Author: B.B. Hamel
Category: Young Adult
Go to read content：https://readnovelfree.com/p/36820_11
“You’re joking, right?”
“Live with me. Keep a low profile for a while. I’ll tell my bosses you’re finished, and that’ll buy you time. Meanwhile, we’ll work on your Connor problem.”
“They’ll just kill him.”
“Then tell them you’re not dead, just hiding out. I don’t know, we’ll work on the details, but right now we can help each other.”
“I can’t. This is insane. I don’t even know you.”
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“My name’s Mack. I murder people for a living.” I stepped close, pulled her against me, and kissed her again. Her tongue was like silver against mine. “When I kiss you, you moan. What else do you need to know?”
She chewed her lip. “You’re insane.”
“So they tell me. Think about it, all right? I don’t think you’ve got many other options.”
I let her go and walked away.
“Wait,” she called out. “How do I know I can trust you? I mean, really? You can’t tell anyone about Connor.”
“I won’t tell a soul.” I zipped my lips shut and threw away the key, then kept walking.
I felt her watching me and smiled a bit as I shoved my hands in my pockets.
So the Lionettis were behind this. I should’ve figured someone like them was involved—this city was crawling with gangsters, thieves, and immoral assholes that would do anything to get ahead.
Of course they kidnapped her brother and of course they’re using him to extract information from her.
What I didn’t know was how my boss knew about it and why he’d want the girl dead.
I could come up with some guesses.
But guesses weren’t good enough.
This whole thing stank and all I cared about was getting Fiona out of it alive—which seemed less and less likely the closer to it all I got.
4
Fiona
The hitman wanted me to move in with him.
Which probably wasn’t the most insane thing that had happened to me recently, though it was definitely in the top three. I touched my lips over and over the next morning, thinking about him kissing me, about his hands on my body—and the way he was right, so frustratingly right, about how soaking wet I was the second he pinned me back.
I didn’t know what was wrong with me, but I wanted him more than I wanted anyone.
But he knew about Connor. I never should’ve told him. Connor’s life hung in the balance, and if Mack did something stupid to jeopardize that, I didn’t know if I could live with myself. I’d already done a lot to make sure my brother didn’t end up with a bullet in his head, and I wouldn’t let some amoral Russian killer ruin all my hard work.
Though he had a point. If Mack was as connected as he seemed, he’d be an asset. The man would be muscle at the very least.
And I might like being around him.
Heck, okay, I’d love being around him, which was probably a reason to stay away.
The next afternoon, I hurried out to a small cafe called Shailene’s Spot deep in West Philly, in Doyle-controlled territory. I found Tully sitting in the back drinking coffee and reading Sports Illustrated, his messy copper-red hair shining in the slanted sunlight. I pulled out the chair across from him and sat down.
He looked up, frowning. “Hey, cuz. What are you doing here?”
“I was in the neighborhood, thought I’d stop by. You still running lookout duty for Uncle Lorcan?” All the older men in the Doyle family were called Uncle, even when they weren’t blood relatives, though I was pretty sure I was distantly related to Lorcan somehow—he was a mid-level lieutenant running the drug sales around University City.
“Mostly but he’s got me on stash duty some days now too.” Tully said it with pride, which sent a stab in my gut—the stupid kid was happy to be used by the Doyle family as a grunt worker.
The whole family was built on the back of stray Irish kids from bad homes and no real future. Tully was one of them, but there were plenty more to replace him. Young guys that would do anything for a paycheck and were desperate for the prestige and the honor and the popularity of their older cousins and uncles.
I might’ve been related to him, but probably not, and it didn’t matter. Uncle Cormac, the head of the Doyle family, liked to pretend everyone was a relative.
“Good for you, moving up in the world.” I gave him a tight smile.
He shifted uncomfortably and put the magazine down. “What do you want, Fiona? You never just come in and say hi.” He scowled at me under his unruly mop of hair.
“Aw, don’t be that way.”
“Ferris told you already—”
“Fuck Ferris. I talked to my dad, and he told me to tell you that if you don’t give me this information then you’re going to answer to him.”
I felt bad, I really did. Tully visibly gulped like he was in some cartoon, and I couldn’t blame him. My father had a reputation in the Doyle family for harsh punishments and no patience for bullshit.