Chapter 7
HAYES
“You’re not seriously considering this, Maeve.” I cock an eyebrow, watching the woman in front of me.
“I have to,” Maeve says, curled into her leather chair, cup of coffee cradled to her chest.
Dressed in her typical black silk blouse and dress pants, it’s a far cry from the young girl who brought me into the clan. But I know that same viciousness, that same deranged lust for blood lives beneath the business attire. I’ve seen it.
So has the reaper behind her.
Killian leans over her shoulder, staring at the papers. I’m not sure why he’s still here, but he’s like a fungus that won’t die, no matter how many times he’s sprayed with bleach.
“He makes a compelling argument.” Killian taps the paper. “An alliance with Bruno means no possibility of war. You’ll get access to the routes in the north. Plenty of business that way.”
“This is fucking unreal.” I roll my eyes. “You know the kind of man Bruno is. The kind of business he runs. You know Collins won’t last there.”
Even if Roman was somehow upstanding, there’s no way in Hell I’d let Collins go to him. How can Maeve?
She looks up, hawkish eyes examining me closely as if looking for a tell. “Collins has dealt with worse. Anything Bruno gives her wouldn’t even cause discomfort.”
High praise coming from the Captain. But we both know Bruno would break her. Without a second thought, he’d use her body, snuff out her light and keep her caged like a broken tiger.
“Would you really do that to your little sister?” I ask, leaning back into my chair, feet kicked out.
“Yes.”
“You know how he treats women, Maeve.”
“I know.”
“Kids,” I stress.
Her eyes narrow. “I know.” Of course, she does. She saw what they did to me.
I don’t miss Killian’s pleased smirk. He likes it when we fight. Jealous dick.
It’s not my fault that I was here when he wasn’t. It’s not my fault that he chose to follow Ferguson’s calls, instead of staying beside Maeve when she needed him most.
There’s a pause, Maeve’s jaw clenching as she battles back whatever demon that wants to overtake her. “I wouldn’t give her to him,” she relents. “But I have to be smart about it. There’s too much going on to allow this to fuck everything up.”
I take in the dark bags under her eyes, and the anxious movements of her fingers. She’s on edge and not sleeping, which doesn’t bode well for anyone within hitting distance.
“Okay, tell Bruno that O’Brien doesn’t deal in kids.” I kick the edge of her desk much to her annoyance. “You wouldn’t want to be a part of that. Especially given everything you’ve endured.” Given everything we’ve gone through.
Killian shifts, flipping the black claw knife in his hands. When did he pull that? “Easy.”
“Piss off, reaper. You’re not even supposed to be here.”
Killian chuckles. “Someone is in his big boy feelings today.”
I have the strongest urge to pull my gun as I plant my fists on Maeve’s desk, and glare at the man in the back. I love to annoy him, but fuck, he can give it back.
Maeve stands, placing her cup gently onto the desk. Moving to stand in front of me, she’s nothing more than a shadow in this room of ripped wallpaper and empty bookcases.
Since taking over, the first thing she did was destroy the office that her father adored. The desk has been replaced, and the office chair is gone. Everything is barren, even the floor.
There’s a red tinge where the carpet used to be. Old, spilled blood.
“We both know how I feel about his business.” Murderous, I’d wager. Maeve can’t stomach seeing kids hurt. “But we have a huge problem if we just say no.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t have a second, Hayes,” she says tiredly. “By just saying no, Bruno has more resources. He can attack out of retribution. And then Collins, Sloane, hell, Briar will be at risk. Without a second, I’m vulnerable.”
“Okay, fine,” I say, lips pressing firm. “We can fix that. Make me your second and we’ll figure out a way to handle this together.”
Like we did as kids. Figuring out life, the world, as we navigated criminal operations and past hurts. There wasn’t anyone else more loyal than me.
Except for the reaper. He growls behind her chair, “You think you have the balls to protect Maeve? This clan, if she goes down?” His soulless eyes glare at me, rage flicking in their depths at my audacity. “You think you’ve earned that spot?”
“More so than others,” I retort. “Some of us didn’t run with our tail between our legs when things got rough. Some of us stayed.”
That pisses Linwood off. A muscle bounces by his ear, and his teasing smile goes dangerously sharp. I’ve known the killer for years, only doing a handful of jobs together. I’ve seen that bloodthirsty side, and the unhinged rabid dog kept at bay by whatever leash someone was able to throw on him.
Now, there is no leash. And he looks ready to kill.
“Enough,” Maeve commands, sitting on her desk. “If you want to be second, you’ll have a chance to compete.”
That knocks me out of my staring contest with the reaper. “Compete? Fuck, Maeve, you’re not doing—”
“The Games?” Her eyes flash with dry amusement. “I am. It’s an old tradition and hasn’t been done in a few decades, but it’s better than dealing with any strife.”
“We both know if you choose me, there wouldn’t be any issues.” There wouldn’t. I’m an arrogant fuck, but the clan respects me. An orphan who came in as a runner and built my way up at Maeve’s side? I already have an in.
As long as no one knows who I am, I have a shot.
Typically, the people closest to the leading family are picked. Michael, Ferguson’s best friend, became second because of their childhoods spent together.
I hope he’s rotting in Hell for the shit he did to Maeve.
“It’s not all about you, Prince.” Killian sneers, leaning back against the cold fireplace. “Maeve has other things to worry about. Like the Board.”
“I have to make sure the clan is happy,” she ignores Killian.
Just one hit…“They will vote for the person they’ll follow.
I can’t just put you as second. This is for the clan, to give them a voice.
But if you’re one of the three voted in?
” No favoritism to be spoken of. “Whoever wins the most of the three specially designed trials, becomes second.”
She makes it sound so easy. “Wins?” I snort. “You mean whoever survives.”
I might not have been born in the clan, but I knew the Games. They weren’t something to mess with, but something to fear.
Three trials, all different, were meant to test the contestants in the criminal underworld by abiding to the clan’s virtues—strength, loyalty, innovation.
The reason they’re not done as often is because of the loss of life and property damage.
Men are killed for the right to be second, some never to be seen again.
To be voted in was as much an honor as it was a death sentence.
“This isn’t an easy life, Hayes.” Maeve sighs. “You know that better than most. You want to stop Bruno and help me? Become second. It’s the only way this works without war breaking out.”
With a second beside her, there was a clear line of leadership should something happen. Given the world we played in, it made sense. The clan will fight, defend, if they saw a future.
“When do you need to respond?”
Killian grabs the document, flipping through the papers with a critical eye. “He wants an answer by the end of next week.”
Maeve rolls her eyes. “Arrogant prick. We’ll tell him the Games are beginning. That’ll give us some time, push off his proposal. He can’t fight against those time constraints.”
“Not if he doesn’t want his family to become targets for one of the trials.” Killian smirks, thoughts full of mayhem.
“We might still do that,” she quips. I’m inclined to agree. Using Roman’s men as target practice for one trial sounds like a fun way to pass the night.
“And you won’t sign that contract. Not until a second is decided?”
Maeve is unpredictable at best. If she wanted to, Collins would be gone. And I wouldn’t survive if Roman got the only woman who owns my heart. Any little bit of light inside my soul would wither and die and I’d become something worse than death—I’d be a shell of who I am.
Shrugging, she pledges, “Unless I am forced under torture or death, you have my word.” It’s an old tradition we used to say to each other before doing our nightly runs as a sort of promise. Some people pray to God. Maeve and I pray to ourselves.
It eases the curl of dread in my stomach. Slightly.
Killian shifts, sliding his hands into his pockets, eyes narrowed. Jerking my head toward the door, I ask, “You going to see Reese tonight? I can do the drops.” Because I’m an asshole and just need to have one last dig at the man.
Maeve gives me a look and I wink. She knows exactly what I’m doing.
“Prick,” she mutters. “I’m going to, after. You’re on Collins duty tonight. I don’t trust all this.” I nod. She’d be wise not to—and honestly? That’s good for me. Gets me access to my viper without looking like a lovestruck fool.
Before she leaves, she glances back at me, black nails tapping the doorframe. “Remember, Hayes. You need to be voted in. Get in with the clan and have your name dropped. It’s the only way that this all works out.”