Page 67 of Iron Cross

If we were in New York City I would use a serpentine pattern to get us to our destination, but in the fucking sticks, there was only one way in and out. Side streets lead to dead ends, and we’d just be wasting gas.

Shiny looked over her shoulder, at Kira. "If anything happens to us, there's a gun under your seat."

I reached into my pocket and grabbed my wallet out, tossing it at Shiny. "Hand her my cards. If we die, Kira, I need you to take my cards and do whatever you need to to save yourself and our boy.”

I chewed my words, as I fisted the steering wheel. I did not want this to be a discussion. I needed her to follow my orders.

“You can find your way to the home of Jericho Vasiliev. Aoibheann is with him and she will help you. Her number is in the wallet. So is Dairo’s." I swallowed the lump in my throat. “One word from you, love, and you’ll have half the city’s killers running to your aid. Use them.”

I tensed as Shiny pulled out all my credit cards, and handed them to Kira.

“I won’t need them,” she said, as Shiny held my cards towards her, turning in her seat. Kira made no move to grab them.

She cradled our boy on her lap, leaning down to be lower than the windows, protectively covering our boy, who seemed delighted to be in the car but not strapped into a seat. The boy liked his freedom. He was a chip off the old block.

And his Mum had some secrets. What was her escape plan, if things went sideways?

"Take them anyway, wife,"I growled, agitated that she had even more secrets, even now. I needed to pry them from her, one by fucking one. But not yet. Not in front of our child. And certainly not in front of the judgmental eyes of Shiny Flanagan. Then, softer, I added, "Just in case, love. Take them."

She reached out and placed the cards in her pocket, and I let out an audible breath.

“You know my pin.” It was the same as it had always been.

When I watched her nod in the rearview mirror, my heart fluttered, just a little. Because she rememberedsomething.Maybe I lived in her mind as real and concrete as she had lived in mine.

"How did they find me?" I could feel Kira's gaze boring into the side of my head, and again, it was an accusation against me.

I had no earthly clue. I looked at Shiny and lifted my brows in a silent request for her to give an answer before I inadvertently found myself in the dog house again.

"Social media," Shiny said as she pulled an M4 out from under her seat and laid it across her lap. Her vigilant, light eyes scanned the passing landscape. "That woman who called the cops on you went viral. Apparently one of her friends leaked the footage for some internet clout. Everyone is calling her a Karen."

Ah, the internet. What a fucking cess pool.

I glanced at Kira in the rearview mirror and she was blushing.

I winced, remembering that day. I’d lucked out and recognized the copper’s name, and appealed to a sense of family, while also giving him a substantial bribe.

"No one thinks you're at fault," Shiny said. "But the videos where they didn't blur you out... well... someone recognized you. They would have found you, even if Eoghan wasn't here.”

Was Shiny trying to stick up for me? About bloody fucking time.

“How did you find out about it?” Kira narrowed her eyes, trying to poke holes in the story. She might trust Shiny more than me, but she didn’t trust her completely.

The most distrustful people in the world are people with their own secrets, after all.

“I got a tip from one of the fighters jaw-jacking at the gym,” Shiny said.

Her husband ran one of the most prominent MMA gyms in the United States. It was in neutral territory in the city, attracting fighters from all over. Italians, Russians, foreigners, and others came to train. Though, that didn’t stop him from doing the odd work for me, since his wife was under my protection.

If Dairo was my right hand, she was my left. Slightly less useful, and twice as annoying, but still necessary in the grand scheme of things.

"Where are they now?" I asked, as we wound our way through the city, past the bridge that had been the home of her artwork for the past three years. Her life, the one I wasn't a part of because she did not want me there.

I winced.

"We'll come back for your paintings," I said, quietly. "I'll have someone collect them."

"No," she said, holding Cillian to her chest with a sweet possession that made me love her more. "They... they don't matter."

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