Chapter 17
TheRover idled outside of 82 FrederickDrive.
AvaJade would forgive me for stealing it in the middle of the night. My eyes burned like they were filled with canyon dust. I couldn’t remember the last time I cried like I did on the way here. My ribs hurt from hyperventilating. My hands felt stiff from clutching the wheel.
Butit didn’t matter how I felt while Kaleb lay in a hospital bed fighting for his life because of me.
No.
Becauseof him.
Theaddress Aodhán gave me stuck in my memory from the moment he told it to me even if consciously I didn’t think I would ever need it. The house was nothing more than a squat single story red brick building with a brown roof and a yellowed front lawn. Nondescript. In the light of early dawn it hardly looked like someone lived in it.
ButI knew he was inside. His car was parked in the lean-to, the ANRCHST license plate clearly visible.
Igripped the wheel tight, taking a long, slow breath.
IfAodhán didn’t want to see me get hurt, then why do this?
Becausehe’s a liar.
Ichecked my phone for another update from Damien with shaking fingers. I was running on 7-Eleven coffee and rage and not much else, and it was starting to show.
Therewere no new messages on my phone. Hardin’s cell went straight to voicemail no matter how many times I called and texted after he hung up on me, so I had no choice but to reach out to Damien. He explained what happened. Told me the bullet just missed Kaleb’s heart. That he might live. But he was dead for a full minute before they could revive him.
Ithanked every god and goddess in this bleak universe that Aodhán was a terrible fucking shot.
Damienasked if I was on my way, but I got the feeling I wasn’t welcome. I didn’t know what Hardin would do if he saw me. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to get the sound of his voice out of my head. The betrayal in it. The hurt.
Allbecause of him.
Andmy fucking naivety.
Myridiculous rationalization.
Mymercy.
Butthere was something I could do to make it right.
ForKaleb.
Itwas almost too easy to find Aodhán’s house, like I already knew where it was.
Iswallowed hard, looking at the gun on the passenger seat and the tire iron beside it. The gun would be too quick. I wanted this to hurt. I needed him to hurt as much as he hurt me.
Iwanted him dead, but my chest ached at the thought. Whether his father ordered him to shoot or not shouldn’t have mattered.
Itdidn’t matter.
AndI shouldn’t have cared that he tried to save me after Gilligan’sFinch.
Idon’t care.
ForKaleb. This was for Kaleb. ButI wouldn’t kill him. I wasn’t sure I even could, but his life belonged to the St. Vincents.
Excuses.
Ishook my head.
You’reso weak.
No. It should be Kaleb or Hardin or even Damien who got the honor pulling that trigger. Not me.
Sofucking weak.
Igrowled through my teeth, stuffing the gun back into my purse. My pulse pounded in my ears as I ran my fingertips over the cool metal of the tire iron.
“Hey, Siri,” I said, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears. “Call 9-1-1.”
Theline rang after a few seconds, and I closed my eyes as dark spots clouded the edges of my vision, my pulse beating out of rhythm.
“9-1-1, what is your emergency?”
“Someone’s been hurt.”
Iforced the tremble out of my tone.
“Okay, miss, could you explain to me the nature of the injuries?”
“He’s…he’s been beaten with a tire iron.”
Ipulled the metal iron onto my lap, clenching my fist around the base of the longer end.
Breathein.
Breatheout.
“Can you tell if he’s conscious?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is he breathing?”
Alump formed in my throat, and I clenched my teeth to stop the tears I didn’t have in me to cry.
“I don’t know.”
Itapped the button to end the call, knowing they would trace my location and send an ambulance. I had maybe ten minutes before they got here. I would need to be long gone by then.
Thecool morning air kissed my inflamed cheeks as I stepped out of the Rover and tested the weight of the hard metal bar in my palm.
Let’sgo, bitch.
Theuneven stones of his walkway vanished under my heels and I was at his door. The handle in my palm. It turned easily, unlocked as if he expected this, expected me.I pushed into a dark living room that smelled like him.
Movementto the right had me snapping my attention to the first door in a short hallway, and the man standing in it. Aodhán stopped in his tracks as the front door creaked shut on its hinges behind me. His bare, tattoo covered arms dropped to his sides. A pair of black sweats hung low on his hips. His golden hair was still wet from a shower and there were ghosts in his eyes.
Seeinghis face made that rage return, and I remembered the promise I made him.
Ifyou hurt them, I’ll kill you.
Hisgreen eyes tracked to the tire iron in my hand, but as a primal sound reverberated in my chest and I stalked toward him on feet that didn’t feel like my own, he didn’t move.
Withboth hands, I swung, barely seeing him through the salt in my eyes.
Aodhángrunted as the iron struck the forearm he lifted to block the shot that would’ve kissed his temple.
Asthe iron struck bone, it rattled, vibrating into my hands like a live wire of electricity plugged into my veins.
Iswung again.
Again.
Buthe kept fucking blocking me.
Onthe next swing, I aimed lower, catching him in a knee in payment for the one his father shot tonight. He went down, landing on the other one, his face finally betraying the pain he felt. ThatIinflicted.
WhenI swung again, he didn’t let it connect with the broken, purple and red flesh of his forearm. He ripped the bar clean out of my hands and chucked it into the corner.
“I had no choice!”
Theblack spots returned, and I stumbled backward, hitting the edge of the sofa, leaning into it as a bone-deep exhaustion filled me. I curled my claws into the worn fabric, clinging to consciousness as whatever had kept me going for the last seven hours wore off. The feeling like coming down from a dirty high.
“IfI hadn’t followed the order my da would’ve shot him, anyway.”
“You could’ve stopped him!” I snapped, wanting so badly to take another swing. Make him shut up. He needed to shut up. I didn’t want to hear his excuses. They were worse than my own.
AndI hated him.
Ihated myself.
Myhead spun and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to clear away the darkness still clamoring in.
“No, mo mhuirnín. I couldn’t.”
Faroff, like a whisper in the distance, I heard the first sounds of approaching sirens.
“I hope they kill you,” I muttered, pushing myself back to my feet, wobbling as I moved toward the door.
“You should know,” Aodhán said, his tone soft. Pleading. “I never miss a shot.”
“But you did miss,” I hissed back at him. “You missed and now Kaleb might live long enough to return the favor.”
Heonly stared at me, waiting for me to get it as his words sank in how they were intended.
Inever miss a shot.
Mystomach twisted. Was he saying he meant to miss Kaleb’s heart? What the fuck did that mean? Did he think that made this okay? He still could’ve died. Damien said he lost a lot of blood. That the bullet clipped his lung.
Besides…
“How could I ever believe a word out of your mouth?” I asked, the siren loud now. Only a few streets away. “How could Iever trust you?”
Aodhánwinced as he got to his feet, favoring his right leg. “You already do.”
Mylips parted on an argument, but no words came out.
“You wouldn’t have come here alone if you didn’t.”