He holds up his hands in surrender, still smirking. “Easy, boss. Just saying it’s not exactly your usual wheelhouse.”
“My usual wheelhouse is breaking bones. But Ronan wants this handled, so I’m handlingit like he’s asked.” I slide out from the booth and fish my keys and wallet out of my pocket. “Doesn’t mean I won’t snap Rurik’s neck if he gives me a reason.”
“There’s the killer I know and fear.”
I toss a couple twenty dollar bills on the table for the drinks and the tip—more than the rude server girl deserves.
But I’m not trying to prove whatever assumptions she’s made about me are true.
Not that I give a shit what she thinks.
My eyes drift to the bar again, but she’s disappeared into the back. Probably counting down the minutes ’til closing so she can be rid of customers like me.
Feeling’s mutual, sweetheart.
“I’m heading out,” I say. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. But I’m out too. Promised Cara I’d… um, stop by her place.”
Another awkward beat passes as his ears redden and he averts my eyes.
We go our separate ways once outside the pub.
On Tuesday nights, the streets are quiet at this late hour.
Not exactly a peaceful kind of quiet—more so the kind where everybody with half a brain is home and locked behind their doors.
This part of Brooklyn isn’t known for its safety. Muggings, rapes, drug deals, the occasional body turning up in an alley. It’s not unusual to encounter trouble wandering these streets after dark.
…unless you’re me.
I walk these streets like I own them, no matter the hour.
Anybody familiar with the neighborhood knows not to fuck with the boneman. Not even the junkies on the block are that fucking dumb.
It doesn’t hurt that I’m six three and built like a brickshithouse, with a face that’s been rearranged enough times to make it clear I’m not afraid of a fight. In fact, Iwelcomethem. Nothing clears my head like knocking somebody’s lights out.
But tonight, for once, I’m not looking for trouble.
All I want is to get home, take a hot shower, and pass out on my shitty mattress for a few hours before I’m up at the ass crack of dawn for more training at the local gym. My next match is a month away, and that’ll come quicker than it sounds like it would.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
I fish it out, expecting a message from one of the crew. Maybe Cian alerting me to some urgent situation that needs to be handled, or Sean drunk texting me about taking the wrong subway (wouldn’t be the first time). Instead, it’s Bridget.
heyyyy sorry I missed you at the pub tonight!! was thinking about u tho lol
I stare at the screen for a few seconds, my brain trying to catch up with my eyes.
We only exchanged numbers a few days ago.
She’d been flirting with me for weeks before this—bright smiles, lingering touches on my arm when she’d drop off drinks, the little giggle she does when I say something that’s not even funny.
I’m not an idiot. I know when a woman’s interested.
What Iamis fucking useless when it comes to doing anything about it.
Fighting I understand. Violence makes sense to me in a way nothingelse does.
