The whisky glints under the low light of the living room. I flick the stereo on.Whiskey in the Jarby Metallica rips through the speakers.
“Perfect.”
I pour a glass and down it in one go. Then another. Trying to smooth the jagged edges grinding under my skin. Tonight, there are no fights. No blood to spill, and since I can’t have Autumn, there’s only one thing left.
I grab my phone and dial Laoise.
I need her.
Now.
It’s nearly midnight when the doorbell rings. I check the security monitor; Laoise stands there, arms crossed, bag slung over her shoulder.
I buzz her up.
The door opens, and she walks in with a raised brow. “Midnight? Seriously?”
I chuckle, already reaching for the whisky. “You were busy?”
“What do you think?” She arches an eyebrow, half-smirking as she kicks off her boots.
She steps in closer, her eyes catching the bruise on my side. “They got you good.”
“Yeah.” I meet her gaze without flinching.
Laoise and I go back six years. She’s the only one I trust for this when I need the edge taken off without the strings. No drama. No games. She’s walked into my apartment more times than anyone else ever has. Only woman allowed to.
She moves down the hall like she owns it, straight to my bedroom, like always. I follow, without a word. Her short blonde hair sways as she walks, confidence in every step. Her bag swings at her hip, professional, efficient, already prepared.
“There,” she says, nodding at the bed.
I sit down, lie back. The ceiling above is dim, the shadows settling in. Laoise starts setting up beside me, quiet, focused.
“Wanna talk about it?” she asks.
She’s never been part of the Consortium, but her father was. Old blood. Trusted. After he passed, she kept close. I helped her when things went to shit. It earned me loyalty, silence, and the kind of bond that doesn’t need explaining.
“Not this time, love,” I murmur, letting my head fall back, eyes shut. Waiting.
I already told her what I wanted.
The familiar sound of the chair dragging gently across the floor fills the room. Her hands graze my skin, and every nerve flares to life.
“Ready?” she asks softly.
I just nod.
The moment the needle touches flesh, I exhale. The sting rolls through me like relief. Laoise is the best. She’s the only one who’s ever inked me. That machine in her hands is precise, like a weapon.
She works in silence for a few beats.
“How’s Ava?” I ask as the pain begins to settle something in my chest.
“She’s good. Still obsessed with that damn cat you got her.” Laoise pauses, glancing up at me with a grin.
“You lost your place in bed?” I smirk.
“Every night,” she groans, rolling her eyes. “Little bastard sleeps between us now.”
