Honored (City Series Book 4)(2)

I sighed. Sometimes, it wasn't good to be a Right Person.

I climbed into the van, and Max slammed the door behind us. We sped off into traffic and the night.

Hours later, the afternoon sunlight was bright against my frayed nerves. I hadn't slept much the night before, and the sound of the gun going off in my hand, the smell of fear, the claustrophobia of the crack house room I found the guy lying in, and the overwhelming terror I felt as I moved back out into the street replayed through my mind, keeping me awake. I sweated through one pair of sheets and had to replace them, though that didn't make me feel any cleaner. It felt like I had blood caked all over my hands, though that couldn't have been true. I took the longest, hottest shower of my life after I got back to my apartment.

A life of crime wasn't what I wanted when I was a kid, but I was born into it. I was never given much of a choice. I had the stomach for it, I loved the rush, and I had the skills, but there was still something revolting about the way the Mob worked, with their callous disregard for human life. There were parts I loved about being one of the Right People and parts I hated, and the murder was one of the things I despised the most. Violence was one thing, but murder was something else completely. But I understood it. I understood why it was necessary to do things we didn't want to do, and so I performed my duties without complaining. I could kill a man when I had to, even if I didn't like it. I could break his knees it smash his face. It was part of who I was.

I didn't know if that guy deserved what I did to him. I didn't have the power to decide who was innocent and who wasn't. I followed orders.

That was my excuse, at least. I would do whatever I had to.

I slipped on a pair of sunglasses as I walked down the block, heading toward the sound of idling cars and children. I checked my watch: three thirty in the afternoon. I was right on time, though that wasn't always the case. I hated making the kid wait, but in my line of work, I couldn't always control my schedule. Anyway, I was better than his piece-of-shit mother, at least. She never showed up, no matter what.

I shook my head as scenes from the night before threatened to creep into my mind. Flashes of violence and fear came through no matter how hard I tried to resist them. To distract myself, I hummed softly, winding my way through the other parents picking up their kids. I spotted Richie sitting off to the side of the front door, his back to the brick façade, his nose buried in some weird-looking Gameboy.

"Yo, kid," I called out, and he looked up.

A smiled broke across his face, and for a second I didn't feel like I had blood underneath my fingernails.

"Hey, Liam," he said, standing.

"How was it?"

"The usual."

He looked down at his Gameboy and started playing again. I grinned at him, guiding him through the crowd with my hand on his back. Richie wasn't a big talker, and that suited me just fine. I wasn't the best with kids, but I was getting better. Richie was easy to deal with, at least.

Before we got far, I heard a voice cut through the din of chattering parents and screaming children.

"Mister Sullivan?"

I turned and looked back, and then I stood there blinking. Walking toward me through the crowd was this young, gorgeous blonde. She was wearing a simple white button-down shirt and a beige cardigan, and her hair framed her pretty face perfectly. Her lips were pink and full, and her eyes were an intense shade of green that I had never seen before. She was probably around my age, maybe a year or two younger, and her body was fantastic. I couldn't help but eye her nice tits and curvy shape.

"Who's this?" I said to Richie softly.

He glanced up. "Miss Boucher," he said.

"Not helpful," I muttered to him.

"Mister Sullivan?" she said again, getting closer.

I gave her my best "responsible parent" smile. "Yes, hey there, Miss Boucher."

"It's so nice to meet you. I'm Richie's teacher," she said, extending her hand.

That made sense. I took it and we shook. I blinked for a second and took off my sunglasses, surprised at the way her hand felt. It was soft but firm, and I wanted the touch to linger. I almost felt bad about wanting to fuck Richie's teacher on her desk.   





 

But not really.

"I've heard plenty of good things about you," I said, laying it on.

She laughed. "Yeah, I'm sure. Richie is such a good student."

I nudged him. "Hear that?"

"Yeah," he said, not looking up.

I grinned at her. "Polite, too."

She laughed again, and her expression turned more serious. "Mr. Sullivan, can I talk with you for a second?"

"Sure, but call me Liam."

Her expression softened and she looked at Richie.

"Richie, why don't you go sit over by the wall for a second?"

He looked at me and I nodded. He shrugged and walked back to where he had been sitting, plopped down, and resumed playing.

"What did he do?" I asked her, cutting to the chase.

She laughed softly and moved a step closer. I loved the sound of her laugh: melodic and gentle. I thought I could feel something between us, but I wasn't sure. The place was crowded, practically teeming with kids and their parents, and my head was still buzzing with partial flashbacks.

"What makes you think he did something wrong?"

I shrugged. "Whenever a teacher wanted to talk to my parents, it was always because I messed up."

She nodded softly. "Well, Liam, he got into a fight."

"Richie got into a fight?"

"With a boy in his class, yes."

I was surprised. Richie was one of the quietest kids I knew, and had never been in trouble before as far as I knew. I couldn't imagine him getting mad enough to fight someone.

"What happened?"

She shook her head. "I didn't see the whole thing. Richie says the other boy, Joshua, was saying things about his mother. Joshua says Richie hit him for no reason, but who knows."

"Riche wouldn't just hit a kid for no reason."

"I think you're right. But he can't fight, for any reason, you know?"

I nodded, but inwardly I was glowing with pride. Richie wasn't a weak kid, exactly, but it was about time he stood up for himself. He always had his nose in a videogame or a book, and I was worried that the son of one of Philly's most notorious Mob bosses was going to grow up a target. He needed to learn to defend himself sooner rather than later.

"Of course not, Miss Boucher."

"So you'll talk to him?"

"Yeah, definitely. I'll talk to him."

She smiled. "Thanks, Liam."

"Any time, Miss Boucher."

She paused, looking me in the eye. "Call me Ellie."

"Okay, Ellie."

She glanced over at Richie and then back at me, a thoughtful look on her face.

"Can I ask you something else, Liam?"

I shrugged. "Go ahead."

"I was told by the administrators that Richie's home life is a little different, and that you'd be the one taking care of him, but I wasn't told why."

She looked at me, her face so earnest and sexy, and I almost wanted to tell her the whole truth. I wanted to tell her that my little brother's mom was a pill-addicted whore who could barely take care of herself, left alone take care of Richie. I wanted to tell her that Richie's dad was one of the most dangerous bosses in the whole Irish Mob, and that I was both older brother and protector. That I walked the path of the Right People, hoping Richie never would have to.

Instead, I settled for a partial truth.

"Richie's dad passed two years ago, and his mom's going through some stuff. So I've been helping out."

She nodded. "That's really good of you."

"It's what you do for family."

"Well," she said, smiling. I had the urge to grab her by the hips and find out how she tasted, but that might not be appropriate to do outside an elementary school. "I'll let you get going, Liam."

"Sure, and I'm sorry about the fight."

"Just make sure you talk to him."

I nodded. She smiled again and walked off, and I stared at her ass as she picked her way through the crowd, greeting parents and waving to kids. I shook my head softly, laughing to myself.

Of course Richie's teacher would be a knockout.

I looked over at the kid and waved to him. He glanced up from his game, stood, and walked over. He fell into step with me as we headed down the block, walking back toward his mom's house.

"Your teacher told me you got into a fight," I said after a short silence.

"Yeah," he said.

"What happened?"

"He called mom a whore, so I punched him."

I stifled a laugh. "Kid, you can't do that in class."

He looked up at me. "You say I need to defend myself and my family."   





 

"Yeah, and you did the right thing. But don't do it at school anymore."

He shrugged and went back to playing his game. I looked out over the block, smiling to myself, imagining quiet Richie punching some asshole kid in the nose for insulting his pill-head mom.

Richie may have been a pain in the ass, but I was proud of the little shit.

I patted him on the back of the head, and he swatted at my hand, annoyed. I smiled, and we walked slowly together back toward his mom's house.

The blood still felt like it was caked underneath my fingernails, but it wasn't so bad. I could handle it. I would have to handle it, for my sake, for Richie's sake, and even for his mom's sake.