Chapter 28
HAYES
Ablack bag encases my head, as myself, Finn, and Ethan are driven through the tight city streets of downtown Boston.
It’s some sick hazing Killian came up with, grabbing us off the street, roughing us up a bit and then driving us to a select location. Ethan and Finn shift beside me, but we’re all silent, bodies sore. My ribs ache and there’s a cut over my cheek.
After a week following Collins around her campus and the hospital, I could almost forget life was normal. Then it came back with a vengeance.
The Games are starting; this is the first trial. I’m not sure what my competition thinks, but I’ve been using the time counting minutes, judging where we are in the city based on the potholes and the curbs.
Boston’s streets are suffocating, chaotic, built during a time before cars and when necessity said to live close together, privacy be damned. Living here long enough, you know the layout without looking, remembering which potholes means which road and how many turns tells you the direction.
My shoulder throbs and I exhale against the ache in my side. Fucking Linwood.
The van stops abruptly, all of us surging forward in the cramped space. Someone elbows my chin and I feel another to my side. A bunch of clumsy men, but I don’t let it bother me. I use my ears, listening to the crunch of gravel and the hushed, stoic tones outside.
The creak of doors alerts me to movement, then hands all over my body, yanking me out. Disgust wars in my gut but I smother it. Without seeing, I can smell Killian’s signature scent of mint and decay. He pulled me out with rough hands, dropping me on the concrete. Glass shards bite into my knees.
“Fucker,” I curse, sensing his smile. A few more drops next to me and the bag is pulled off. Blinking against the streetlights, I look at the empty alley as the cold air nips at my nose and lips.
Snow’s coming and I shudder as a breeze blows right through my jacket.
Just like me, the two other contestants are on their knees, hands behind their backs tied with zip-ties.
The alley is dark, abandoned, and with only two exits. Both streets around us are quiet. Puddles of water and waste sit in the shadows, smelling like urine and fur, most likely stray cats. This is the perfect place to kill someone and dump the body with no one the wiser.
Before me stands the reaper, two other guards, and Maeve. Like a typical mob wife, she stands tall, eyes shadowed by the night. She glances at me, worried, but she conceals it. It’s a weakness to show you care.
“First trial,” she begins, voice cracking.
She still isn’t sleeping. “Bruno wants a war, boys. He keeps pushing into clan matters where he doesn’t fucking belong.
Taking a runner was just one step, but his second mistake?
” She pulls out her favorite knife, picking her nails with it.
“His second mistake was coming after my family. So. We’re going to remind him why we don’t mess with O’Brien. ”
The air crackles with tension, all the men chomping at the bit to prove to Maeve how ruthless we are. Willing to avenge her family, for her, to prove our loyalty.
“We’re in the middle of Boston. In any direction, you’ll find Bruno’s store house,” Killian explains, he and the others cutting our bindings. “Pick a direction. Find a store house. Destroy it. The person who destroys the most—and causes the most financial ruin—to the new Capo, wins this round.”
“Any rules?” Finn asks, standing and rubbing his raw wrists.
Killian smirks, looking down at the man, his frame a good four inches taller.
“Innovation is the first virtue. Be creative. Do what you can to make a big splash and don’t get caught. If you don’t make it home by sunrise, you’re out.”
Ethan looks at Maeve, ignoring the reaper. “Any tools?”
“Be inventive.” She smiles, a hint of the viciousness in her shining through. “This is where you shine. Show us how your mind works when faced with a challenge and no resources.” No resources? Cake.
Maeve and I used to do this as kids. It was easier to think on the fly than to carry explosives around. When I gave her the idea, I never knew she’d give me this advantage, but here we are and I’m fucking taking it.
“Choose a spot to leave,” Killian directs. “You leave all at the same time on my mark.”
I stand after the two move away. With the stars overhead, the sound of traffic and the various signs shining down on us, I know where we are. As they head to one mouth, I decide to take the opposite. I’ll have a better chance of destroying Roman’s business without interference.
“Be careful,” Maeve whispers, watching me rub my wrists. “Do you have your knife? Gun?”
Rolling my eyes, I can’t help but smirk. “Really? When have I never been prepared?”
“How’s your body? Have you recovered?” I can’t tell her I’m still sore from the voting. Or the beating Killian dished out.
Or how my back aches from being curved around Collins all night. I’d sleep on grain if it meant she’d be comfortable.
Instead, I plaster on a false, flirtatious smile that has Killian growling behind me.
“You’re not supposed to worry about me, Ace. This is part of the Games.”
Her foot taps. “I’m not worried. Just… checking on you.”
I wink at her, and she inhales, releasing the dread in her gut. “This is nothing compared to what I’ve dealt with before.”
It’s not. But it’s still dangerous. We’re doing this to get out of a war—one I started by being on his territory. If any of his guys find me, I’m fair game.
“Be smart, Hayes,” she warns, coming close. “Bruno always has someone at the storehouses. And the other contestants can—”
“Can also attack. I know.” I elbow her playfully. “I’ll be fine.”
“Maeve,” Killian interrupts, eyes hard. “You can’t help him. It’ll seem like favoritism.”
She turns her head, ready to fight, but she sees the rest of the men looking at her. Thankfully the others are too far away to hear her advice, but the guards see it.
We can’t have any issues, not now. Not with Bruno coming after us. This has to be clean.
Stepping to the opposite alley, I jerk my chin at the reaper. “Call it. Give them a head start to even it out.”
She crosses her arms as a brisk wind blows into us. When Killian calls ‘go,’ she glances to the stars above, and I dart into the abandoned street.
Once I get away from the alley, I take stock of my surroundings.
I’m three streets over from one of Bruno’s fronts. We all know where our enemies work, to take stock of where not to go, but also where they’re weakest. It’s why Ace and I changed our delivery routes after Ferguson’s death; it’s why our spies are always out here. We know information is power.
The first front I find is a small laundry mat. It’s unassuming, but inside, it launders dirty money for clean bills. If I want to hurt Roman, this is a great place to start.
Creeping around to the back, I find the delivery entrance, smashing the glass with my fist. It’s a simple lock, and it takes seconds for me to enter the employee kitchen. No stove, but there’s a microwave. And cutlery.
I smirk. It’s like they want me to win.
Grabbing the entire drawer, I shove all of it in and input twenty minutes.
Hustling into the front, where a few broken-down washers and dryers sit, I push one aside, ripping the gas line. I have to move quickly—the microwave is old, but the metal will catch and with the gas pumping through this building? I’m sitting on a bomb.
Ripping lines from the walls, I only stop when the gas starts to get to my head. Time’s up. Sliding through the side exit, I tug my collar over my ears and turn down the far corner.
The explosion erupts and it’s fucking loud. Windows shake and crack, loose bricks drop overhead and the concrete under my boots splits.
I want to celebrate—preferably with a glass of scotch or Collins’ mouth around my dick. But I have more work to do. One down…
Three streets over, there’s another front. This one is a bakery.
Unlike the laundry mat, this one has cameras. And two guards sitting in the front.
It’s odd to see people guarding a mom-and-pop shop, but I know differently. They don’t just make bread and pastries inside the small white bricked building. They cook their drugs. The guards act as deterrents to anyone going in. Or leaving.
A woman slips out the side door, immediately surrounded by the two guards.
A mule. She’s run down, tired, in dirty clothes, with a picked-face. At one time, she was a beauty, then Bruno got her.
Roman likes to say I hide behind skirts to solve my problems, yet here he is, using women’s backs to advance his business. I can’t wait until I can kill him.
Slinking through the shadows, I keep my footsteps light. They’re investigating her, asking for the cover story they prepared.
My hand grabs my knife, the thick blade heavy. A quick strike to the guard’s side punctures his lungs, and he drops to the ground, wheezing. His partner turns, hand on the hilt of his gun. The knife goes cleanly through his throat, piercing the Adam’s apple, halting all speech.
Twisting the blade for good measure, I pull it out, watching him fall to his knees before his face hits concrete.
“P-please,” she stammers, knees shaking. She’s barely older than my sister and she’s lived a hard life already. “I’ll give you whatever you want, just don’t kill me.”
Sighing, I wipe the blood off the gasping guard’s jacket, kicking him away. The sooner he dies, the sooner I can move on. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Then what—”
“You’re one of Bruno’s girls?” She freezes, hesitantly nodding. “Fine. Head to Boston Mass General. Ask for Collins O’Brien in the ER. She’ll patch you up and get you help.”
Collins should be working one of her clinicals right now. She’ll take care of her.
“O’Brien?” She shakes her head, lips pouting. “No, no. If I go to an O’Brien, Bruno will know. He’ll kill me.”
“He’ll kill you if you stay.” I slip off my leather jacket, putting her arms through it. “Go see her. Give her my jacket. She’ll know you’re being honest.”
Swallowing, she nods, lost to her thoughts. “You’re him, aren’t you?”
“Who?”
Glassy hazel eyes blink at me. “The prince. Roman’s brother.”
Clenching my jaw, I push her toward the shadows. Fucking Linwood. That nickname has haunted me for years.
“Go. Now.”
Once she’s out of eyesight, I pull the door she came out of and enter.