Crush(52)

“A pawn,” I mumbled.

His lips pursed. “You have no f*cking clue what’s happening out there, and neither did your grandfather when he made that worthless deal with Patrick.”

Something twisted in my gut and I jumped to my feet. “What worthless deal?”

That f*cking smile was back. “To end his legacy. His shadow was too large for Patrick to live under, especially from inside here. So Patrick had to get rid of him. Killian gave his life for the return of your old man’s.”

Oh God, I thought I might be sick. My old man was indentured to Patrick’s service because of my f*ck-up, because when I was fifteen, I may or may not have gotten his daughter pregnant, and then instead of telling her father, she killed herself at my grandfather’s house, in his bathroom. And instead of me giving my life, which is the way it should have gone down, my father took responsibility for her death and gave his unlimited legal service and whatever else the Blue Hill Gang, or Patrick himself, needed.

A life for a life.

Dead or alive.

Tommy glanced at the clock on the wall. “Your old man should be free right . . . about . . . now.” He clicked his tongue in the most chilling way. “Tick tock.”

Anger boiled in my blood and before I knew what I was doing, I soared across the table and slammed his head down on the metal, over and over. “What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

Words were sputtering out but I couldn’t understand what he was saying.

That’s when I stopped the pounding. Switching gears, I wrapped my hands around his neck and brought his face right up to mine. “What the f*ck are you talking about?” I screamed in his face.

His eyes were like flames of hatred. “Now you’ll know how it feels to lose someone you love,” he laughed as blood gushed out his nose.

“No, no, no!” I kept squeezing.

He was sputtering, choking, gasping for air, but all of my control was gone.

The doors burst open and I found myself being peeled off Tommy. “I’m going to f*cking kill you!” I screamed.

“Hey, you need to calm down,” the corrections officer said to me as he shoved me out of the room.

Even in the hall, I lunged for the door. My plan had gone to shit. There would be no visit from the Attorney General’s office now. But really, that plan had gone to shit the minute he started talking. We weren’t buddies. I wasn’t going to help him. This was never going to end well.

The officer shoved me against the wall. “You need to leave, now.”

Leave.

Yeah, I needed to get the hell out of there.

Hyped up, I moved quickly. My shoes slapped the pavement until they reached the parking lot. Hopping in my truck, I gunned it. Slamming on the gas. Go. Go. Go. I opened the window so I could breathe. Go. Go. Go. A sharp breeze whipped around me and jolted me out of the crazed reality I was swimming in. My hands gripped the wheel and my foot slammed on the brake as I skidded to a stop at the traffic light. Change. Change. Change. That burning red circle felt like a hot poker searing my skin.

Change. Change. Change. My eyes were shifting. Looking for signs of the oncoming traffic slowing. That’s when I caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror. My shirt and face were splattered with blood. With one hand on the wheel, I yanked off my tie and wiped my face.

That’s when it hit me.

Killian can’t be dead.

Killian isn’t dead.

Killian will not be dead.

But even as I said it, I had a sickening feeling in my gut.

No. Tommy was f*cking with me. This was a game to him. This whole thing was a f*cking game. My frustration was escalating. My desperation to get to my grandfather felt so crippling that my hands were shaking.

The light changed and I didn’t hesitate to pound the gas. Back on the road, I pulled out my phone and hit speed dial.

“Brighton House. How can I help you?”

My voice was shaky. “Can you connect me to Killian McPherson’s room?”

“One moment please.”

It started to ring. One, two, three times.

Come on, answer the f*cking phone.

Four, five, six.

Answer the f*cking phone.

Seven, eight, nine.

No answer. I threw my phone at the windshield.

Weaving in and out of the lanes of traffic, speeding as fast as I could, I finally arrived at Brighton House.

My head was swimming as I bolted out of the car and ran into the building.

“Judy, have you seen him?” I asked, trying not to sound as panicked as I was.

She smiled. “Yes, he had a breakfast date with a nice younger gentleman.” She looked at her watch. He arrived over an hour ago.”

There was no time for niceties. I took off like a bat out of hell toward his room. Fuck, I left my gun in the truck. No time to turn around. My breath was coming in short, ragged bursts and my eyes were stinging by the time I reached his door.

I froze with my hand on the knob.

Somewhere deep inside me, the spark of hope I’d held onto the entire drive over here died.

What replaced it was a really bad feeling that Tommy wasn’t lying about anything and my blood felt like ice in my veins.

Images flickered through my mind.

A little boy in a Red Sox cap walking down the street and holding the giant palm of a man he wanted to be just like. “Understanding what it’s like down here will help you make better decisions from up there,” he said, pointing to a high-rise office building.