by Kate Kessler
Those were just the first five search results.
BCB’s website was slick and professional, highlighting work they’d done in the past and the team behind the scenes. She stared at a photo of Dash at work, beneath the hood of a vintage Jaguar. The sight of him made something inside her wince. Painful wasn’t the word she would use, but it was the closest she could think of. Was there a word for painful but also sweet? Dash would know.
Killian shut down the site and tossed her phone into the console. When she looked up, she saw groups of kids exiting the school.
She spied Shannon’s riotous tawny hair among them. Her niece looked away from her friends, and her expression changed. She went from happy to guarded to almost coy. She broke off from the group and walked toward a tree not far away. Killian’s spine stiffened when she saw the object of Shannon’s intent.
Fucking hell.
Cody leaned against the tree.
Shannon held her books in front of her like a shield—as if they were any protection against a snake. She stopped about a foot away from Cody, but he didn’t seem offended. Of course he didn’t. She had taken one look at him and gone to him, just as he expected. He hadn’t even had to crook one of those stained fingers of his. Why would he be upset when he’d already won?
“Girl, turn around and walk away,” Killian murmured. Of course, Shannon didn’t do that. The little idiot stood there, posturing like she was the one in charge. Cody straightened and closed the distance between them, a little smirk on his lips. Sober he looked a little sultrier, a little less like a joke. He was more dangerous than Killian had first thought. The kid actually had charisma, and that was more valuable than money or looks in that world. Jason had been able to tame her temper with a wink, make her drop her panties with a lick of his lips. But Jason had never once raised a hand to her, no matter what.
Killian opened the door and stepped out. Hands in her pockets, she approached the two of them. Of course Cody noticed her first, his expression changing from charming to hard and sneering in less than a second. That made Shannon turn her head. Her face fell at the sight of Killian, which would have been comical if not for the circumstances. Last week this little bastard had laid hands on her, and now she looked afraid that Killian might lay hands on him. Her niece was not going to have abused woman syndrome.
“Aunt Killy,” Shannon said.
She forced a smile. “Hey, doll. All set?”
Cody stepped forward. “Can’t you see we’re having a conversation?”
Still smiling, Killian turned to him. “Can’t you see I don’t give a fuck?”
“Auntie…” Shannon began.
“Get in the car, sweetie.” Her expression was serene, her tone gentle. Shannon didn’t even glance at Cody before leaving. She didn’t speak to him, either. She knew better.
“Bitch, why you keep stickin’ your face in my business?” Cody demanded. “This ain’t got nothin’ to do with you. It’s between me and my woman.”
Killian arched a brow at his dropped g’s and urban inflection. He probably thought he sounded tough, but he sounded like an idiot. “She’s not your woman.”
Cody recoiled. “Why you smilin’ at me like that?”
“So if anyone’s watching they’ll think we’re having a friendly conversation, and they won’t have any idea that I’m standing here telling you that I will make you eat your own ball sack if you come near Shannon again.”
“Shit, bitch. You trippin’.” He made a scoffing noise. Killian kept smiling. Some of Cody’s bravado faded. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“Then you’re stupider than you look, sunshine. There are few things worth going back to prison for, but protecting that girl from shit stains like you is one of them. I know how to make you disappear for good. Or I can do to you what I did to Rank Cirello.” She’d added the last part as an afterthought, but it got more of a reaction than the threat of death.
Maybe leaving Rank alive had been the right choice after all.
“But I love her,” he protested, some of his bravado fading as he turned to a bid for sympathy. “And she loves me. I know I got anger issues, but I’m working on them.”
Anger issues. Shit. Killian’s smile grew in accordance with her own anger. “You beat up your buddies when they piss you off? Slap your parents around when they don’t do what you want?”
He looked horrified. “No.”
“Then you don’t have anger issues, fuckwad. You’re just an abusive asshole. Now stay away from Shannon or I’ll break you into pieces they’ll never get to fit back together. Do you understand me?”
His eyes narrowed. Obviously Cody didn’t understand at all. “Wex says you’ve lost your edge. You’re all talk without your fuckin’ birds to back you up.”
Killian bristled at the name, but she didn’t let it show. “Wex is an idiot, and so are you. Forget you know Shannon, asshole, or I’ll pay a visit to that nice little house in New Britain and tell Mama what you’ve been up to.”
The test of a man was whether or not he was okay with his mother knowing his nasty secrets. From the look on Cody’s face, there was still a chance he might turn out to be okay. A slim one, but it was there.
“And then I’ll break your face,” she added. “How pretty will you be with a misaligned jaw and your teeth knocked out, sunshine? You think Wex will give a fuck what I do to you? Rank was his best friend, and he hasn’t even tried to avenge him.” Maybe he had. Maybe a couple of those attacks in prison were his doing, but she doubted it.
“No bitch tells me what to do,” Cody announced defiantly.
“I’ll be sure to tell your mother you said that.” Killian took a step back. “I don’t want to have to talk to you again, Cody. We meet again, and you’re going to regret it.”
“Fuck you.”
“Aw, you’re such a charmer.” Another couple of steps back before she felt she could turn her back on him. She walked toward the Impala with her hands loose at her sides, but she was ready for an attack if he decided to come at her. He struck her as the type that would rush someone from behind. Her focus was on Shannon, but she checked her periphery as she moved. Lots of kids—and a few parents—watching her, but no indication that she was being followed.
Only when she reached the car did she glance out of the corner of her eye to see if he was still there. He was. Killian waved. He gave her the finger. She chuckled.
“What the hell?” Shannon demanded when she had closed her door. “That was so embarrassing, Aunt Killy!”
“Well, yeah. I’ve got to imagine it would be embarrassing to be seen running to the guy who hit you like you were a fucking puppy. Humiliating, even.” She met the girl’s gaze and didn’t blink.
Shannon shrank back. “You don’t understand.”
“No, sweetheart, you don’t. He’s running with someone I used to know, okay? Someone who is very bad news.”
The girl shrugged, sullen and pissed. “Whatever. He probably thinks I’m such a pussy now he won’t want anything to do with me.”
“Hey.” Killian began with a scowl. “You do not use the female anatomy to degrade yourself or anyone else, got it? Especially if you can’t make yourself say it like you mean it. That is a man-thing, and you are better than that.”
Shannon stared at her. “You’re fucking crazy.”
“I have never run back to anyone who hit me with an invitation to let them do it again.”
“He only hit me the once. He was drunk and he said he was sorry. I believe him.”
“Then you’re fucking crazy. You’re not seeing him again.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“Maybe not, but I can stop him—physically or by reporting him for statutory rape. You decide which you’d prefer. I don’t mind sending him to prison, and it’ll be easier on my knuckles.”
The kid folded her arms over her chest and slouched into the passenger seat. “I wish you were still in prison.”
Oh, it hurt, but she wasn’t going
to let on it did. Instead Killian put the car into reverse. “Believe me, babe. Some days I wish I was, too.”
Three
The first contract on Killian’s head was offered a couple of months after she went in. Rank would have still been pretty messed up from what she’d done to him, but if you had the right connections it didn’t take much energy to order a hit.
She didn’t sleep well when there were other people around—kind of a one-eye-open sort of thing. Prison didn’t make that any better. She was in her bunk, listening to the night sounds, when the air changed. Her heart gave sharp taps against the backside of her ribs. Danger.
Claw-like fingers seized her throat, digging in. Killian’s eyes flew open and she looked up into the hard gaze of her cellmate, Rita. At forty-two, Rita was serving her third stint in prison. Mostly she’d been arrested for pimping and drug charges. Violence didn’t seem to be her thing—until now.
Gasping for air, Killian grabbed at the woman’s thick wrists. Rita had the advantage of being heavier and on top. The confined space of the lower bunk wasn’t much bigger than a coffin, and Killian was pinned beneath the blanket.
Rita’s rough, lined face reddened, exertion driving blood to her head. It took a lot of strength to strangle someone, but Killian had no doubt the older woman could—and would—kill her. Spots danced before her eyes as her brain gasped for oxygen.
Stay calm, she told herself, but panic had already taken hold. She was not going to die like this.
“I’m supposed to tell you this is for Rank,” Rita whispered, teeth clenched. “It’s not personal, honey, but he’s offering a lot of money.”
Rank. Son of a bitch. If Rita really wanted to finish the job she shouldn’t have said his name. Rage seeped through Killian’s veins, clearing her darkening mind. She stopped struggling, slipped her hand beneath her pillow, and grabbed the bar she’d managed to loosen from her bunk two days ago. She swung hard, connecting with the side of Rita’s head.
The woman fell sideways, releasing Killian’s throat. Air screamed into her lungs as blood rushed to her head. The room—and her stomach—spun.
“Fucking bitch,” she growled. Christ, it already hurt to talk. She swung again and got Rita in the hip. Hands grabbed at her arms, but Killian forced herself upright and got her legs out from beneath the blanket. She kicked at Rita, pushed with both hands and feet. When the woman fell off the bed to the hard floor, Killian went after her, her knees coming down hard.
“Piece of shit,” she spat, punching the older inmate’s face. The skin of Rita’s cheek split beneath her knuckles. “I hope Cirello paid up front.” Another punch—the cracking of nose cartilage.
Rita hit her in the throat. Killian gagged and took another blow to the jaw. She cursed as she fell sideways.
“He did,” Rita grunted as she lurched to her feet.
Killian twisted to avoid a kick and brought her own leg up to smash her shin into the woman’s side. Then another kick to her gut, driving her backward into the toilet. Killian jumped to her feet and lunged into a roundhouse that sent the older woman sprawling to the floor.
“He’s going to want a refund,” she quipped, before kicking Rita again and again and again, until the inmate held up her hands in defeat.
“Stop!” she whimpered.
Killian did. Sweat rolled down her face, and blood roared in her ears. It was fucking euphoric, this feeling. Like standing on the edge of a volcano…no. It was like she was the volcano.
Wiping her face, Killian backed up. Still no guards. Had Rita timed her attack so perfectly, or were the guards in on it? It didn’t matter. She hadn’t come to prison to die. If Rank Cirello wanted her dead, he could come try to do it himself, the coward.
“Come near me again and I end you,” Killian promised. “Pass that on to anyone else who wants Rank’s money. I’m letting you off easy.” She glanced at where she’d been sleeping. Being so close to the floor definitely made her an easy target.
She grabbed the bed frame and propelled herself up. She slid the bar underneath the pillow and lay back on the thin mattress. Killian smiled up at the ceiling. “Oh, and I’m taking the top bunk.”
Time in the real world could sometimes crawl just as slowly as time inside. The rest of the week crept by until it was the weekend again. Killian worked every night.
The club had a private party on Sunday night, so she got to work the bar rather than the door, which meant she more than doubled her wages in tips. It also meant that she left the place smelling like a brewery. At least three guys and two women spilled their drinks on her over the course of the evening. One of the men offered to lick her clean. Killian offered to break his jaw. He took his beer and walked away without tipping. Jerk. If he ordered another she was going to piss in it.
Lysergix was the name of the club. It tried to pass itself off as an upscale dance club, but it was a meat market as much as any other bar. People puked and pissed on the bathroom floors, passed out at tables, and occasionally OD’d on the premises. Sometimes there was a fight, but nothing too serious. The private party made the night a little tamer, but not by much. The “host” was an up-and-coming rapper who reckoned he was the next 50 Cent. He hadn’t been shot yet, but he was working on it.
By the time they’d all cleared out, the chairs were put up, and the dishwasher was running, it was almost two A.M. Killian exchanged the small bills and coins from her tips for larger currency, got her jacket from the back room, said good night to the rest of the staff, and stepped out into the cool night air.
For a second she just stood there, breathing, eyes closed. She stank of booze and her feet hurt, but she was free. She cracked her neck, rolled her shoulders back, and took her phone from her jacket pocket. No messages—not that she’d really expected any. Only four people had her number—her boss, Donna, Megan, and Shannon. She’d talked to Megan earlier, and Shannon would call when she wanted something. The kid seemed to have forgiven her for embarrassing her at school.
“Could you really kick Cody’s ass?” Shannon had asked with a dubious expression as Killian had been getting ready to leave Thursday night.
She didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“Would you, though?”
Killian tilted her head. “What do you think?”
The girl smiled. “If he hurt me, yeah.”
“Smart kid.”
Shannon hugged her then, and Killian left for work with a smile.
She smiled again just thinking about it as she walked to the back of the club lot, where she’d parked. A few cars away Carrie, one of the waitresses, got into her car, waving as she drove off. Killian waved back before climbing into the Impala. She’d just turned the key in the ignition when her phone rang. It was Megan.
“Hey,” she said, hand hovering over the gearshift.
“Are you working?”
“Just got off. Kind of late for you, isn’t it?” And then she remembered Cam was overseas. Shit. “What’s wrong?”
“Can you come over?” her sister asked, voice shaky.
“Are you crying?”
“Please, Killy.” Megan sniffed. “Shannon’s missing.”
The air in her lungs turned to lead. “I’m coming,” she said, then hung up. The tires kicked up gravel as the car lurched backward, then tore up the lot.
She didn’t think about the words her sister had said. Couldn’t think about what they meant. Shannon couldn’t be missing. If she’d been in trouble she would have called Killian.
Unless she was in serious trouble.
Her fingers fumbled with her phone. It was illegal to use a cell phone and drive in Connecticut, but that was the least of her worries at that moment. She put the phone on speaker and dialed Shannon’s number. It went straight to voice mail.
“Fuck,” she muttered. That was as far as she let her worry take her. Killian had never been good at mastering her emotions, but she learned how to build walls around them so people couldn’t see them—and so she could scarcely
feel them. It worked pretty well, until she opened a door or a window—then the wall just crumbled and she did something stupid. Usually with her fists.
The lights were on at her sister’s house when she pulled into the drive. The Impala’s engine was loud in the quiet suburban night, and the driver’s door groaned when it opened and closed. It wasn’t the neighborhood that concerned her—it was Willow. She didn’t want to wake up her niece. The kid was smart and would figure out something was wrong all too quickly.
Megan opened the door before she could knock. In her bathrobe, under the glare of the porch light, her sister looked older than her thirty-seven years. She looked tired and haggard, but then Killian wasn’t going to throw stones. Prison wasn’t exactly easy on the complexion.
She threw herself at Killian, forcing her into a fierce hug before pulling back with a grimace. “Have you been drinking?”
Killian brushed past her to enter the house. It smelled of roast potatoes and fried chicken. She looked around, even though she knew what she’d find. She always cased a place when she entered it. “A few drunks at work got sloppy. Has she come home?”
“No. I’m scared, Killy.”
She nodded. “Don’t think about what could be happening, concentrate on what is. Is there coffee?”
“Yeah. Come into the kitchen.”
Killian didn’t remove her boots, but she did shrug out of her coat. She tossed it over the post of the banister as she walked by the stairs. “Willow asleep?”
“Yeah. She passed out after talking to her dad.”
“What does Cam say about all this?”
Megan looked surprised she’d asked. “He doesn’t fucking know. Christ, I feel useless enough. How do you think he’d feel being on the other side of the world?”
“You shouldn’t have to deal with this on your own.”
Her sister’s gaze locked with hers as she lifted the coffeepot. “I’m not.”
