CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Blade
The sound of gunfire still rings in my skull. Two bodies lie dead on the floor, their blood spreading, soaking into the planks.
Hana is shaking so hard she can’t stand. Dirk’s got her in his arms, holding her like she might break apart. Jett’s watching his brother and the woman he killed two men for.
Dirk is the first to speak. “We should call someone. Have these pricks moved and—”
I let out a laugh that sounds nothing like me. “Dirk, every cleaner on the East Coast knows who we are. This can’t get back to the Quinlans. We’ll take care of it.”
Mentioning our bosses, the Irish Mob, hangs in the air, heavy and true. And it makes this more real. We’re all alone. We have to take care of this ourselves.
Hana sobs, pressing her face into Dirk’s shoulder. “Take me home.”
“We can’t stay here, Blade.” Dirk drills me with a look. “I can’t—”
“No.” My voice comes out rough. “We stay. We act normal. Their agent-in-charge told these douches to back off and wait in town, remember, Jett?”
He nods, staring at the dead bodies.
Dirk curses under his breath. “I’ll find their car and drop it off in front of that biker bar on Route 19. Those MC assholes will get blamed for making them disappear.”
Jett puts on a pair of gloves and drops to the floor to start going through their pockets. “Keys.” He depresses the buttons on the fob, and lights flash in the brush about one hundred yards from the house. “And the car.”
“You saved my life, brother,” Dirk says, hugging Jett.
They share a moment and grip each other’s necks, whispering, their bonded trauma on display. Now, I’m jealous and totally get why Jett was offended when I put my relationship with Dirk above taking a stand to make Jett mine.
Shit can change in a second. It just did.
Dirk kisses Hana before leaving with a bag of clothes to change into after he dumps the agents’ car. He knows...
Hana, now standing alone, flies to Jett. “Dirk said you saved him. Us.” Her voice cracks. “Thank you.” She leans in and kisses his cheek. Soft. Grateful.
Something ugly twists in my gut seeing him touch a woman. I shouldn’t care. But I do.
“Hana, why don’t you stay in Dirk’s room?” I look down at the two dead bodies. “We’ve got to dump these guys before Dirk gets back.”
We wrap the Feds in tarps from the shed. Taking care of a scene is a reminder of how comfortable I am working with Jett. But he wants to leave my detail with Rhys.
Jett helps me lift the bodies. One by one, we load them into the trunk of Hana’s car after lining it with more plastic. We then drive through the woods until the trees open up to the lake.
The water is black and still. A perfect burial ground. Even if they find the bodies, like Dirk suggested, the bikers will get the rap. After all, Reichart reported that he never found Dirk.
Cold biting my skin, I carry one of the Feds from the car in the perfect tarped cocoon all the way to the edge of the dock. With Jett grabbing the feet, and me holding the shoulders, we swing the body.
“On three,” I say.
The body launches into the water, and we go back for the other. Each time the ripples spread, they send tremors across the black, dull surface. When the last trace of the agents disappears, I stare at the water until I see Jett in the blurry reflection.
He’s beside me, silent.
“We agree, right? We can’t tell Rhys or Connor. They’ll see us as a liability.”
“It was my kill,” Jett says, still sounding out of it.
“Your kill is my kill. But the Feds aren’t another mafia family. The Quinlans will send us to that torture camp in Dunbar, Ireland.”
Jett looks at me, and finally, the weight of what happened and what’s at stake sinks in.
I reach for him, but stop myself. “Maybe it’s best if we part ways for a while,” I say, instead of holding him even if he really needs me to. “Take that job you mentioned.”
His expression cracks like thin ice. “You’re serious?”
“Yeah,” I grind out, feeling sick. “If there is any chance someone finds out about this, more Feds will be looking for two men. A team.”
Jett looks like I’ve just hit him, then he exhales, “Whatever you say, boss.”
We drive back to the cabin in silence. Dirk’s already home, pulling up the blood-soaked boards. When I don’t see Hana, I ask, “Did that Fed touch her?”
“Pinned her down, but he didn’t get further.” He looks ready to detonate. “She’s taking a bath.”
“I’m so fucking sorry.” I want to hug him, but I don’t.
“Those Feds were here because of me, not you,” he says. “This was not your fault. You made the problem go away.” He looks over his shoulder. “Or rather your...boyfriend did.”
“He’s not,” I stuff that down. “We’re just...chilling this weekend.”
God, I hate myself, but that’s too much for everyone to deal with. I doubt Dirk will remember these details after tomorrow.
“I got the Fed’s phone IPs and a friend will monitor any communication,” I say. “If this cracks open, we’ll deal with it.”
We look at the floor, and Dirk says, “I’ll burn the boards I pulled up and get a guy to replace them. I know people, too. This is my mess to clean.”
“We will never let you take the fall,” I say.
We means Jett and me. But I told him this was just a fling and that we need space.
Dumbass.
Jett’s already in the bedroom taking a shower, his clothes in the fireplace burning to ash.
When the living room is empty again, I sink into a familiar comfort when it all gets too much. Isolation.
I grab a blanket, collapse on the sofa, and throw it over my head. I used to think I knew what loneliness was. But this...this is something else.
Because now I know what real warmth feels like. To have a man touch and kiss me who loves me.
I doubt I’ll ever have it again.