Chapter 31
Killian
Tampa traffic to the airport is a bleedin’ nightmare.
“Good thing we left early,” Da notes as we sit in stand-still traffic on the Gandy bridge.
He’s heading back to Chicago today. Sandro offered to fly him home on his private jet, but Da just said no need.
He’s practical like that, likes to stay under the radar.
Bran inherited that trait from him. Sully and I like a bit of luxury and glitter if I’m to be honest.
I just grunt, my fingers tapping impatiently on the steering wheel.
Da’s quiet for a few minutes, staring out the window at the sparking water as we inch forward, watching the boats or the diving pelicans. Then I feel him turn his attention on me. “Heard about Dr. Sam, that the shooter said she was the target.”
At the mention of her name, emotion tightens my chest. I rub at it uncomfortably. “Aye. Her shite almost got you killed.”
His soft chuckle fills the car. “Ah. You think that’s why you’re so worked up, Son?”
I glance over at him, the uneasiness growing into the feeling of being cornered.
“What d’ya mean? Of course that’s why I’m bleedin’ mad.
She could’ve said she had a target on her back.
We could’ve been prepared, had better security.
Selfish, is what it was.” I inch the car forward, then steal a glance at him. He’s trying not to grin.
“Seriously, what’s so fuckin’ amusing?” Now I’m irritated.
He rubs a hand over his face and smirks like I’m the daftest eejit on the planet.
“Son, you’re not this hot over almost losin’ your oul man.
That bullet was meant for the woman you’ve grown fond of, yeah.
She was in real danger.” When I don’t respond, his voice softens.
“I also heard how you gutted him. You may not be willing to acknowledge why yet, but your heart knows.”
I drag a hand down my face and blow out a loud breath. “For fuck’s sake, Da. Is it cause you almost met your maker? That why you’re gettin’ all soft here.”
He shifts in his seat so he’s angled toward me.
“Life is short, Son. And some of the best gifts in life are the unexpected ones. The ones you don’t see comin’, yeah.
” He smacks my shoulder with the back of his hand.
“Open your eyes, ya daft prick.” He growls in frustration or warning, I’m not sure which.
Maybe both. “You let this one get away and there’s no hope for ya. ”
After a beat of silence, I say, “I hear ya.” Then he lets me change the subject and I fill him in on the fight.
But my mind is stuck on his words. Could he be right?
Could all this rage I’m feeling be because Sam was in danger and not because she lied?
I replay what was going through my head when I lost my mind and carved up Ernesto Torres.
It was flashes of him aiming his gun at Sam.
Even though he missed… how the fuck dare he?
But as I let myself see the truth, I realize it wasn’t anger I was feeling. It was fear.
By the time I drop Da off, I’m wondering if I want more from Sam than just to fuck her. Could I possibly have feelings for her? It’s been so long since I felt anything for a woman, I’m struggling to separate lust from deeper emotions. Could she ever feel something for me?
A tiny pinpoint of hope pokes at my chest. It’s painful and my immediate reaction is to push it away. But I hear Da’s words about life being short, and so I sit with it as I drive back to The Lucky Sinner.