I still taste Liam’s mouth on mine, smell his scent on my skin.
He must’ve known the whole time.
Or else this is some kind of sick coincidence. Some kind of joke. I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but he used me that night.
And I went back for more.
I turn away, hurry over to my dad’s wastebasket, and puke directly into it. I drop to my knees, sweating and trembling as I vomit, spitting and gasping, before resting my forehead on the cold side of his wooden desk. Fuck, I feel horrible, but the shakes are starting to abate at least.
I try to think through my options. Run away? Go into hiding? Dad will find me, and he will make my life a living hell if that happens. Refuse to marry Liam? There’s no way Dad will accept it.
I’m walking down that aisle whether I do it of my own free will or if Dad has to drag me by the hair with two broken legs and a gun to my head.
At least this way, I can keep trying to protect Luke.
I’ll have standing in the family. Maybe even connections. My brother’s swirling the drain of clan life, and maybe I can use Liam to keep Luke from getting himself killed or sent to prison.
Maybe, if I’m lucky and smart, I can twist this horrible nightmare into something decent.
But I know that’s only post-hoc rationalization.
Mostly, I'm fucked.
I spit into the wastebasket one more time before getting to my feet. Kim’s in the doorway looking at me with real concern. “You okay, sweetheart?”
“Just fine.” I brush damp hair from my forehead and adjust my clothes. “His trashcan’s ruined.”
“No worries, hun. That’s not the first time your old man made someone lose their lunch.” She smiles kindly. “Can I get you something?”
“Got any spare dignity?”
“Fresh out, I’m afraid.”
“Thanks anyway.” I march past her. She looks like she wants to say something more, but lets it go. I’m grateful for that.
CHAPTER 9
LIAM
Suits everywhere. Black suits, blue suits, lady suits too. Everyone’s so damn polished and clean it's like I’m living in a pamphlet for some kind of erectile dysfunction pill or something.
Downtown Manhattan isn’t my scene.
I watch the front door of a massive office tower, doing my best to seem inconspicuous. I’m aware the front desk security is keeping an eye on me too, not that I can blame them. I look like gutter trash compared to the nice business people streaming in and out of this place.
This isn’t my world. I belong blocks from here, in the alleys and on the corners, in the back rooms of bodegas and beside the sticky stage of strip clubs. That’s where my deals get done over glasses of cheap whisky, cigarettes, and spent bullet casings.
But I can handle some discomfort.
I almost miss her in the rush. When six rolls around it’s like the whole tower empties all at once. Hundreds of people stormpast, all of them rushing to the train, hurrying down the block, trying to get anywhere but fucking here, and who could blame them. Problem is they all look the same, in the same colors, same pants, same freaking backpacks and haircuts. She’s drowning in a sea of same, but even still I spot her, like an island in the middle of the ocean.
Regan doesn’t notice as I fall in beside her. Not at first. Her gaze is fixed straight ahead, expression glassy and distracted, as she angles toward the train. I finally say her name over the rumbling noise of the crowd and she flinches as if I tried to hit her.
She comes to an abrupt stop in a flow of people. A man in a suit has to sidestep to avoid smashing into her and a woman with a phone held to her face curses. More business folks are forced around, none of them happy about it. Regan’s face pales.
“You,” she says.
“Me,” I answer, mildly surprised by her reaction. I didn’t realize I left such a deep impression on her, but I should’ve known. We did have somefantasticsex.
