13. Maeve
MAEVE
“You know,” Hayes begins, turning another page, the flipping oddly soothing. “When you took over, I thought that meant less of this.”
Shuffling the stack of cash, I make a note in my ledger and wrap it with a thick rubber band. Dropping the stack into the black duffle bag by my feet, I can’t help but smile, huffing under my breath.
“Don’t like spending time with me anymore?”
He snorts. “You want to go to a hockey game at the TD? I’m your guy.
Wanna go out to the alleys and kick the crap out of some assholes?
Sign me up.” He throws a stack of papers in front of me, lips twisting.
“Staying up to two in the morning counting shit like when we were kids? Hard pass.” He scoops up more money, handing it to me.
Once I put it inside the counter, he hits the button. “Can’t we outsource?”
I cock an eyebrow as he crosses his arms. “You want me to trust someone else to count my money?” Slapping his arm, a small smile graces my lips. “This used to be our thing.”
“This went against child labor laws.”
Laughing, I shake my head. “And running the streets for illegal guns and drugs, isn’t?”
He holds up a finger. “Don’t change the subject. That was fun. This sucks.”
Taking his notes, I staple them together, smiling. I glance around my desk—the desk that two nights earlier the Reaper fuck me against.
I’m still sore from his actions. And my heart—that fickle little bitch—stings thinking of him. After he pulled away, I flipped him off, to which he laughed, and I hid in my room.
Does nothing for my claims of not hiding. I fucking hate how well he knows me.
Is it so wrong to hide? The Reaper knows me better than anyone—he sees all my doubts, my fears. He’s the only one who can destroy me with them. Hiding was a way of protecting myself when I was a child—and it’s a way to protect myself from him now.
I can exist when I hide. I’m no longer the hunted captain, the responsible eldest daughter, the broken girl—I’m just me. Is it so wrong to wish for safety, to escape from the ghosts haunting me?
It’s hard to deny the effect he has on me. Killian did something I never let anybody do—and I’m having a horrible time remembering why I never want him to do it again.
Scanning the various stacks of currency, the different reports, the inventory catalogue—I ignore my blush. “Yeah. It does.”
At my feet are two black bags full of money, the last filled as we work. It’s not as much as when the Board funneled buyers to us, but we’re slowly rebuilding.
That was a daunting task. Under my father’s power, I was made to count the nightly income—not as a punishment for screwing up. No—if I did too well.
In my father’s eyes, women were only good for one thing—being used by men. He hated that Sloane liked men and women; he wanted to keep Collins a virgin, and he wanted me to know my place. So, when I exceeded what his men could do—made a good deal, saved a run, evaded the cops—I was punished.
How dare I, a woman, be better than a man? When he was feeling especially vindictive, he’d make me do inventory right after, and I wouldn’t stop until morning light.
As the captain, I could hand this off to someone I trusted.
But that’s in short supply, and this is familiar work.
This is what I know—the movements of the counter, the hush of the room, and the creak of the zipper.
None of it requires me to figure out what to do or understand.
I’m on autopilot, shooting the shit with my friend, who I barely see.
Our biweekly counts and the monthly inventory are the only times we spend together. I don’t dislike the time he spends with Collins—they are perfect for each other—but there are days when it would feel nice to have someone to talk to.
“Maybe I should,” I say, chewing my bottom lip. At his curious expression, I shrug. “Outsource. It could be good for someone else to learn. You’d be with Collins more.”
“It could,” he concedes. “But it’s an us thing.” He’s offering me an olive branch, but I know he’d rather be in bed.
“Growing bored of me?” I lean back, kicking my foot out. “I know it’s not the most entertaining of tasks?—”
“As opposed to going to random meets in the middle of thunderstorms?” He huffs. “If it keeps me dry, I’ll happily count shit until dawn.”
“Besides,” he grabs my glass, carrying both to the far cart where my Scotch sits. “I could never get bored with you. I could do with less Linwood, but not you.”
I rub my breastbone. A horrible childhood fear that lingers lightens with his casual admittance: I matter, and he likes me for me.
You’ll never be a leader.
“Yeah,” I agree. Turning to look at the bookshelves, I tap my fingers on the armrests. “I think we could all do with less of him.”
Sitting down next to me, he hands me the full glass. “What exactly do you think he wants, Maeve?”
I shrug, fighting to look at my friend. Because once he sees my eyes, he’ll know exactly what happened. Hayes reminded me of how much Killian had hurt me. He reminded me of the months I spent in pieces with his abandonment, and how I wanted to end it.
And none of that matters because I still opened my legs for him.
It was stupid—something I should never have done. A mistake I can’t repeat.
“I’m not sure,” I lie. “I don’t care. I want him gone.”
There’s a stillness as I fiddle with the edge of a page. The clink of ice in our glasses and the abysmal fireplace heighten the silence. He swears, “Fucking hell, you didn’t.”
Wide eyes look up at him. “Didn’t do what?”
“Maeve,” he drawls, rubbing his forehead. Pretty sure I’m the reason for this headache. “You really suck at lying.”
Scoffing, I cross my arms. “I’m the leader of a fucking criminal organization. Lying comes with the territory.”
“Maybe for people who don’t know you.” He flicks my hair over my shoulder and pointedly looks at my neck. Slapping a hand there, I avoid his gaze. “Where did that come from?”
“Would you believe me if I said Reese?”
Hayes rolls his eyes. “You’ve never slept with him.”
At my gaping mouth, he smirks. “I know you, girl. You and I went through the same shit.” He gestures to the space between us. “We don’t trust easily, and we sure as fuck don’t let just anyone touch us.”
Hayes is right—he might have had other partners before Collins, but they came with stipulations. Fully clothed, hands tied so they couldn’t touch his back, and never to speak again.
“Then, how do you know I haven’t slept with him?”
Gently, he elbows me. “Linwood annihilated you when he disappeared. But he’s the only one brave enough to breach your boundaries.
” Hayes sits back, draining his glass. “Reese isn’t brave enough to attempt.
And you don’t really want him.” He points to his eyes.
“I see it—he’s just there. You don’t ever call him your boyfriend. He means nothing to you.”
Fuck these men who apparently know me so well.
“So,” he drawls. “How was it?”
“Not having this conversation,” I say, holding up my hand. “And it’s not happening again.” It can’t.
“Uh-huh,” he agrees, nodding. “I’m sure Linwood feels the same.”
I give him a dry look. Bastard.
“I thought you were on my side,” I snap. “Not fist-pumping Linwood into getting back into my bed.”
“Was it even in your bed?” He wrinkles his nose, and I flip him off. He’s such an annoying brother sometimes.
“Fuck off.”
“And I am on your side,” he clarifies. “But I’ve only ever seen you smile when you’re with him.
The voices stop when he’s here.” I swallow against the reminder of how the Reaper seems to scare the past away.
“I want what you want, Maeve. And if it’s him,” he grumbles quietly, “I’ll handle it.
But if not? Let me at least kick his ass. ”
“He might enjoy it,” I mutter. Glancing away, I gaze at the painting over the back of the couch. “I’m not letting him back in, Hayes. I won’t be strong enough if he walks away again.”
I won’t. When he left the first time, this family suffered.
I couldn’t leave my bed, couldn’t pick Sloane out of the bushes and clean up the vomit from excessive partying.
I couldn’t protect Collins or go to her award ceremonies.
I barely answered Briar’s texts, and I only did after he threatened to expose himself.
The stakes are greater. The Board is coming after me, assassins are waiting, and with Bruno causing trouble, I can’t be distracted. I can’t let him break me—not again.
“You are the strongest woman alive,” he says, holding my hand. That small touch makes my skin crawl, but I don’t pull away. “Whether you want it or not, that man loves you the only way he knows how. And people are trying to take you away from him. He’s not going anywhere.”
Unfortunately, I think he’s closer to the truth than not.
“But seriously,” he lowers his voice. “How was it?”
Shoving him away, I crack a smile. “Go away.”
My door kicks in, and Killian strides in as if he owns it. Speak of the devil…
We both jump as if caught doing something wrong. He glares at Hayes, and the hitter rolls his eyes—good to know they’ve not lost their venom after Hayes became my second.
The Reaper throws his cell onto my desk, scattering papers. “We have a problem.”
My heart thumps once in my chest. “What happened?”
Collins rushes in, dressed in her scrubs. My brows knit. She’s supposed to be asleep—I have her schedule memorized. Her residency is grueling, but tonight she was off.
Holding up pink fingers, she pushes her foggy glasses further up her nose. Her cinnamon-brown strands are twisted on her head, and her top is wrinkled. She looks thrown together, and my pulse increases. “I need help.”
I don’t think, rushing to follow as she scurries away. The men stay on my heels, Hayes calling to a few guards to keep watch. I don’t listen, keeping my eyes trained on Collins’ back, adrenaline causing my limbs to hum with nervous energy.
We pile into the basement, the ticking of the floors ringing in my ears. Everything is silent, breaths hushed. My fingers twitch as someone subtly touches my elbow.
I know it’s Killian. Mint wraps around me like a tight hug, and his touch burns through my silken blouse.
He bruised me, took from me, brought me to a pleasure I haven’t felt in years, and yet this touch? This touch strikes my heart like the icy hand of death, squeezing the light out.
I spent the last two days hiding from him. Behind closed doors, in meetings, anywhere I could avoid him and his words. Or the feelings he brings up.
I can’t hide here. He sees behind the mask, knows who I am—makes me remember what we had. And it fucking hurts. The kind of pain that leaves me gasping for air in a puddle of blood, fighting to stay conscious.
Linwood does this to me. I need my walls—my space, now more than ever. Let him call it hiding, whatever it is, I need it desperately.
But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit how I lean, just a little, into his touch. A moment of stability before the elevator doors open, and we surge forward.
I watch Collins’ reaction carefully, ignoring my shadow. The basement is the place where Pops would torture Collins—and I know it can trigger a panic attack.
But she walks straight, shoulders back. Not one ounce of fear enters her green eyes, and I step back, impressed. A part comes from the strength Hayes instills in her, but a bigger part—the part that is wholly Collins—shines through. The part that embraced her darkness, but didn’t let it define her.
A darkness that enveloped me and forged me into this.
You’re such a pretty little thing, aren’t you?
Pushing into the med lab, I see three of my runners on metal tables, agony coating the air like a dark cloud. Nausea swims in my gut, but I force it back, pushing the mask of a clan captain to the front.
Blood drips onto the tiled floor, the impersonal overhead lights highlighting their injuries.
One man has shrapnel protruding from his leg, his pants ripped and frayed from a blast. Another man’s arm is burnt, black flesh cracking to reveal red tissue and corded muscle beneath.
The last lies, mostly motionless, with giant gouges in his chest. A dry rattling breath leaves his lips.
Grabbing gauze, I run to his side, pressing it against the wounds. Blood soaks them immediately, my fingers sticky and red.
Collins stops at my side, a light touch on my shoulder. I flinch, though I don’t mean it. “He’s not going to make it.”
Licking my lips, I nod once. The sounds of blood falling mix with the grunts of pain from my men, hammering into my skull like tiny needles.
He’s one man. Losing one man in this life isn’t much. It’s admirable, even.
Glancing to the side, the flash of Ollie’s face, grinning from ear to ear, steals my breath. He was a child—someone Bruno took from me—whom I gave my protection. He was a nameless kid who needed somewhere to belong.
He’s another face. More blur by—broken, bloody, dead—and I struggle to breathe. Their faces, these spirits, haunt me. They torture me with memories of what I couldn’t do—who I couldn’t save.
It’s never easy. It shouldn’t be easy—to kill, to destroy, to lose lives. Pops made it look effortless—a general task to check off. I’m tormented by the past deaths I couldn’t prevent.
Killian tugs me back, my shoulders resting against his chest. Holding my wrists, he cradles them to my front, his warmth blasting away the grief—the shame—as I stare down at my runner.
His eyes lock onto me, brilliant and wide. I don’t know what he sees—but I hope it’s beautiful.
Slowly, those eyes dull, and the light fades as his body slumps. Collins checks his heart with her stethoscope. Sheepishly, she ducks her head. “I’m sorry.”
Gulping, I try to drag in a breath. It’s not sorrow that weighs on me like a corpse, but the grief of losing. Of not protecting them—of failing.
You were never supposed to lead. Only a man can handle this life.
Closing my eyes, I turn my head, willing Pops’ voice to go away.
“Did you know his name?”
Clearing my throat, I force my words to be steady. “Jaimie.”
Catching Hayes’ eye, I say, “We need to provide for his wife.”
We knew Jaimie—we know everyone in this clan. Every name. Every runner.
Pops wouldn’t have done it. That’s why I will.
Inhaling again, I shove every terrible thought and emotion back into the recesses of my mind. Where all the dark deeds go—where the nightmares hide. Feelings have no place in this world, and I can’t risk any distractions.
Turning to Collins, I ask, “Who’s next?”