Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Ever since I learned that he wasn’t the one who killed Megan, it’s like he’s a new man. But the hate is still there, still clawing my insides. I don’t know how to live without those feelings, and even if they’re unfair, I’m still chained to those old emotions. It’s all mixed up with my grief and my rage at how unfair the world can be, and I know I shouldn’t direct that at him, not when it’s obvious he doesn’t deserve it. And yet I can’t help myself.
There are other things. Like the fact that he turned into a clan thug despite telling me, again and again, that he never wanted to become like all the other Delco guys around him. Like that night at the party when we were alone in the darkness with his hands on my hips and his mouth inches from my lips—
A smile brushes across his mouth. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks softly, leaning closer.
“Like what?”
“You’re thinking about how I kissed you a few days ago.”
“No, I wasn’t.” I feel my cheeks start to turn pink. “Definitely wasn’t.” I was thinking about how he kissed me on the night of the accident, which is just as bad.
“Oh, you were. And I think you like it. Are you having dirty daydreams on the train, Daley?”
An older guy in a suit glances over his shoulder at me, frowning his disapproval, which only makes me blush more. “Stop it,” I hiss at Rian. “You’re being too loud.”
He laughs and shrugs. “Whatever you want, princess. Did you talk to Megan’s mom?”
“Called her this morning. She said we can stop by and go through Megan’s old stuff when we get back.”
“Perfect. I can’t wait to dig around a dusty, spider-filled attic.”
“I can’t promise she won’t say something to you, though. When I told her you were coming, she wasn’t happy. And she heavily implied that Megan’s dad still isn’t over what happened.”
“Now you see why I need you. Imagine if I tried to go talk to Megan’s parents all on my own. Her dad would probably try to kill me.”
He’s got a point.
Most folks in the clan are used to death. It’s a part of the business: young men join and some never grow up. The violence has gotten better over the years, since bloodshed isn’t great for business, but it never goes away. Shane died during a relatively quiet period, when the only real rival to our family was a crew of Italians. We’ve since settled into an uneasy peace with the mafia, but back then tensions ran hot. The violence ebbs and flows, like a tide.
Right now, the tide’s in.
But there’s a difference between dying in the course of clan business and getting killed in a drunk-driving accident. Tragedy is still tragedy, and it doesn’t matter how many deaths there are, nobody gets used to it. Not entirely. Even all these years later, I can still hear the grief in Megan’s mom’s voice when we last spoke at the funeral, the utter and world-shaking pain as she thanked me for being a good friend.
Megan was her only daughter, and she was stolen away.
I didn’t know how to make things right back then. I still don’t. I’m not sure there’s any way to heal the wound that Megan’s death left in everyone, but I hope that getting to the truth of what happened to her will ease some of the burden.
But there’s a horrible, dark feeling in my stomach that suggests it might not.
The train lurches to a stop and we get off. On the station platform, the sun’s shining brightly and the commuters hurry off to their cars, walking fast to try to beat the post-drop traffic jam. Rian strolls along with his hands in his pockets, not going anywhere fast. His truck is parked at the far side of the lot, tucked under a shady section of trees. When we’re halfway there, he stops and grabs my wrist, yanking me against him.
He’s staring off toward the tracks, where they disappear around a bend. Two figures stand there in the shade of a massive tree. Two men with thick beards, dark hair, dark eyes, both of them watching us. Both are tall. Both are young.
“Do you know them?” I ask and he nods once. His face is tight with worry.
“Turks. Come on.” He keeps going, and the two men walk off into the woods. Rian’s jumpy and on edge when we get into his truck, and he pulls a gun from the dashboard, leaving it in his lap.
“Why the hell are the Turks here?” But I know the answer already.
“They’re not happy about the last two guys they sent to hurt you.” He starts his engine and backs out, only to get caught in a line of cars trying to turn left. “Either that or they came to surrender. But I suspect they’re looking to kill us both for taking down their thug assholes.”