He studied me and didn’t eat. I shifted from foot to foot and when the coffee finished, I poured a big mug. All his stuff was mismatched and chipped like he’d bought it from a bunch of different second-hand shops. I found it hard to believe that a made man like him would have to be so frugal, and yet that had always been Cam’s way.
He was never flashy, even when he could’ve been. Cam was a big guy and girls always drifted to him like hungry bears to a campfire. He could’ve had his pick whenever he wanted, as much as he wanted, but he tended to keep his hands to himself—most of the time, at least. When he started earning a little money and had enough cash to get a halfway decent vehicle, he bought some piece of crap rundown truck, the same truck he used to drive me home the night before.
That was just Cam. He could’ve had whatever he wanted, but he only wanted certain things. He didn’t settle for second best.
“At some point, you’ll have to talk,” he said as I slipped past him and sat down at the kitchen table.
“There’s not much to say.” I swirled my black coffee around and chugged half of it down despite the heat. My tongue burned but it was a good feeling, reminded me that I was alive. My lips were puffy and cracked where Ronan hit me, and my tongue felt heavy and swollen, but at least I was in one piece.
Cam sat down across from me and watch me eat then pushed his plate over. I hesitated, but my stomach rumbled and I couldn’t help myself.
“You eat like a homeless girl,” he said.
I looked up, fork full of eggs poised at my lips. “Excuse me?”
His eyes tore into mine like claws. “Where have you been, Irene? Why the hell did you try to steal from Ronan Healy? How the hell did you even meet him?”
I shoed my chair back. “It’s none of your business, okay?” I carried the plates back into the kitchen and rinsed them off. “We don’t all have the Valentino family to fall back on.”
“I know that,” he said, drifting after me, and leaned up against the doorframe again. “But you look like you’ve been through something. I want to help, Irene.”
I stopped cleaning and dropped the plates. They clattered into the bottom of the sink. I gripped the edge of the counter and took several deep breaths—slowly in through my nose, then out through my mouth, trying to keep a steady head.
“If you wanted to help me, you never would’ve left,” I said through my teeth.
He flinched when I looked over again. “I didn’t leave,” he said. “I joined the Valentino family, and you didn’t like it.”
“I told you what would happen.” I shook my head, pissed off that he was making me do this. I didn’t want to go down this path again, not after so long, but the pain felt fresh all over again and I wished I could get the hell out of there.
“You didn’t have to disappear,” he said softly. “I can understand if you couldn’t handle being close anymore, I get that. But disappearing? I don’t understand, Irene.”
“You know what it was like living with them,” I said, facing him with my arms crossed over my chest. I craved another shower just to feel as clean as possible and some clean clothes, but I doubted he’d have anything for me, and my little hiding hole wouldn’t be safe, not anymore. All my stuff was forfeit, basically burned to ash, all gone.
“I know,” he said. “I wanted to help.”
“Instead, you became a gangster. Look at you, big man.” I pushed past him and stormed into the living room. I hated myself for doing this and wished I could stop, but I felt it all bubbling up again.
“I wanted more for myself,” he said. “You know the family was the only way.”
“And are you happy?” I asked, spreading my hands wide. “Look at the palace you live in.”
He snorted. “I could have better if I wanted better.”
“That’s not the point.”
“But it is,” he said, coming closer. “The Valentino family takes care of me. I do hard work for them, you’re right. I get my hands dirty. I stain myself in blood for them. But they take care of me.” He nodded his chin at me. “Looks like you’ve gotten plenty dirty too. Does anyone take care of you?”
I balled my hands into fists and wanted to scream in his face. “You don’t know what I’ve been through,” I said.
“You’re right, I don’t,” he said. “So why don’t you tell me where you’ve been these last two years?”
“You really want to know?” I turned my back, unable to face him, unwilling to show him the shame that turned my cheeks bright red. “Homeless shelters mostly. Stash houses, crack dens, abandoned buildings. There’s a place in Kensington that’s half demolished but still somehow gets power and I live in a room that’s almost entirely open on the one side. I’ve slept on couches, in a bathtub, one time I slept in a stranger’s car because it was so cold I thought I might die. I’ve been all over the goddamn city. You happy now?”