9
Irene
Kira flitted through my dreams. I thrashed and sweated all night, waking and drifting off, and each time I passed back out, I saw Kira there, Kira chewing her nails, Kira glaring at me mockingly, Kira laughing like she knew something I didn’t.
In the morning, the living room was empty, which meant Cam had already left. I made coffee and sat in the kitchen with my legs crossed under me trying to decide what I was going to do.
I trusted that Cam wanted to take Ronan down, but I didn’t know if the Valentino family would be better for the city or not. All those girls that worked for the Healys would need some place to go, and I couldn’t imagine Don Valentino stepping up to help them.
If anything, the Valentino family would take all those poor, lost girls, and do to them exactly what the Healy family was already doing.
I couldn’t be a part of that. It made my spine itch thinking about it. I paced around the apartment and spent the afternoon worrying.
But I couldn’t deny how Cam made me feel. Every time I was around him, something slipped into my awareness: his muscular forearms, the tattoos peeking out from beneath his shirt, the malevolent smile, his shining eyes. He scared me and excited me in ways I couldn’t exactly understand, and I wanted to reach out and touch his lips—
Though I knew as soon as I went down that road, I’d never be able to find my way back again.
Still, his arms wrapped around me, his lips next to my throat, it drove me crazy with need.
It was late afternoon when he finally came back looking tired. He opened a beer and drank down half before looking at me with narrowed eyes.
“Why are you looking at me like you’re about to shove a knife in my throat?” he asked.
I grinned and mimed a cutting motion across my neck. “That’s because I have some very violent plans for you.”
“I guess I shouldn’t fall asleep tonight.”
“Not if you value your limbs.”
“Kinky,” he said, head cocked. “Is there foreplay first, or do you go right for the chainsaw?”
“I was thinking butter knife,” I said and leaned against the counter. “Nice and rusty.”
“Oh, yeah, girl,” he said, smirking as he sipped his drink. “I like it slow.”
I snorted and took a deep breath. “We need to talk about Kira,” I said.
“What about her?” he asked, glancing through the refrigerator for something to eat. He took out tortillas, ground turkey, and got to work making simple tacos, toasting the tortillas directly over the gas burner.
“I want to know what you plan on doing with all those girls,” I said.
“Ask them some questions, mostly,” Cam said, not looking at me as he cooked. “But I told you that already.”
“I mean after,” I said. “When it’s all over.”
He didn’t answer right away. He stirred the meat, browning it, then added in the spice mixture. It was his own special blend, which I honestly marveled over—this man, this mafia killer, liked to cook.
“I don’t know,” he said finally. “The Valentino family doesn’t run girls. Dean’s father, the former Don, he was moving in that direction. But the current Don isn’t too interested in it.”
“So we’ll let them all go?” I asked hopefully.
“I don’t know,” he said again, still not looking at me. “I take orders. That’s all I do.”
“There it is,” I said, feeling a simmer of anger in my skin. “As soon as I ask a hard question, you’ve got an excuse all lined up already. Punt responsibility off to someone else.”
“That’s not what I’m doing,” he said.
But he still didn’t look back at me.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked. “Are you just trying to win your war?”
He slammed his drink down the counter. I jumped, surprised, and took a step back. He turned, his face twisted into anger.
“Damn right I am,” he said with a growl, and it took the breath from my throat. I hadn’t seen Cam angry for a long time, and it was startling. He was glorious, strong, and terrifying all at once.
But I couldn’t let him bully me, not right now. “Then you’re only doing this for yourself,” I said. “You don’t give a shit about those girls.”
“I give a shit about you,” he said, coming toward me, but I backed off.
“I don’t want to hear that,” I said. “Honestly, if you think you’re doing all this for me, then you can stop right now. If it were up to me, you’d walk away from all this, leave those girls alone, and let this blow over. Or you can just give me money and I’ll disappear.”
His jaw worked with anger. “What makes you think you know what’s best?” he asked. “You spend a couple years on the street and suddenly you know this city?”