Page 134 of Unrequited
“They murdered half our crew. You’re saying there’s no retribution?”
I press my lips into a thin, bloodless line. “Those responsible will pay. That’s a promise. But if you trust me, I will not lead you astray.” My voice cuts through the silence. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” I nod. “Then we’re done here. For now.”
I glance down at Zoya. “You ready, love?”
She stands. And together, we walk out of the warehouse, leaving behind silence, a body cooling on the floor, and a room full of men with questions I’m not ready to answer.
Not yet.
Chapter 24
ZOYA
The next morning,when I wake, the house is already quiet. Seamus is gone. No note. No sound. I sit up, frowning, wondering where he’s gone. Did he even go to bed last night?
I pad downstairs barefoot, slowly, half hoping I don’t run into anyone else. This isn’t my home, not really. Not yet. But I need to start treating it like it is, at least for now. We’ll be here a while, I think.
From the corridor, I glance out the wide window facing east. The sun is unforgiving, blazing and relentless, and there on the lawn, I see him. Seamus. With… I squint. Ashland? Their heads are bowed close together.
They don’t see me.
Their posture is intimate, conspiratorial. Ashland laughs, tossing his head back like he just heard something hysterical. But Seamus? He doesn’t laugh. His hands are jammeddeep into his pockets, his jaw set, his mouth a hard, grim line.
Strange. Why would he be talking to Ashland? He killed a man last night for disrespecting me, and Ashland’s been the absolute worst.
I keep walking, refusing to linger. This isn’t my business. Is it? But either way, I don’t want to know. I don't want to have to know. Seamus turns then, catching sight of me from across the lawn. Our eyes lock for a second. But he doesn’t come after me. Doesn’t explain. Just nods. A single, dismissive nod.
Like that’s enough.
It’s not.
I head toward the kitchen. Caitlin and I had made plans. Well, I promised her I'd show her how to make pirozhki this morning. Something simple, sweet and familiar.
She’s already busy when I walk in, humming softly to herself, her hands moving with the kind of ease only years of practice bring. She looks up, sees me, and offers a warm, easy smile.
“Good morning, lovely,” she says, placing a mug in front of me, steam curling into the air. “How are you today?”
“I’m good,” I answer automatically. But there’s weight at the end of that sentence, a silent question hanging in the space between us.
She sits beside me. “Here’s your tea. Just like you like it.” Her smile is soft, maternal.
“You know, at home I was always the one who put the kettle on for everyone else.”
She smiles. “Helps, doesn’t it? Listen, I know we don’t know each other very well,” she begins, “but when I moved here, Keenan’s mam, Maeve, was an absolute joy to me. She’s been gone a couple of years now. God, I loved her. She made me feel like I belonged.”
She glances down for a beat, her fingers tightening around her mug. “She was like a mother to me, you know.”
I nod, swallowing hard. “I lost mine young,” I manage, my throat tightening with the memory.
“And your sister’s… far, yes? Complicated history?”
“She’s in South Africa,” I reply softly. “We haven’t been close for a while. There’s no problem between us, we’re just distant.”
She nods, gentle, but doesn’t pry. “I don’t want to overstep, love. I just want you to know, I’m here. For whatever you need. You don’t have to do it alone.”
