Before he could utter another word, I turned on him and knocked the gun from his hand. It landed on the ground and slid. He was big enough to absorb my punches, but not strong enough to keep up with them. I was quick, and when I hit, I hit hard and in all the right spots. He danced with me while trying to get closer and closer to the gun again. When he went to duck and lunge for it, I grabbed him by the head and stuck my knee in his nose. His eyes rolled and he fell to the ground.
Leaning down, I grabbed him by his hair. “Look at me,” I said. “I want you to look at me when I say this.”
He blinked at me once, twice, but then closed his eyes. I let his head fall to the ground, before I took a step back, simultaneously looking at him and leaning down to grab my gun.
The fucker was playing possum, because in a second, he had snatched the gun and had it pointed at my head. I kicked his arm a second before the blast shattered it to pieces. The gun went back, but a bullet still whizzed through the air.
This time, I kept my foot on his wrist, picking up the gun again. I was faintly aware that my skull was on fire as I returned the favor. Shot for shot.
He wasn’t as lucky as I was. He’d never make another shot again.
I pulled back a bloodstained palm after running it along the side of my head. The bullet must’ve grazed my skin.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” Father Flanagan stood in front of the mess, making the sign of the cross.
“They weren’t as close as two steps.” I nodded toward them. “But they found me regardless. Guess they thought I’d be a cheap date.” I took my gun from guy two–he’d tucked it into his pants–and then pulled out my phone. “Careful of your robe, Father. You don’t want the blood of the wicked to stain your holy clothes.
Then I called Raff and told him to send men to clean up my mess.
8
Keely
Icrossed my arms over my chest, looking out of the window of Harrison’s vintage car as he navigated the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. “Why? Why did I let you talk me into this? How did I let you do this to me? You know I HATE the man!”
Not even a hundred years would be long enough to not see him, and it had only been a couple of days since the festival.
Harrison gave me the side-eye from underneath his glasses. “You owe me for not telling me about the detective.”
“I oweyounothing. But maybe I would’ve told you, if you would’ve told me about Mari, oh, say, YEARS ago!”
“That’s complicated and you know it.”
“What’s so complicated about it?”
“You would’ve told her.”
“So?”
“Your timing is not mine.” He shrugged.
“Fair enough. But still. How did I let you TALK me into this?”
“Hate. Years. Talk. Why did you scream those three words?”
“Stop trying to change the subject!”
“Yeah. Okay. You’re doing this for me because we both know who my boss is. And I don’t have the option to tell him no.”
I studied my brother for a minute.
Thisguy, the one with the nice car and even nicer clothes, wasn’t my brother. My brother was easy-going. He wanted a simple life. A nice house. A decent car. A family. Kids he could teach how to play baseball.Thatwas my brother. I’d give him that this car was something he would have bought for himself, but the rest? The fancy lawyer gig? The gangster boss? Wasn’t him.
Click. Click. Click.The pieces suddenly made sense.
“You did this for Mari, didn’t you?”
He became quiet for a minute before he sighed. “Swear on your Broadway career that you won’t tell her.”
