He waslethal. I’d heard the stories, heeded them too, but everything I’d heard paled in comparison to thereal thing. Koen O’Rourke is Death incarnate. His brothers, too. I saw what his brother did to Lorenzo. Aidan O’Rourke, the Boston Breakers’ star defenseman, had just smashed a man’s face in with a baseball bat right in front of me.
And Koenrecognizedme.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
They were distracted, and no one noticed when I slowly backed away, disappearing into the maze of crates before bolting out of a side door.
Lorenzo, Declan, Matteo, Kostalov, Aidan—The names ring through my brain, information I don’t want. I wish I could rip them out of my brain and set them on fire. Knowing those names is dangerous.Theyare dangerous.
Lorenzo is dead. A small mercy. The only one of them who actually knew where to find me.
Declan O’Rourke. He used to be the head of the Irish Devils. Koen’s father. Dead, last I knew. The incident had shaken the city for weeks. I’d read every article I could find on the car bomb that took out the notable Boston resident “with rumored ties to the Irish mob.”
Matteo Carroza and Adrik Kostalov. I didn’t know those two names. And I definitely didn’t want to.
AndAidan. He’d taken off his mask. The hockey player is well known in this city, his picture is on a billboard somewhere for god’s sake! And what I’d just seen him do…
If I didn’t run, they would’ve killed me. No doubt about it. There was no way they were letting me walk out of there alive.
Car bombs, human trafficking—How none of them even flinched when Aidan killed Lorenzo? These aredangerousmen. Men, I couldn’t let anywhere near Remi.
Oh god, Remi. What would Koen do if he found out about her now? After all this time? Would he even care that he had a daughter?Would he try to take her?Would hehurther? Would he hurtme?
Anxiety surges and I hug my shaking knees tighter, my fingers trembling where I’ve wrapped them around myself. Logic tries to put out the flames, reminding me that I never gave him my name.
My real name.
That night almost five years ago, I lied. I told him my name was Rose. So what if he recognized me tonight? He has no way of tracking me down.I’d lived in this city for four years and notoncehad we crossed paths.
Finally making it home, I race up the stairs to our fifth-floor walk-up, pulling the key out of my bra and locking every damn lock behind me.It doesn’t feel like enough.
I stand there for god knows how long, palms pressed against the back of the door like I can keep out the devil at my back, breathing hard.
When I finally move, the shooting pain spiraling up my back almost brings me to my knees. Adrenaline, and likely fear, must have been keeping me from truly feeling the pain, but oh, it’s coming roaring back with a vengeance. Worse yet, the blood on my back has started to dry, the wounds clotting and sticking tothe inside of Koen’s sweatshirt, ripping me alive with every little movement.
I should clean it but I don’t. I’m on the verge of passing out from blood loss or adrenaline crash—I don’t know, so instead I make a beeline down the hall. Quietly slipping in the second door on the right. Relief floods through me at the sight of my little girl, safe and sound, curled up under the covers. Her pink unicorn tucked under one arm.
The door clicks quietly behind me as I tiptoe through the room. Stepping over stuffed animals and matchbox cars—a new phase—until I reach the bed.
Doing my best not to disturb her, I crawl under the covers, pulling her into my chest and holding her tight. The fear of losing her was the worst part of it all.
Remi lets out a little sigh before drifting back off to sleep but not before her little hand wraps around mine too.I hold her close for the next couple of hours, shadowed green eyes haunting my thoughts, until I finally drift off.
18
TRUTH OR DARE?
KOEN
Then…
Summer is right around the corner and it’s a warm night; clear, the perfect night for riding. I take us through the nonsensical, winding roads of the city, turning the bright city lights into streaks of red and gold. Driving way too fast, seeing just how far I can push it—pushher, but she just clings on tighter, my t-shirt fisted in her fingers, she’s loving it.
As I take a sharp curve, I shout for her to hold on, having to lean deep into the curve in order to clear it. The pavement rises up to greet us, and I’m expecting a scream, but instead I get laughter.
She’s laughing.
The wind picks up as I take her over the Longfellow bridge, the city lights sparkling in the Charles River beneath us.
