Seven Crows

by Kate Kessler

  Story, she thought with a smile.

  “Hi,” said a large bald man who wiped his hands on a worn towel. “I’m Vonzel. Can I help you?”

  Killian offered her hand. “Killian. I’m a friend of Dash’s.”

  “Holy shit.” The man’s dark eyes widened. “I’ve seen videos of you fighting! Girl, you could’ve taken on Cyborg or Rousey!”

  She smiled. “Thanks. I was always a fan of Carano in the day.”

  “Yeah, she’s something else.” He had a wide, easy smile. “It’s an honor to meet you. Can I show you around?”

  Since it didn’t look like Dash was going to join her anytime real soon, she mentally shrugged. “Sure. Thanks.”

  He took her around to the various workstations and introduced her to the rest of the crew. They were of different ethnicities and from different backgrounds, but they shared a love of cars. It was obvious they took their work very seriously and that they all thought a lot of Dash for giving them the opportunity to do what they loved. Each of them had something good to say about him. Killian wanted to tell them they didn’t have to sell him to her, but she didn’t. It was nice to know they respected and liked him. She didn’t want to take them from their work, so she just flitted around on her own, checking out the various projects after Vonzel introduced her.

  “Jonah’s in the office,” she heard Vonzel tell one of the other guys.

  “Surprised he showed his face ’round here again after that shit he pulled,” the man replied.

  “Guess he figured Dash would give him another chance.” The big man shook his shiny head. “He’s got a soft spot for the kid.”

  “Doesn’t deserve it.”

  “You wanna be the one who tells Dash that?”

  The other man laughed. “No, sir, I do not.” He moved toward the car he’d been working on.

  She was watching the work being done on the Volkswagen when she heard a shout and the back door to the office slammed. Killian turned her head to see a young man stomping toward the shop. A second later Dash came out after him.

  “Jonah!” he yelled, a dark frown on his face. “Get your ass back here.”

  The kid gave him the finger. Killian saw his face and froze, blood running from her head to her feet. He looked almost exactly like Jason. So much so that her breath caught in her throat. The closer he came, the more painful the resemblance.

  He caught her staring and stared back, coming to stand not even a foot away from her. “Don’t I know you?”

  “No,” she said softly. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Yeah, I do.” He drew his shoulders back. “You’re Killian Delaney.”

  She nodded.

  His expression darkened even further. “You’re the bitch my father was fucking when he got killed.”

  “Why haven’t you hurt me to get to my aunt?” Shannon asked when she wandered down the stairs to Rank’s office that afternoon. There was only so much TV she could watch before she got bored. She tried to sleep but she kept having bad dreams. Pretty soon she was going to get into the liquor cabinet and knock herself out.

  He looked up from his laptop. “Because I don’t play that way if I don’t have to.”

  “But you could.”

  He nodded. “Yes. Very easily. Is that what you want to hear?”

  She just stared at him. Of course that wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

  Palms flat on the top of his desk, Rank pushed himself to his feet, wincing as he rose. “This thing between me and your aunt is between me and your aunt. There’s no need to involve anyone else.”

  “Why’d you pick me?” she asked. “Everyone would be more freaked out if you’d taken Willow.”

  “I don’t like children,” he replied easily.

  Shannon didn’t believe him. Well, she believed that he didn’t like children, but she didn’t believe that was why he hadn’t taken her sister. She was glad he hadn’t taken Willow, but there had to be more of a reason than that.

  “Is it because me and her are close?”

  “Yes.”

  She watched him for a second, her sleep-deprived brain whirling. “She really did all that to you? By herself?”

  His eyes narrowed. She shouldn’t have asked. She’d gotten too comfortable—just like Aunt Killy had warned her not to. “Shannon, have you ever seen Killian fight? Ever seen what she is capable of?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve watched a couple of her matches on YouTube—from when she was doing the MMA stuff.”

  “That’s fighting to win, not fighting to survive—or fighting to kill.”

  A slow shiver ran down Shannon’s spine. She didn’t like the way his voice changed on that last bit. “It’s not like she’s gone around kicking ass since she got out. I was only five when she got locked up, so it’s not like she beat up people in front of me.”

  “No. She wouldn’t do that to you, would she? Wouldn’t want you to see it.” He took a key from his pocket and unlocked one of the drawers of his desk. From the drawer, he removed a file folder that was a little battered and dog-eared. “Take a look at this.”

  Shannon hesitated.

  “Come on, it won’t bite.”

  She moved forward on uncertain legs and picked up the file. “What is it?”

  “It’s what she did to me.”

  She looked down at the file. If he looked this bad healed, years later, she wasn’t sure she wanted to see what he’d looked like before. She also wasn’t sure she had a choice. “Do I have to?”

  “Of course not, but you seem curious, and I want you to have all the facts. I know I seem like the bad guy to you, but if I scarred your aunt for life, don’t you think she’d want revenge, too?”

  “I know she would.”

  Rank smiled. “Of course she would. I just want you to have both sides of the story. You can take that upstairs with you, if you like. Or you can sit over by the window and look at it.”

  Shannon hesitated. “I’ll take it upstairs.” She didn’t want him to see her reaction to what was inside the folder.

  “All right. Go on, then. I have work to do.”

  She’d never been dismissed by an adult before so obviously. It made her feel like a kid. Clutching the file to her chest, she went back upstairs to her room and closed the door. Sitting on the bed, she set the file on top of the bedspread and slowly opened the cover.

  The first few pages were police and hospital reports—mostly papers describing what had happened. Rank had been eating dinner at one of his favorite restaurants when Killian approached his table from behind and slammed his face into it. Many of the people around them got out of the way. When Rank’s bodyguard tried to intervene, Killian broke his knee and took his gun. She never fired a shot, but she had urged the other diners to leave if they wanted to keep their appetites. Then, the report said, she proceeded to beat Rank until he was unconscious. He apparently tried to fight back, but Killian overpowered him.

  Shannon tried to imagine that. How could a woman beat up a man? She’d seen it in movies, of course, but Rank seemed like a pretty bad guy. He could have shot her, couldn’t he? But the report said she took his weapon as well. Why hadn’t anyone else tried to stop her?

  Oh, wait. Someone had. A man who was at a neighboring table had tried to stop her. She broke his jaw and bruised his kidneys. Jesus.

  There was a photo attached to the page that showed what Rank had looked like before. It was just a photograph, so she assumed it was a personal photo and not part of the report. Why would he want a reminder like that? Shannon couldn’t believe it was the same guy, but she recognized the hair and eyes. He’d been handsome then—hot, even. Now he wasn’t even room temperature.

  She turned the page. Staring back at her was her aunt’s battered, barely recognizable face. It was her arrest photo from that night. Rank had fought back, and he’d obviously landed some good punches—one of her eyes was swollen almost completely shut and her mouth was split and bruised. How had she managed to keep fighting wh
en she’d been this badly beaten herself? It had to be rage that drove her.

  Like the rage she’d felt the other night when that asshole raped her. If she’d known how to fight like Killy did, she might have won the fight with the bitch who came into the room. Hell, she might have pounded the snot out of the guy who hurt her. Just the thought made her fingers clench into fists.

  The next page took away what anger her aunt’s photo inspired. It took her a second to realize the thing in the picture was human. It was so…misshapen. She only knew it was Rank because of what he was wearing—he still dressed the same, in a suit with a silk shirt. His face was a bloody, swollen mess. His jaw was off center, both eyes swollen shut. He was missing teeth. One of his shoulders drooped lower than the other, and one of his legs looked a rag doll’s—curved and flopped at a weird angle.

  She turned the page. There was a police photo of a bloody baseball bat lying on the floor. The next pages were more photos of Rank in the hospital, cataloging all his injuries. Shannon’s stomach turned at almost every one, but she made herself look at the wounds and broken bones, the bandages and pins and metal cage-like things that had to be used to put him back together.

  The only wounds to his head were those to his face—the ones she made with her fists. Fuck, she’d done all of that with her hands? The hospital report said she hadn’t hit him above the shoulders with the bat. Why not?

  “Because she didn’t want to kill him, stupid,” she whispered to herself. Aunt Killy hadn’t wanted him to die; she’d wanted him to live with the damage she caused. Somehow, that made it worse. No wonder Rank wanted to kill her. Who wouldn’t? But it wasn’t like Killy had gone after him without a reason. Rank had killed the guy she loved. Shannon couldn’t blame her for what she’d done, either. A week ago she would have wanted to kill anyone who hurt Cody.

  Now she’d just ask them if she could watch.

  Closing the folder, Shannon didn’t know what Rank hoped to achieve by showing her this. Maybe he just wanted to make her understand his motivation, or whatever. Maybe he was actually hoping she’d feel sorry for him. What he didn’t realize was that by showing her what Killian had done, he’d given her what was essentially a map of his body. She knew exactly where to strike to hurt him the most.

  Because if Rank Cirello thought she’d just sit there and watch while he hurt Killy, he was one stupid son of a bitch.

  Killian prided herself on her strength, so it was humiliating when her knees didn’t want to support her anymore. Dash was suddenly beside her and she grabbed his arm for support. Her gaze, however, was fixed on Jonah, the boy who could have easily been a ghost.

  “Your father?” she asked, stupidly. Unnecessarily.

  Jonah sneered at her. “Don’t play dumb, bitch. Ain’t it obvious?”

  “Watch your mouth,” Dash warned. The boy shot him a dismissive look but didn’t talk back.

  “Jason was your father?” She needed him to confirm it before she could let herself believe.

  His gaze glittered with contempt. “You catchin’ up now, huh?”

  “How old are you?”

  “What fucking difference does that make? Seventeen.”

  Seventeen. Killian didn’t have to do much math in her head to know that Jason had been a young father, but also that it was before the two of them had started having a sexual relationship. She hadn’t slept with Jason until she was fifteen, so they’d obviously gotten together after he broke up with the boy’s mother.

  Jonah suddenly grinned, but there was no humor in it. “I see what you’re doin’. Trying to add it all up in your head, right? Trying to excuse him and yourself? I got younger sisters, bitch. Fifteen and thirteen. They look just like him, too. My mom didn’t know nothing about you until she saw you at his funeral, acting like you was the grieving widow or something.”

  Killian had been too caught up in her own grief that day to notice anyone else’s. She’d obviously been blind to the presence of children who looked like their dad. She’d been spared that humiliation.

  “I didn’t know about your mother, either,” she whispered.

  He frowned and looked to Dash for confirmation. “She trippin’?”

  Dash shook his head. “She didn’t know.”

  “Damn. Brother made a fool outta both of you. Least he didn’t leave you with three kids to raise up on your own.”

  “Your mother didn’t raise you on her own,” Dash reminded him in a low voice.

  The boy made a face—all anger and hurt—“She didn’t ask you to be my damn father in his place, either.”

  “No,” Dash agreed. “He did.”

  It all made sense now, why Dash had gotten her out of there after the funeral. Why he kept her away from the family until she wasn’t so fragile. Had Jason’s mother known that he was seeing her, too, or had she thought they were just friends? The woman wasn’t stupid; she had to have known her son was fooling around with two women. Jonah’d figured it out. Killian was the only one who’d been kept a fool.

  She’d thought Jason had loved her as much as she loved him. And Dash had let her maintain that fantasy. She let go of his arm. She could hold herself up.

  “He’s dead,” Jonah was saying. “He don’t care about your promise.”

  “I do,” Dash said. “And I’m not giving you any more money out of the trust he left you.”

  “I’ll get it when I turn eighteen anyway.”

  “Then you can do whatever you want with it, but it’s not going up your fucking nose today.”

  Jonah took a swing, but Dash easily grabbed his arm and held it. The kid was skinny, without a lot of muscle tone, and he certainly didn’t have the strength to go toe to toe with a man who was a few inches taller and probably forty pounds heavier.

  “You’re fired,” Dash told him, releasing his arm. “You can take your tools and go. Pawn them if you want—they’ll get you several hundred. I don’t fucking care. Until you’re clean, we’re done.”

  Jonah’s face was a study in surprise. He looked around at the guys in the shop. Those who had stopped working to watch as the drama played out said nothing. It was obvious no one was going to come to his defense, especially those who pretended there was nothing going on. This kind of behavior from the kid wasn’t new, Killian guessed.

  “What am I going to do without this job?” he asked.

  Dash shrugged. “No idea, but you should have thought of that before taking a swing at your boss. Now clean out your shit and go.”

  The kid hesitated, as if waiting for Dash to take it back, or maybe he was trying to think of something he could say to make Dash change his mind.

  Dash turned to Killian. “Can we talk?”

  “I think that’s a good idea,” she replied. Jonah stomped around them toward what she assumed was a locker room where the guys kept their equipment. The kid was silent as he moved away. Maybe he was considering the consequences of his actions. Or maybe he was trying to think of what he could steal from the shop to get the most money. Maybe he was plotting revenge on Dash. She didn’t know and she didn’t care.

  Dash led the way to his office, opening the door and holding it for her so she could step inside. The minute it closed behind them, she whirled on him.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

  He sighed and folded his arms over his chest. Protective. Defensive. “I never tell secrets, remember?”

  Killian jabbed him in the solar plexus. He took half a step back but otherwise didn’t budge. “Fuck you, Dash. That was my life you lied about!”

  His expression lost some of its usual calm. “Remember when I told you he didn’t deserve you? That you shouldn’t feel guilty for lying to him? I almost told you then, but I couldn’t. We were at the hospital with Megan and the baby and I just…couldn’t.”

  Her anger dissolved when she looked at him. Ten years ago as a hotheaded kid she might have hit him, but not now. She couldn’t blame him for keeping Jason’s secret when he’d kept hers. �
�No, that wouldn’t have been a good time.” She laughed bitterly. “There never would have been a good time. You’re not the one who should have told me, Dash. It wasn’t your lie to confess.” God, Jason had lied to her. Well, fair enough—she’d lied to him. She’d lied a lot in her life. The only person she’d never lied to was Dash, the keeper of secrets.

  “Jay and I fought about it a lot,” he told her. “I think he was afraid to tell you. He did love you, Kill.”

  She sighed. “But he loved her, too?”

  He nodded.

  Killian shook her head. “I can’t believe I was someone’s side piece,” she confided.

  “You deserved better. I hated him for treating you like that.”

  That was the moment Killian realized something important. Apparently it was a day for appreciating just how little she looked outside herself and really saw what was going on around her. “How long have you had a thing for me, Dash?”

  He didn’t look embarrassed; he looked surprised. “You didn’t know?”

  She shook her head and he laughed.

  “Killian, I’ve been in various stages of infatuation with you since the day you asked me to teach you to fight.”

  “That’s a long time to never say anything.”

  “The secrets I’ve kept the best and longest are my own.” He didn’t say it arrogantly, or like he wanted sympathy; it was just fact.

  “I should have known that night you kissed me. You said you thought I was someone else, but I always thought that was weird, because you didn’t even like the girl you mentioned.”

  “Misty Angelo.” Of course he remembered. “It was the first name that came to mind.”

  “I remember thinking you were a good kisser.” It was true. It had happened when Jason was in juvy. Her life might have turned out differently if Dash hadn’t chickened out. If she hadn’t made him promise to never tell Jason.

  A slow grin curved his lips. “I put everything I had into it.”

  “And then you ended up dating Kim. You guys were together a long time.”

  “Yeah. She was great. I really loved her.”