“Declan—”
“Don’t argue with me.” I scoop her up, ignoring her protests. “Just let me take care of you.”
She’s quiet for a moment. Then she loops her arms around my neck and leans her head against my shoulder.
“Okay,” she says softly.
Cal leads the way out. Torin covers our backs. We move through the building and out into the night air.
The car’s waiting. I slide into the back with Molly still in my arms.
“Is Lola okay?” she asks. It’s the first real question she asks since we left the warehouse.
“Seamus took him to the vet. He’s going to be okay.”
She lets out a shaky breath. “And Raffy?”
“Fine. Arnold and Clawzy held him back. The scratch on his hand is nothing.”
“Good.” She closes her eyes.
I hold her as Cal starts the car. We pull away from the warehouse after leaving Leon’s body behind.
It’s over. The threats are gone. Her father’s been found. Leon’s dead.
She’s safe.
So why does my chest feel like it’s full of broken glass?
Because I know what comes next. I know what I have to do.
I let out a shuddering sigh and stroke Molly’s hair.
And it’s going to destroy us both.
TWENTY-SIX
marlowe
Two dayssince the warehouse rescue, and I’m still trying to pick up the pieces of my shattered life.
Lola’s home from the vet, wearing a cone and hating every second of it. The bullet grazed him but didn’t hit anything vital. He’ll be fine. Mean as ever in a few weeks.
Raffy’s scratch is healing. He’s been extra clingy with Cal and Lucie, following them around like a shadow. Can’t blame the kid. But he’s safe and sound.
And Declan...
He hasn’t left my side since the warehouse. But he’s different. Distant. He watches me when he thinks I’m not looking. I’ve caught a haunted expression on his face more times than I can count, and it makes my chest ache. He touches me like I might shatter. Even though that’s already happened.
And he hasn’t tried to fuck me once.
So far from normal, I don’t even know what to do with it.
We haven’t really talked. Just surface stuff. Logistics. Who’s handling what.
Something’s wrong. I can feel it building between us like pressure before a storm.
My mother shows up to the brownstone in the morning. She arrives in a black Town Car. Perfectly dressed. Perfectly composed.
