I grunt and shrug. “Nothing has popped up about those bodies, yeah?”
“Don’t be paranoid,” Kir says, waving off my concerns. “You know damn well that our guys are pros. They had that alley so clean that you could eat off the bricks if you wanted. No one’s ever gonna find those guys, and they weren’t connected in any way. Just some lowdown shitheads looking for an easy smash-and-grab.”
“They got it,” I say grimly. I look down at my knuckles, flexing my hand open and closed. It still stings sometimes, usuallyrandomly in the middle of the night, like I’m breaking that thick-necked fuck’s face open all over again.
If Cassandra hadn’t been there, I would’ve done far worse than what I did do. I haven’t felt rage like that in years. I’d almost convinced myself that I’d left that shadow part of me behind for good.
Then I came up on that ugly, snarling trio menacing her, and I lost my goddamn mind.
How dare they lay a hand on her? She was a feisty, stubborn fool, but she was not theirs to touch.
So I reminded them of that little fact.
Violently.
Now, I’ve got this sporadic pain in my hand as a reminder. My ribs where that coward stabbed me have been bothering me, too. It’s almost crippling sometimes, like half my body is trying to curl up and die.
As a matter of fact, I’ve got an appointment tonight to go see a specialist at the hospital. He’s supposed to know all about this kind of thing, nerve damage or whatever you call it when a rust-edged oyster shucking blade gets abruptly shoved between the bones of your rib cage and fucks up your internal shit. We’ll see if he can make it go away.
I top off my drink and look up to see Kir watching me. “So,” he says.
“Uh-oh.”
“Hear me out.”
“I’d prefer not to.”
“You owe me that much.”
“I’d say I owe you ‘not shit,’ actually.”
“What about the?—”
“I assure you, my friend, that you will lose this game if you want to start tallying favors.”
Kir insists, though. He crosses his arms in front of him and leans forward. “But there was the time when?—”
“I swear to God, I will beat you like a rented mule.”
“Do you even know what that means?”
“I’d be more than happy to find out.”
“You’re an asshole, you know that?”
“Likewise.”
He scowls. “I have to do this, you know.”
“You do not.” I look elsewhere, staring up at the dim red-hued lamp overhead until I start to see hazy spots dancing in my vision. “We can talk about anything else. How’s Jillian? How’s business? How’s your dad? How ‘bout them Yankees?”
He rolls his eyes but indulges me. “Jillian is good. The first trimester nausea is mostly gone and now, she’s eating like a horse. And before you ask, yes, she loves it when I describe her eating habits that way. That’s why I slept on the couch last night, because she loves it so much. Business is booming, as you know. My dad is smitten with Rae, as you also know. And the Yankees, as we both know, fucking suck.” He plucks my drink out of my hands so I can’t keep ignoring him. “So there you have it. Nowthat we’re out of other shit to talk about, we can get back to the main subject.”
I grimace and snatch up the bottle of Clase Azul instead so I can drink directly from that, since Kir seems intent on keeping my glass out of reach. “You’re the worst best friend on the fucking planet, mate.”
But Kir has his serious face on now and refuses to be deterred. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need you on this, Mat.”
I snort derisively. “If I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard you say that, I would buy Lazarev Global and fire you.”
