“Too bad. Tell him I said feel better.”

  “Will do.” I step into the elevator and keep my head down, using the brim of the baseball cap to shield my face from the camera.

  I ride up to the eighth floor knowing exactly where I have to go. March was able to get a 3-D rendering of the building, so I memorized all its ins and outs. Speaking of outs, I have a car parked right out back for a quick and easy getaway. The emergency exit will set off the alarm, but I’ll be long gone before the first of Boston’s finest even has a chance to respond.

  I stand in front of the door that reads number 8121, preparing myself. For what, I'm unsure. Another kill? That’s the easy part. I’m numb to that aspect of my job. It’s all business, all clinical, and it’s not like these people are saints. They are capable of horrible, wretched things that corrode society. So, I’m doing the world a small favor if you ask me. And Declan is just another name on that filthy list.

  That’s what I tell myself over and over as I pull the silencer out of the pocket of my leather jacket. Covertly, I screw it onto the barrel of my gun.

  My main focus is to get into that apartment. I can't just knock him off right in the hallway. It’ll create too much chaos. I have no idea who the girl is with him. I don’t know if she's young or old or capable of holding her own or not. She’s the only variable I'm unsure of. Ronan hasn’t divulged any information about her besides her name. Aisling, whatever kind of name that is. Truth be told, I’ve been trying to distance myself from him. Using the job as an excuse to keep our encounters brief. It’s worked thus far, but who knows what’s going to happen when this is all done. I’m in his city now. Completely accessible. There’s a possibility he may never let me leave. I’ll have to worry about that when the time comes, because right now, I have a job staring me straight in the face.

  I knock, and then wait. When the door creaks open, my heart gallops. I fight to keep my head down and not look directly into his eyes, but my want betrays my will, and I tilt my face up.

  Time freezes for a fraction of a second as our gazes meet. The gallop in my chest becomes an all-out stakes’ race as I pull my pistol and point it right at Declan’s nose. He tries to slam the door in my face, but I use the barrel as a door jam and force my way inside. I get him right where I want him. Ambushed and unarmed, and all I have to do is pull the trigger and it’ll be done. I squeeze, witnessing the rat panic in his shrinking cage. He backtracks into a sparse living room space with only a couch and tableside lamp. I follow, taking quick, calculated steps toward him.

  Pull the damn trigger! my subconscious screams, but I’m hesitating. Why are you hesitating!

  I close my eyes and squeeze the trigger, but the gun is suddenly knocked from my hand. When I open my eyes, I find Declan holding up the table lamp about to crack it over my head. I react instinctually, crossing my hands above myself in an attempt to shield the blow. It works well enough; the corner of the lamp barely grazes my temple. In a quick turnaround, I knee him in the groin, and he goes down with a grunt. I go for my gun, but Declan snatches my ankle and pulls my feet right out from underneath me. I hit the ground hard, slamming my funny bone right into the hardwood. I howl like an injured dog. That is the fucking smartest of smarts. Grrrr. I kick at Declan as he drags me closer to him. I know if he gets a good grip on me, I’ll be done. He’s big, he’s strong, and he knows exactly how to utilize his strength. I spent enough hours between the sheets with him to know exactly how he operates. If I end up underneath him, it’s game over.

  With a swift, swinging kick, I hit him right in the wrist, forcing him to loosen his hold, I crawl away frantically and attempt to grab for my gun. I jump for it, the grip centimeters away from my fingertips.

  I’m jerked back again, and this time, I end up beneath him, the very last place I want to be. He tries to overpower me, wrapping his tattooed hands around my throat.

  I squirm fitfully as the air evaporates from my lungs. Staring straight into his murderous, green eyes, panic starts to spread like a deadly disease. Those aren't the eyes that I know. Or the eyes I thought I knew. In the past, he never looked at me with such venom. But then again, I never tried to kill him.

  Locking my right leg around his and hooking it to my body, I rapidly use both hands to disjoint his elbow and roll him over. Then I start to attack, punching him in quick succession until I draw blood from his face.

  My upper-hand doesn’t last long as he shoves me off him and sends me flying across the floor. I crash into a wall, hitting my head. Disoriented, I hastily try to get my bearings. He comes for me and I scramble, getting to my feet as swiftly as possible, but I’m not fast enough. Declan slams me, my head hitting the wall harder this time. My vision goes blurry as he wraps hands around my neck again, squeezing. Lifting me clear off the ground, he strangles me even as I kick furiously at his knees and thighs.

  The malice in his gaze is so fucking frightening, it’s like he doesn’t even see me. Like he doesn't see anything except death. My death. Who is this man? He’s completely hollow.

  “Dec–” I try to rip at his fingers as my oxygen supply runs thin. His grip is like iron, though. It’s impenetrable. I try to disjoint his elbows next, but they are locked tighter than a deadbolt. His whole body is as solid as concrete, the veins in his neck, forehead, and arms rising and rippling as he strips my lifeforce away.

  Dark spots steal my sight as I begin to blackout when a high-pitched wail has him loosening his death grip. I suck in life-saving air as I glance in the direction of the sound and question what I see. A tiny little figure is standing there in a nightgown with tears streaming down her puffy cheeks.

  I look back at Declan, and before anything can be said, his fist is flying toward my face.

  3

  Fallon

  Someone, please put me out of my fucking misery.

  My whole body hurts. Especially my head.

  The sound of crying followed by “Shh-shh-shh-shh” is like a sharp point being stabbed repeatedly into my brain.

  “For the love of God, shut up,” I moan miserably, unable to go far. I twist and turn before I realize I'm tied up. Cracking open one eye, everything around me is hazy.

  I’m fucked up for sure.

  Once my vision begins to clear, I survey my surroundings. I’m still in the apartment. Declan is still bloody and now bouncing what looks to be a terribly upset toddler, and I am tied to one of the exposed support beams in the living area.

  Here’s a situation I did not expect to find myself in at all.

  “Where is Aisling?” I ask. She seems to be the only missing variable in this equation. My thought is she split and left him with the kid. I would’ve too if Ronan were after me.

  “It’s pronounced Ash-ling,” Declan corrects me, beyond irritated. “It’s Irish for dream.”

  “Sorry, Aisling. How sweet,” I correct myself, not giving a flying fuck how it’s pronounced or what it means. “Where is she?”

  “She’s right fucking here.” He lifts the little girl higher in his arms.

  I’m totally confused.

  “What?”

  “Ronan didn’t give you all the details. Shocker.” Declan paces while Aisling whimpers. “Shh, baby girl.”

  Apparently. I have been thrown for a loop. “So, give me the details.”

  “Like you would believe me even if I told you.”

  “Try me. I like to think of myself as levelheaded.”

  Declan stops pacing with a deadpan look.

  “Okay, most of the time. I like to think I’m levelheaded most of the time.”

  Declan just stares at me as Aisling finally begins to calm down. She rests her head full of dark hair on his shoulder and sticks her thumb in her mouth. It’s precious, even this stone-cold killer will admit.

  I take a good, hard look at Declan for the very first time. “You kind of look like shit, Dax.” I use the pet name I adopted in New Orleans. His skin is pale, there are bags under his eyes, and he’s sporting an unkempt five o’clock shadow. Even his clothes are ratty. He’s a far cry from the man I met in Louisiana.

  “Yeah, well, you stay holed up in one place for months with a two-year-old and barely any sleep, and let's see how good you look.” He’s defensive. I don’t blame him.

  “Well, you shouldn’t have killed the whole fucking Kennedy crime family. What the fuck were you thinking? What the fuck did you think would happen?” I yell at him.

  “Shh.” He’s agitated. “She’s finally sleeping. You know what a fucking miracle that is?”

  “Not a clue.”

  Declan continues to sway back and forth with the girl securely in his arms. “I didn’t think I’d become a fugitive.”

  “Really? What the fuck did you think would happen?” Did you think you were going to get away scot-free, drinking margaritas on the Mexican Riviera?”

  “That’s not so farfetched if you knew the truth. What lies did Ronan poison you with? Did he tell you I turned against the family? That I conspired with the San Gennaro’s? That I made a move for power?”

  “Something like that,” I respond cautiously. “You went on a killing spree, and now he’s the only Kennedy left.”

  Extreme hostility flashes in Declan’s big, green eyes. “That was his plan the whole fucking time.”

  I shake my head, not understanding. “Whose plan?”

  “Ronan’s. He was the fucking mastermind behind the whole fucking thing. He wanted to take over. He didn’t like the way the elders were running things, and he was tired of waiting for them to die, so he took matters into his own fucking hands. And before he could kill me too, I ran. I took my daughter, and I fucking ran. And I’ll keep running until she’s safe.”

  Daughter?

  “You haven't made it very far; you didn’t even leave Boston.”

  “Yeah, well, that was coming. I had to set shit up in order to get out of the country, and when you’re blacklisted, it isn’t easy. I knew Ronan would never look for me here. He thinks I’m too smart to stay in the city.”

  “It definitely threw us off your trail,” I admit.

  “Anything to buy time.”

  “You don’t have much of it anymore. He knows where you are. And if I don’t finish the job, someone else will. Might as well just give up now.”

  “Not a fucking chance in hell.” He hugs Aisling protectively.

  I analyze her. He said she’s two. Which makes me start to wonder. “Is she the reason you left so suddenly two years ago?” I try not to let the question sound bitter.

  “Yes. Brynn went into labor early. I had to be there.”

  “So, you just fucking left? No goodbye, no nothing?”

  “What else was I supposed to do? Tell you that the woman I was in love with was going into labor with our child?”

  I try not to wince at his response. ’Cause I tell myself it doesn't fucking hurt. I tell myself that Declan O’Dea doesn’t mean shit to me.

  “If you were in love with someone else, why sleep with me? Why ask me to stay? Are you really just that shitty of a person?”

  There is sheer disdain on his face. “It was complicated.”

  “Complicated how?”

  “We weren’t exactly together.”

  “This story just keeps getting more interesting. Explain.”

  Declan sighs, clearly exhausted. He kisses Aisling’s little cheek before leaving the room. I try to stop my ovaries from throbbing. I hate being human sometimes.

  When Declan returns, it’s without Aisling. He ambles around in bare feet, picking up his displaced liquor delivery. He sits directly in front of me, crisscrossing his legs, and cracks open the dark green Jameson bottle. He sticks his finger inside first and wets it, then swipes it across the cut on his lip. He sucks in some breath when it stings. Then he proceeds to drink, gulping down several large mouthfuls of whiskey all at once. Damn.

  He then tips the bottle in my direction.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  In no time flat, half the bottle is gone.

  Declan and I sit there in silence, me still tied to this fucking beam, him getting shitfaced right before my very eyes.

  “You put up a good fight, Poppy.”

  “Untie me, and we can go another round.”

  “I don’t think so.” He reaches for me, and I jerk my head back.

  ‘“Relax.” He pulls my short blonde wig off. “I like your natural color much better.”

  “Enough of the bullshit, Dax, tell me what the fuck is going on.” I’m not in the mood for any of his antics. Or that fucking buttery-smooth Irish tongue of his. Trust me when I tell you, he knows exactly how to use it. He can manipulate, exploit, and entice with one seductive wag.

  “What’s going on is my life is a fucking wreck. If you couldn’t clearly see.”

  “I’ve noticed. But how did it get that way?”

  Declan eyes me like an analytical raven. “I knew he would send you. He’s obsessed.”

  “Obsessed? With what? Power?” That isn’t a secret.

  “No, obsessed with you. I knew it when we were together. And I loved the fact that I got you first.”

  “So, sleeping with me was an in-your-face fuck you to your boss? Good thing my feelings don’t get hurt that easily.”

  “Maybe, at first. And maybe because I needed to blow off some serious steam after almost getting turned into Swiss cheese. But then I saw what Ronan saw. I got it. The obsession. You’re a special woman.” He tips the bottle back and takes another gluttonous drink.

  “What a sweet compliment.” My reply is chock full of resentment.

  “I know you’re pissed at me.”

  “I couldn't give two flying fucks about you,”

  Declan just smiles at me. He thinks I’m full of shit. But I’m not. I let go of him a long time ago.

  Which is why you hesitated, right? my subconscious sneers. Fucking bitch.

  “I thought about you,” he discloses.

  “And that’s supposed to mean something?” I’m cold as ice. Why are we having this conversation? I just want the important details. Like what the fuck really happened the night Ronan’s whole family was fucking assassinated. “This little trip down memory lane is nice and all, but it’s in the past and irrelevant. Can we stay on track? How did your life become such a wreck? What really happened with Ronan?”

  “Ronan,” Declan hisses. “He’s been ruining my life since the day I met him.”

  “Well, let’s not start from the beginning, and just fast forward to where it all went wrong.”

  “Where it all went wrong.” Declan sighs woefully. “It all went wrong with a woman.”

  “Doesn’t it always?” I shake my head, not surprised. “Who is Brynn?”

  “Brynn was Ronan’s sister.” Emotion clogs his throat. “And she was the love of my life. She was also the reason it all went wrong.” He drops his head, shielding his face with his hand. Holy crap, I think he’s going to cry.

  “Declan?” I nudge him with my toe. He raises his head with a heavy exhale and wipes his wet cheeks.

  I have no idea what alternate world I entered when I broke through that door.

  Declan brings the bottle to his mouth again, and I can only watch helplessly as he chugs the amber malt down.

  “Jesus Christ, take a breath,” I urge, my liver hurting for him.

  Only after several more gulps does he stop. All the alcohol is nearly gone, and Declan’s eyes are watery and bloodshot. “Stop drinking, start talking.”

  “I need to drink in order to talk,” he bites.

  Clearly, he is in pain, alone, and quite possibly desperate. I should feel sorry for him, but I don’t.

  “I’m listening.”

  With a deep breath and shaky hands, he begins, “I have been in love with Brynn since I was seventeen years old. She was the gentlest soul I had ever encountered. I felt like I needed to protect her from the moment I met her. She wasn’t a cutthroat snake like everyone else in her family, and it was her downfall. We wanted to get married, but the family wouldn't allow it. They had other plans for her. She was a political pawn in their criminal game. They forced a union with one of the San Gennaro’s grandsons from New York. I told her to object. To speak up. To refuse the marriage, but she wouldn’t. She wouldn't go against her family. She was too scared. I tried to talk to Ronan, but he couldn’t do anything. He said his hands were tied. So, I stood by and watched her marry another man, knowing she was in love with me.”

  “So, you got pissed and took your revenge?”

  “I was pissed, not insane. I could never take on the Kennedy family by myself. That’s a suicide mission. We just had an affair.”

  “Even better.”

  “It was better than not being in each other’s lives at all. It was painful to see her with another man. It was agony watching him raise my child.”

  “He didn’t know it wasn't his?”

  “No one knew except Ronan. Brynn had to keep up appearances, and a baby helped. Everyone thought they were making it as a couple.”

  “So where did it all go wrong?”

  “About a year after Aisling was born, Ronan came to me hot. He was steaming about how the elders in the family were running things. Complaining about old-school mentality and this and that. There was also a rumor that when their father passed on, Brian, his younger brother, was going to take over and not Ronan. Well, that sure as shit wasn’t going to fly. He told me he wanted to take the old timers out. Make it look like the San Gennaros were going for a power play. Said Brynn, Aisling, and I could finally be together if I helped him. He’d be head of the family, so no one could touch us. It sounded like a pretty sweet deal to me. I was in. We kept the whole plan a secret, even from Brynn. The less people who knew, the better. Ronan took care of most of the logistics. I was really just there to do the killing. Which I did. Expertly. There was a family dinner. It was the perfect time. I sent Brynn away with Aisling to a different part of the house. No one questioned her excusing herself early. Aisling was being fussy. It sort of all worked out perfectly. Toward the end of the dinner, Ronan and I took everyone out. His father, his grandfather, his uncle, and younger brother. Even Brynn’s husband whom we planned to pin the whole thing on anyway. It was a bloodbath. So much fucking blood, and death.” Declan lifts his leg, rests his elbow on his knee, and holds his heavy head. “And the worst fucking part is, I was relieved. I was going to get what I wanted. At least, that’s what I thought.”