I won’t give her the same story twice.
When I come back to that window, it won’t be with my hand on the glass and my voice through the frame.
It will be quieter.
Closer.
I let go of the wheel, flex my fingers again, and start the engine.
Headlights carve a tunnel through the trees. The town…Tallulah…is behind me for now. It won’t stay that way.
FOUR
BRAN
Theguyonhisknees in front of me is twice my age and still thinks he can scare me.
To be fair, most people see me and assume I’m no more than the dumb blunt instrument in the room. It’s not a terrible assumption. I am, in fact, the blunt instrument in most rooms.
I’m just not dumb.
We’re in the back of a shuttered bar in South Philly—the kind that still smells like smoke ten years after it went non-smoking. The vintage jukebox in the back is silent, and the neon OFF AIR sign buzzes faintly behind the bar.
The old guy’s nose is already broken. I didn’t do that. He came in with it. But I did add the split lip and the bruised ribs, so we’re both contributing to the general atmosphere.
“Last chance,” I tell him, my voice calm and quiet. I rarely raise it, rarely try to draw attention to myself. “You want to take the deal, or you want to spend the rest of your life eating through a straw? Because those are your options.”
He spits blood on the floor. Misses my boots by an inch. “You don’t get to offer me deals,” he rasps. “You’re just the muscle.”
I smile a little, sigh through my nose. I’ve heard that one before.
“Buddy,” I say, “Kael sent the muscle to talk to you. To offer you the deal. That’s the part you want to focus on.”
He glances past me, eyes darting to the dark doorway that leads deeper into the building, the one with the frosted glass and the gold-leaf G on it.
G for Gallagher.
He doesn’t know if Kael—the new Gallagher, head of the Irish now that his da is dead—is behind it right now. Doesn’t know if we’re alone.
He doesn’t need to know. Fear works better when there are gaps to fill in.
“You skimmed from a man who let you live on his dime for fifteen years,” I say. “You confessed to me three times. On camera.”
He opens his mouth to deny it, then catches himself. Smart. A little late, but smart.
“You think he’ll really let me walk?” he asks. “If I give it back?”
I hesitate, then I shrug. “You’re lucky it’s Kael and not me, but yeah. He’s willing to cut you loose in exchange for returning the funds and never seeing your face again.”
The man looks down at the floor, his shoulders shaking silently. “I fucked up.”
“You sign what needs signing, you don’t talk to cops, you don’t make friends with reporters, and you disappear somewhere without Wi-Fi. We never see your face again. That’s the deal.”
Honestly, I’m not sure why Kael isn’t just killing the man. He’ll be a loose end, NDA or no. But Kael couldn’t bring himself to do it. Something about him having half-raised him.
His shoulders slump. Something in his eyes breaks.
“Where would I go?”
