vegas sunset on the home page.
A text message scrolls across the screen.
Trista: Did you download that dating app I told you about?
Dating app?
My body stills and fury races through my blood.
Oh no…
Peeking to see she’s still asleep, I take out my phone and call Balor.
“It’s three a.m.,” he answers, groggy.
“Aye.” I forgot the bleedin’ time difference. “Sorry. I need you.”
“I figured. What?”
“I need access to a phone.”
“Whose phone?”
The judgy tone alarms me, but my nerves are raw at this point.
“The prosecutor for Cormac and Ana’s cases.”
“It’s midnight there. And you have her phone?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you fuck her?”
I wonder if I should let my brothers think that’s how I got Cormac off, by getting his prosecutor off. Twice. “Aye.”
Balor just laughs and doesn’t ask any follow-ups. “Pop off the back and take a photo of the SIM card.”
I do what he says as the back flies from my fingers and clatters nosily on the tile floor.
Shite.
