Honored_ An Alpha Mob Romance(13)

I felt a little breathless with him standing so close.

“That’s exactly why you should say yes.”

“Okay,” I said, without thinking.

“Good. Tomorrow. What’s your number?”

He pulled out his cell phone and looked at me expectantly.

As I rattled off my number, I wondered: what the hell just happened? I was all ready to turn him down gently, but then I’m suddenly agreeing to see him. It was like I lost my mind because of how close he stood to me.

“Great. Have a good night, Miss Boucher,” he said once I finished.

He was so arrogant. So fucking cocky. I couldn’t believe he came on to me right there in front of the school with his little brother just a few feet away.

And I couldn’t believe I went for it.

“You too, Mr. Sullivan.”

I smiled and he turned away, gathered Richie up, and walked off, back the way he had come. I watched them and shook my head softly to myself.

He was definitely more animal than rational. But I couldn’t tell yet exactly how much, or how badly I wanted to find out.

After that, the kids all filtered onto their busses, the parents shut their doors and hung up their phones, and people slowly left the building, out to other places. I watched them all go, not feeling any particular hurry, though a little guilty about making Petey wait for his nightly walk. Finally, when I was one of the last few people left, I walked down the steps and headed back toward my apartment.

I felt good, really good. I felt good for the first time in a while.





Chapter Five: Liam


The van hit a pothole, jostling me around. I grimaced as I was crushed against the cold steel of the exposed door.

Max grinned at me. “Buckle up,” he grunted.

I gave him a look, not in the mood to deal with his bullshit. He shrugged and looked away.

I stared back down at my fingers and felt the blood again, the junkie’s blood, and knew it would be worse this time, much worse. The weight of the black pistol with its long, smooth silencer was more a burden than a reassurance. We’re always told guns are protection, guns are necessary, but in that moment the gun felt like a burning hot iron I was forced to hold on to like my life depended on it.

And truthfully, my life did depend on it.

I hadn’t agreed to do Colm’s dirty work, not right away. I agonized about it all that day after meeting with him. But no matter how many rational arguments I came up with about the Right People’s code of honor, about protecting innocent people, about protecting our very way of life, none of it mattered. Colm had ordered me to do something, and Colm was the boss. I had to either kill the girl or be killed myself.

And where would Richie be if I got a bullet in the brain? He’d be stuck with his drunk mom. He’d end up walking the very same path I did, if not something much worse, much darker. I had the protection of our father back then, and was spared the worst of it early on; Richie would have to dive in head first and get his hands dirty if he wanted to survive without me.

It wasn’t just Richie, though. It was everyone who worked for me, probably even Colin. They’d all be guilty by extension, and if I knew one thing about Colm from the past few weeks, it was that his purges were very, very thorough. Nobody would be left standing.

I couldn’t let that happen.

I adjusted myself, trying to find a comfortable position against the cold metal wall. The plan was absurdly straightforward. Jimmy and Max would drop me off a few blocks away from a dark underpass. They said the girl walked her dog along that path, or at least had for the past two nights; they figured she’d go there again. If she didn’t, we’d reassess. But my job was to stand in the shadows of the underpass and, as she walked by, put two bullets into the back of her head. Then I’d walk away, toss the gun down a storm drain, and go home.

That was it. That was all there could be, although there were a thousand potential issues. I voiced them all, and they were all shot down. If there are witnesses, don’t do it. If she doesn’t walk by, just go home. If the dog attacks me, kill the fucking dog.

I gripped the gun tighter, my finger carefully off the trigger. I could kill someone. I’d already killed someone. I didn’t like it, but I knew it was necessary. But I was finding it very, very hard to justify murdering some innocent bystander just because she saw something she shouldn’t have.

But dead bitches don’t talk. At least that’s what Max said to me as he handed me the pistol twenty minutes ago, his grin making me want to punch his teeth into the back of his skull.

Suddenly, I felt the van slow and then stop.

Jimmy turned around and looked back at me.

“Showtime, Liam,” he said.

I looked at Max, and he nodded at me. There was a brief moment, a very brief but satisfying moment, where I imagined myself killing the two of them and driving off with Richie.