Chapter 6
Maeve
Boketto (v) the act of gazing vacantly into the distance
Standing in the window near the front door, I pull the curtain to the side just enough to watch Callum slam his fist into Ronan's arm, knocking him to the side.
I almost feel bad for Ronan. Almost. He deserves every punch tonight.
Maybe it will make him think twice before keeping secrets from me.
He was just as much my friend as Callum was.
I step away from the window, letting the curtain fall back into place. My body is tense, my mind spinning. It wasn’t all just a bad dream. It was very real.
Callum was here, back in my house, back in my life. As I trudge slowly upstairs toward my bedroom, I wonder whether he’s aware of exactly how much I know. All this time, he thought he was watching me from the shadows. But really, I’ve been watching him, too.
Maeve 19 Years Old
I was walking out of class, tired as hell and dragging ass, when my phone chimed. I pulled it from my pocket to see what Orin wanted. I knew he was around here somewhere. He always was.
I looked around to see if I could spot him quickly, scanning the Junction only finding students scattered about studying, sunbathing, or smackin’ face. Today, he seemed to be hiding pretty well, so I checked the message.
Lorcan pushed training up an hour, so pick up the pace, Princess.
Which was code for, “Lorcan wants to talk about last night, and there’s no getting out of it.” Ugh. I was not in the mood for this shit, but it was unavoidable.
Last night's events would have been soul-changing for most anyone. But for me, stuff like that was becoming a new normal. Orin hated it, but he never stopped me.
Last night was a bit different, though. Last night went further than it ever had, but I didn't regret it. The guy had it coming.
I quickly tapped out a reply to Orin:
I know what you’re doing.
I slide my phone back into my bag and hurry onto the sidewalk, making my way to the vehicle parked a few blocks away.
Students were gathered outside one of the larger coffee shops on campus.
A young guy wearing a plaid button-up was giving some kind of speech.
He was using a mic, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying.
The closer I got to the crowd around him, the harder it became to navigate through the mass of people.
I decided to cross the street to avoid them.
As I made it to the crosswalk, I caught a scent that was all too familiar. Juniper and amberwood.
Callum.
He’s here.
There was no one else on this earth who smelled like that.
I whipped my head around to look for him.
He had almost gotten out of sight, but I caught a brief glimpse of him as he squeezed himself between students.
He almost got out of sight in time, had it not been for the short guy bobbing on his tiptoes, attempting to see the speaker better.
Callum’s shoulders were broad, his hair wet and tousled as if he had been on a run.
How convenient. Did Orin know he was this close?
I knew he was attending school here, and I knew he was watching, but this was the first time I’d seen him so close to me.
I’d seen Callum watching me from a distance since we started college, but I never let him know.
I’d catch glimpses of him in my periphery, and I’d feel that familiar awareness of his presence that I never could quite explain.
I watched him disappear, then continued crossing the street to find Orin.
I don’t think he ever realized I’d seen him. He wouldn’t expect that. He knew the old me, not the me I had become. The me I had to become. The kidnapping had made me paranoid and on edge. I wouldn’t allow myself to be taken again. I couldn’t.
As I approach the parking lot, I see Orin leaning against the door of the SUV, coolly fending off two girls from my morning class.
He didn’t exactly date, and I knew these girls were nowhere near his type.
They were too… everything. Hair dyed midnight black and showing lots of skin.
From the few times I’d seen Orin with women, I’d picked up on his preference for blondes who leave at least a little to the imagination.
So, knowing how annoyed he must be made the situation even more funny.
I grinned widely as I walked right up to him, my back to the girls.
“Ready?”
He grinned back at me, looking relieved. “Yep. Let’s roll, Princess.”
I step around Orin to get into the SUV, and I see both of the girls look at each other, then glare at me.
I smiled radiantly at them. They grimaced, shot a few more furtive glances at Orin, who was climbing into the driver’s seat, then stormed off without another word.
They already hated me anyway, so I couldn’t be bothered to feel bad for them.
They thought Orin was my boyfriend, which made it even funnier.
They’d seen us together before and cornered me one day after class, digging for information about him.
I’d laughed the whole thing off. Orin’s hot, no doubt about it, but he was like a brother to me.
We got in the SUV and began our trek to my father’s for “training.” The radio was on, but the volume was so low I couldn’t make out what was playing.
Orin, stiff-backed and white knuckling the steering wheel, had tension rolling off of him.
I saw his jaw clench, the muscles there flexing.
I turned to look out of my window, my hands in my lap as I picked at my nails.
After a moment of indecision, I broke the silence.
“Is he dead?”
“Yes,” he said softly, not taking his eyes off the road.
It still didn’t change how I felt, which was probably why Orin told Lorcan. Two years ago, this would have sent me spiraling, knowing someone died at my own hands. But that was a version of me that no longer existed.
“He deserved it,” I said flatly as I gazed out of the window, crossing my arms over my chest.
Orin sighed. “I never said he didn’t. But…” he said, trailing off for a moment. “There’s one problem.”
I look over at him. His face was impassive, giving nothing away.
“Maeve, he was related to the Costas.”
Well, fuck.
I turned to look out of the window again, tension crawling up my spine. This is a complicated thing for more people than just me.
“How many witnesses?”
“63.”
Shit.
Charlie’s usually only had half of that. Charlie’s was an underground fight club about ten miles from campus, a place you couldn’t just walk into. You had to be invited in. They liked knowing who was coming in and out of their building.
If that stupid son of a bitch hadn’t gotten in the ring with a woman half his size, he’d still be alive. He was actually willing to fight, or, more accurately, beat a girl, because he was too much of a pussy to fight the men.
So fucking pathetic. I gaze blankly at the blur of trees outside my window, my mind reeling.
The sad part was that if it had been anyone else in that ring, he probably would’ve won and made it home for dinner last night. Of course, some poor girl would’ve been beaten black and blue. Might’ve even met the same fate he did.
We spent the rest of the drive in silence, each of us probably thinking the same thing. Which bell had been rung this time?
Lorcan wasn’t mad when we arrived, but I could tell there was something else these two weren’t telling me. They kept exchanging nervous glances as they told me about the Costa I’d killed last night. I didn’t like being left out of the loop, but I’d figure it out one way or another.
“We need to work on finding a shut-off once your anger is set loose,” Lorcan said, his voice deep and laced with concern.
He wasn’t a heartless man, no. He was ruthless, though.
He has witnessed more death than any man he’d ever trained, and even though I'd known him for my entire life, I'd never had a real sense of what lurked behind his calm, stoic demeanor until he started training me.
He'd grown up with my father and with the Egans, which made him part of their trusted inner circle.
He knew everything about the business, about the employees, and he knew where all the bodies were buried. Literally.
“The only thing that seems to work is when someone touches her shoulder. It’s like the world around her disappears,” Orin added.
I hung my head, crossing my arms over my chest, wanting to argue, but he wasn’t wrong. When someone deserved it, I started swinging and couldn’t stop. If they were a threat to me, then they were a threat to the ones I loved.
“Maeve,” Lorcan said, pulling me back to the conversation, “this is the fourth man in the last two years.” He wasn’t disappointed or angry. “This one is different. It’s a Costa. There will be retaliation when they find out a Collins was responsible. You need to be prepared.”
I nod my head, understanding he wasn’t punishing me. He was preparing me.
“Get in the ring,” he said softly.
Lorcan didn’t hold back during training that day, or any day following.
I’m walking down the hall toward my room when I hear my father coming up the stairs behind me, pulling me from the memory.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
I just look at him, expressionless, then turn away and hurry into my bedroom without responding.
He doesn’t try to stop me or knock on my door. He never does. But this has been our pattern for years, a barrier of silence between us.
I walk into my closet and start shuffling my clothes, searching for something cozier to put on so I can go outside and read.
I pull my black dress off and toss it on the floor to deal with later.
I slide on a pair of oversized gray sweatpants and scan the rack for a shirt.
At the very back of the closet, a red-stained shirt sleeve catches my eye.
I stare at it, frozen in place, then shake my head and snatch the white long-sleeve WSU shirt, the hanger swinging violently.