Chapter 3
DECLAN
Ishould be anywhere but driving through Boston like I've got nowhere to be and no one to answer to.
The cut she fixed above my eye pulses, sending sharp twinges down my temple with every clench of my jaw.
All this time, and her face hasn't changed.
She stood there, calm. Untouched. Like she didn't look me in the eye while my cousin bled out at her feet.
I grip the steering wheel tighter.
"Freelance," she'd said, like that absolves her of everything.
My thoughts spiral back to that night, the night Joyce died. The night I learned what helplessness tastes like.
We got jumped in Southie. A deal gone sideways.
Nothing new, but they came harder than expected.
Joyce took a knife to the chest. Punctured lung.
I knew it was bad, the way he wheezed, the pink froth bubbling at his lips.
But he was still conscious, still breathing as I half-dragged, half-carried him down those concrete steps into the underground clinic.
I'd heard about the Ghost Angel from a friend at a nightclub about a month prior. A woman so skilled she could bring people back from the brink of death. She was at a place in Dorchester. I managed to get the address. Didn't know she was tied to the Albanians. They forgot to mention that.
When we arrived, she just fucking stood there. Didn't move. I pulled a gun for persuasion, it normally works, but not with her. Before I knew it, I was outgunned and leaving with Joyce was my best option.
I gathered him in my arms, and we left. He was dead by the time I got back to the car.
"Should've killed them all when I had the chance," I mutter, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white.
The memory burns away as I pull up to my house. I cut the engine and get out.
I let myself in through the front door, tossing my keys onto the marble-topped table. The house is quiet except for the low hum of the TV coming from the living room.
Keira.
Fuck, I'm still not used to her being in my house. Her place is being renovated and she's crashing here.
I head down the hallway and turn to see my twin lying on my couch, scrolling through her phone, a half-empty glass of red wine on the table.
She looks up as I enter, her green eyes, identical to mine, widening at the sight of my face.
"Jesus Christ," she says, setting down her phone. "Did you go ten rounds with a brick wall?"
"Something like that," I say, heading straight for the refrigerator. I pull out a beer, crack it open, and take a long sip.
Keira sits up and brushes her red hair out of her face. "Dec. Let your fighters fight. You make enough off them."
"Where's the fun in that? Besides, I'm the best and I need to show it from time to time."
"Yeah, well you look like you lost."
I grin. "You should see the other guy."
Keira narrows her eyes and gestures to my face. "You cut your eyebrow?"
"Yeah. Got it stitched."
"Shit, did you go to the ER?"
"Nope," I say, taking another sip and sitting down across from her. "The medic there fixed me."
"Like a good a professional fix?" she says, taking a sip of her wine. "Or like maybe this will get infected, maybe it won't?"
"I'm sure it won't get infected. She's supposed to be good at what she does," I say and lean forward, taking part of the bandage off to show her.
She leans in to give it a look over. "Seems decent. Those stitches are clean as hell."
I nod and press the bandage back down.
"On that note," I say, setting the beer bottle down. "You'll never guess who did them."
Keira arches an eyebrow. "Who?"
"The woman who let Joyce die."
Keira's expression shifts from curiosity to shock. "The Albanian nurse? No fucking way."
"Way."
"You're telling me she stitched you up?"
I nod.
"She's working the circuit now. Freelance, she says."
"What did you do to her?" Keira asks.
"Nothing. Thought about a lot of things though."
"Huh." Keira looks thoughtful, twirling a strand of red hair around her finger. "Well, I'd kill a bitch for family, but this girl gets a pass I suppose."
I stare at her, disbelieving. "A pass? Are you fucking kidding me? Joyce died because of her."
"Don't you remember what we found out about her?
" Keira asks. "Owned by the Albanians. Forced to live at that disgusting compound they used to have north of the city.
Threatened to kill her family. Probably raped by all those sick fucks, too.
" She shrugs. "Plus, Joyce was kind of a dick.
He got you into way too much shit, Dec, and almost got you killed like five times.
Dad hated him. You were the only one who hung out with him, you know that. "
My jaw tightens. "That's not the point."
"Then what is the point?" Keira challenges. "That you're still looking for someone to blame? If you want to be mad at someone still, be mad at the Albanians."
"I was," I say, my voice low and dangerous. "I killed quite a few of them afterwards."
A smile spreads across Keira's face. "Yes. We ran them out of town," she says, taking a sip of her wine. "So let that girl live her life."
I don't respond.
"Dec, I'm not defending her, but just be careful, because if she's back, it means someone let her be."
I shrug and grab my beer. "She's working fights now," I say. "Frank's gym. Patch jobs, mostly."
Keira groans. "Of course she is. Why do women like that always come crawling back to our world?"
"I have no fucking idea."
"Either way, Dec. I'm serious," Keira presses. "Let it go. Promise me you'll leave that nurse alone. We don't need any more complications right now."
I nod, not meeting her eyes. "Fine."
But even as I say it, I know it's a lie.
Because staying away? That's never been my strong suit.
And now that I've seen her again, I don't think I'm capable of staying away.
Not until I figure out whether I want to forgive her or finish what I started.