Page 8 of Conor
“They were both at the warehouse last night,” Reaper explains. “One on the table killed his kid brother.”
“Look at him go.” Rory eyes me off. “Kid’s a natural. What’s your name lad?”
“Conor.” I nod to him and then continue on with my work. I’ve still got four toes to get through and Albie’s screaming like a banshee now, nearly choking on his own tongue.
“Conor,” Rory muses. “Ye might just have yourself a new apprentice, Fitz.”
Reaper’s response is dry and to the point. “He’ll chuck when he’s through.”
“We all chucked the first time,” Rory says.
Reaper shrugs. “Crow gave him a deal anyhow. The lad won’t be sticking around.”
The room goes silent. When I glance at Rory, the amusement has disappeared from his face. He doesn’t like the sound of this deal, but I don’t know why he cares one way or another.
“The lad was in agreement,” Reaper clarifies.
“He’s a fucking kid,” Rory mutters under his breath. “Does Niall know about this?”
Silence. Again.
They don’t say anything else when I turn away, but the door shuts, and I know they’re both outside discussing the situation. I don’t let it ruffle my feathers. I gave them my word, and if there’s one thing my Pop beat into me over the years, it’s that a man has to stay true to his word.
My word is all I’ve ever had, and besides, it’s not like there’s anything left for me here. Ma’s dead. Pop and Brady too. I’ve been wandering this city without an ounce of purpose for months and I’m tired. Sammy was the only thing I had left, and she sure as fuck didn’t give a shite about me when I caught her banging some random bloke in the alley last month for a fix. Doesn’t matter anyway. She’s gone now too. Took her last needle to the arm a couple weeks ago.
I put those thoughts out of my mind as the last of Albie’s toes fall into the bowl. When Reaper comes back, Rory is gone, and that suits me just fine.
“Alright, lad,” he says. “How do ye feel about blow torches?”
Iwake with a start, shaking myself out of the past as my eyes scan the surroundings of my present. The dream doesn’t come as a surprise, I have them often. I’ll never forget how that night changed my life, but sometimes, it does well to have a reminder. It’s trying to come back down to earth that’s the hard part. But when I glance around Rory’s apartment, I know I’ve come a long way since I first killed a man in that dingy basement at Sláinte.
Ivy is still on the couch, snoring, and Rory is on the floor. My eyes move between the two of them, and I’m irrationally bent out of shape when I think about what might have happened in my absence last night. Then I realize how ridiculous that notion is, and I try to focus on the task at hand.
I’m not here to worry about whose bed Ivy wants to warm at night. I’m here to see what she knows, and I start by digging through the bag she carries with her. All that turns up are an extra set of clothes, a few toiletries, and her cash from last night.
No needles. No drugs.
My eyes move over her face, and I know I can’t be wrong about this. She’s too thin. If it isn’t needles, it must be pills. I take a peek at her arms, and there aren’t any marks that I can see, but that doesn’t mean shite. There are a million other places to inject.
I blow out a breath and toss her shit back into her bag before nudging Rory with my boot. He mumbles incoherently, and I nudge the fecker again. When that doesn’t work, I blast him with some ice-cold water from the kitchen. He told me to wake his arse up, and I’ve never been happier to oblige. It’s the least he deserves after bringing Ivy back here last night. Rory comes up swinging, and I shield myself behind the couch.
“Real gentleman ye are.” He scowls. “Hiding behind a lady.”
My lip curls and I can’t hide it. “Yeah, a real lady.”
Rory grins at my bitter tone, and then a laugh bursts from his chest. “I brought her home for you, ye fucking muppet. I saw the way ye were making eyes at her all night long. But then ye disappeared and couldn’t be bothered to come back here to sort her out.”
My chest expands, and I shouldn’t be so relieved by his dumbarse admission. I have no right to that feeling, not with her. I’d do well to remember that.
“Get her some breakfast and then give her a lift home,” Rory says.
I want to tell him to feck off, but I keep my gob shut as he disappears down the hall and I nudge Ivy. She doesn’t budge, so I poke at her arm again, and still nothing. Acid coats my lips as I wait for her chest to swell. She was just snoring a few minutes ago.
My fingers come to rest on the soft flesh of her throat, waiting for a pulse. And when I feel the quiet tremor of warm blood pumping through her veins, it hits me like a ton of fucking bricks. I shouldn’t care. It shouldn’t make a lick of difference when her eyes fly open and lock onto mine, but it does.
“What is it?” She eyeballs the hand that’s still on her throat, then darts upright to check that her clothes are still there. “What’s going on?”
“It’s morning.” I retreat from her and try to find my bearings. “Time to go. I’ll sort ye out some coffee and then drop you wherever ye need to be.”
