Chapter 19
NINETEEN
Devlin
I drew the razor down my cheek and grimaced when I nicked my skin. “Shit…” I stared in the mirror as a small drop of blood appeared near my jaw. “Fucking Cian. Can’t get a decent electric razor. I’m in the fucking Stone Age here,” I muttered.
Cian was off somewhere in this building they called Frank, apparently short for Frankenstein because it was a combination of different construction projects over the years.
Since learning his competition, the Bonnams, had been taken out the same night he was supposed to die, Cian had been working with his men to find out who was trying to take over his territory.
Then there was Rank, who was still in hiding.
Despite Cian insisting Rank wasn’t smart enough to plan anything, I suspected he was behind both the shed fire and the assassination attempt on Cian.
I was just glad that particular plan had gotten fucked.
I understood Cian’s hesitation. This crew, unlike what I’d built, was family. And even if Rank was a nasty piece of shit, the betrayal cut Cian deep. I could tell he didn’t want to believe it was true.
It took some of his attention away from me, which I convinced myself was a good thing Because that stupid ember of hope in my chest still hadn’t gone out.
Every nightmare now ended with Cian opening the door, and that hope had grown into a small flame that refused to fucking die.
It was dangerous, and it pissed me the hell off.
This morning, Cian had coerced me into another workout session in the garage, which had turned into a daily occurrence.
He insisted I needed to heal, but the only reason I agreed to go was because Cian needed to strengthen his shoulder, and he worked out longer when I was with him.
I’d planned on taking a casual stroll on the treadmill.
Instead, Cian had me lifting weights. He’d put me on a whole training plan, like some overzealous personal trainer, and suddenly I was thinking ahead to building muscle and increasing endurance.
Why? Because Cian was a hope enabler. He’d stoked that fucking flame in my chest all on his own. I hated him for it.
I finished shaving after managing to cut myself only one more time.
I wiped my face just as the beep of the front door code echoed through the apartment.
I stalked out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, planning to give Cian a piece of my mind about his shitty choice in razors.
Except it wasn’t Cian who stepped through the door. It was Jace.
We both stopped abruptly, staring at each other. I checked his hands for a knife, a gun, or any other fun surprises, but found nothing but his fists. Armed with only a damp hand towel stained with my own blood, I dropped my hands to my sides.
Jace seemed surprised to see me, which was odd.
He knew I stayed in Cian’s apartment and never left except for workouts in the garage.
While I healed, Cian had been extremely protective.
And while this apartment could’ve felt like a prison, it felt like a safe haven I wasn’t eager to leave.
Jace’s presence now intruded on that safety.
He schooled his features and cleared his throat before speaking. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I said, keeping my guard up.
He scratched at his chin and tugged at the diamond studs in his ears. Then he slowly slid a hand into the pocket of his jeans. I expected something designed to kill me. So when he pulled out a deck of playing cards, I frowned.
He smacked the cards onto his palm a few times like they were a pack of cigarettes. “Wanna play?”
Wanna play…?
I was in the fucking twilight zone. No way this kid, who’d love nothing more than to put me in the ground, wanted to play cards. This was a trick.
“What’s the catch?”
Now it was his turn to frown. “Catch?”
“If I lose, you get to stab me?”
Jace rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”
“You want me dead. Yet here you are, without Cian, asking me to play cards. I’m allowed to think this is a little fucking weird.”
“I know it’s weird, you asshole,” he huffed, and his voice rose in frustration. “Apparently, you’re gonna be around for a while. Cian’s my brother, and...” He threw up his hands. “I’m trying here.”
“Trying what?”
“To find a redeeming quality in you.”
That made me snort. “You’ll be looking for a while.”
He lifted his chin in defiance. “I’ve got time.”
The stubborn way he held my gaze made me pause.
I didn’t need to get on Jace’s good side.
Cian hadn’t made that a condition of keeping me around a little longer.
But I didn’t want to be at odds with him, either.
Cian clearly loved his brother. And seeing the way Jace interacted with both Cian and Rhys tugged at a part of me I thought I’d forgotten.
I was like Jace once. A discarded boy who’d found his family in two trailer park neighbors.
Conrad and Ben had treated me like their own brother, and those relationships had meant everything to me.
Until I’d fucked them up beyond repair.
I didn’t even remember what it was like to have friends.
For the past ten years, I’d only had my employees.
And they’d all feared me. Jace was probably a decade younger than me, but here he was.
Trying. I could do this. For Cian. Maybe a bit for me, too.
A reminder of what it felt like to be part of something good rather than destructive.
I tossed the towel into the bathroom and snatched a pair of pants off the bed. “What did you have in mind? I’ll warn you, I have a great poker face.”
When Jace’s shoulders dropped in relief and he flashed me a grin, I knew I’d said the right thing. I finished getting dressed as Jace sank down onto the couch and began shuffling cards on the coffee table.
I wasn’t quite sure what to do now. Was I supposed to play host? Jace probably knew this apartment better than I did.
I blurted out, “Do you want something to drink?”
He stopped shuffling, raising his eyebrows as one side of his mouth curled into a little smirk. “Wow. The Detroit Devil is offering me hospitality?”
“Oh, fuck off.” I stomped over to the couch and sat down. “No water for you.”
Jace ducked his head, but I could see a small smile on his face. He finished shuffling, then eyed me as he prodded his lower lip with his tongue. The silver ball piercing in the center clicked against his teeth.
“Cian said you didn’t kill Patrick.”
I gnawed on the inside of my cheek. I’d been promised poker, not a discussion about murder. “I didn’t want your father dead. I didn’t pull the trigger or order it. But he died because of his association with me.”
Jace’s knees shook. “He died because of what he did. He knew what he was getting into with you, so that’s on him.”
“That’s a mature way to look at it.”
Jace raised an eyebrow. “You do know I’m an adult, right?”
“If you say so.”
“I’m twenty-three, dickhead.”
“You don’t look a day over nineteen.”
“I take after my mother.”
“I can see that.”
Jace went back to shuffling cards. At this point, I wasn’t sure we’d ever actually play poker. Then he cleared his throat. Shifted in his seat. Tugged at his earrings again.
Finally, he said, “Thank you.”
“Sure. I like poker.”
He huffed in annoyance. “Not for this.”
“Then what?” I asked, deliberately being obtuse.
“You’re an asshole for making me say it.”
“Hey. I’m not making you do anything. You walked in here entirely of your own free will.”
He exhaled sharply. “Thank you for saving my brother.”
I leaned forward with my forearms on my knees and looked Jace in the eye. “Sure. But I didn’t do it for you, your threats, or your thanks.”
His fingers went very still as he clutched the deck of cards. “So why’d you do it, then? Why are you loyal to my brother?”
There were a lot of reasons, but I said the first one that came to mind. “He fights my nightmares. And he wins.”
Jace blinked rapidly, releasing a ragged breath. His eyes grew wet, but he quickly looked down and beat the emotion back. He shuffled the cards in his hands and gave a curt nod. “I’ll deal. Playing chips are in the closet.”
As I stood to get the chips, that damn flame of hope burned brighter.
Jace was terrible at poker. But he tried, and he had an endearing side that surprised me.
He smiled a lot and laughed loudly. He was expressive and competitive, and whenever he lost, he’d throw his head back and groan like he’d been shot.
And when he won—a rare occurrence—he’d crow in victory, even if he was still down half a million in fake chips.
Occasionally, he touched me. Just the brush of his fingers over my hand. But that quickly turned into him playfully kicking me in the shin, or smacking my chest. At one point, he threw an arm around my shoulder, and I tried to shove him off before we ended up wrestling on the floor.
Which was the exact moment Cian walked through the front door.
He froze.
We froze.
I was on my knees with Jace clinging to my back like a damn monkey.
Cian blinked at us. “What the fuck?”
“Poker got heated,” Jace said, ruffling my hair.
Cian snorted and shook his head. “We’ll talk about whatever this is later. We’ve got bigger problems.”
“Problems?” I asked as Jace climbed off my back. We both stood and straightened our clothes.
“Or solutions,” Cian said, bracing his hands on his hips. Then his gaze found mine. “We got Rank.”
Cian
Rank had already pissed himself by the time we filtered into the room.
My men had found him hiding out at some campsite in the Poconos, so he didn’t smell the best to begin with.
They’d put him in Bo’s old room—the same room where Devlin had been kept.
Rhys, Jace, and Devlin all fanned out behind me along the wall.
Hack was already waiting in the far corner of the room, sitting cross-legged with his headphones on and his laptop balanced on his legs.
He waved when we walked in, then went back to whatever the fuck he was doing on his computer.