His girlfriend partied too hard, drank too much, and by the time he dragged her home from a party or a hangout, she was too plastered for him to do more than give her a chaste kiss on the lips.
Was he doing something wrong? Dammit, if only she would tell him what was bothering her, he’d fix it. He’d find a way. Even if he had to dedicate his life to making things right.
They still hadn’t had sex. He’d waited for her to initiate, treating her as delicately as you would a soap bubble. If she needed more time, he’d give her that. Hell, he’d let her lose her virginity to his best friend if it made her happy, even if he had to watch.
Thankfuckhe had no friends.
Tierney was a good, understanding girlfriend. They’d kept their relationship a secret because he knew his dad wouldn’t approve of him dating her. She never gave him shit for it, never asked where he’d been, never complained when he disappeared for days at a time, because his father needed him to kill someone, dump a body beyond state lines, or handle stray drug shipments.
She tended to his wounds when he got hurt, was always ready with her arms open for a hug, and always talked him through his emotions, listening to him for hours on end.
The fucked-up part was that she kind of became a mother figure for him. She kissed his boo-boos. Threaded her fingers in his hair. Made sandwiches for him. Cleaned those pesky bloodstains from his shoes. She pulled him out of his dark thoughts after he killed, grabbing a book they both liked and reading his favorite scenes out loud.
She’d become so much more than a girlfriend, and he was terrified, because every time he talked about the future, she changed the subject.
The night she turned seventeen, they lay in her bed. He was holding her tight, kissing her temple, contemplating the future.
“I hate my birthday.” She soaked his shirt with tears that night. December was the month in which the Bratva’s pakhan, Igor, carved her mother’s stomach open and pulled out thetwins, kidnapping them after he left her for dead. “It reminds me of everything I lost before I was even born.”
“Next year, I’ll change that for you,” he promised, stroking her hair.
“How?” she murmured into his neck, lips pressed to his tattoo of her kiss.
“Your birthday gift will be an engagement ring, and we’ll start our own family. I’ll never let this happen to our children. To you.”
She froze in his arms. The air stood still.
“I’d forfeit my life to save yours,” he assured her, stroking her beautiful hair, the color of rich red wine. “Dad will fall in line. You’ll see. He thinks I’m the best with the knife and the gun, so he wants me to have a lot of heirs. When he sees you’re the only one I want, he’ll come around.”
“It’s that important to him?” She cleared her throat. “Heirs?”
He snorted. “It’s all he talks about. Me giving him grandchildren.”
“I heard he wants you to wed someone from the Outfit.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll fight him on it. I’d rip my entire family apart to keep you, Tier.”
“Achilles…” She squirmed in his arms.
“Yes?”
“There’s more to this life than me, you know.”
It was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard, and it made his stomach churn so badly, he vomited twice as hard as he did the night he ate a human heart.
Because he had a feeling Tierney was about to break his.
____________
It was Tierney’s eighteenth birthday, and his palms were clammy.
He had to face the music: tell his father he would not be entering an arranged marriage to strengthen the Camorra ties with whoever the fuck they needed to form an alliance with these days. It might land him in a world of pain, but nothing would hurt more than losing her.
He chose a ruby for her engagement ring. It reminded him of her hair, but more than that of her indomitable spirit.
He got into his car and drove to her new house in the suburbs, knowing full well her father and brothers weren’t there. Tyrone and Fintan were visiting family in Ireland. They largely ignored Tierney’s existence. Only Tiernan cared, and while he loved his sister in his own screwed-up way, he wasn’t the type to celebrate with a cake and fucking beer pong.
Tiernan was out on the streets, pushing the Albanians out of Harlem. He was Achilles’s age and twice as violent and vicious.
