Page 54 of Velvet Betrayal
At the end, a guy in a Red Sox shirt blocked the door with one arm. His eyes landed on Kieran first, then slid to me and didn’t move.
“You’re kidding,” he said.
“Here to see the boss,” Kieran said, not quite slurring.
Red Sox guy didn’t look away from me. “You know who she is, right?”
“I know,” Kieran said.
“Does he?”
“She’s not here to make a case,” I said. “Let him see his brother.”
He gave a tight nod, ducked through a battered gray door, and came back in ten seconds. “Down the hall. First left. If you bleed on the floor, you mop it up.”
He led us partway, then left us to the dark. I’d always pictured Tristan’s setup as cold and high-tech, but the office was just…sad. Cigarettes and lavender plug-ins. Off-brand carpet. A desk that belonged in a tax office. Tristan Callahan himself in a button-down, sleeves rolled, juggling two phones and a wall-sized Excel spreadsheet.
He looked up, took in Kieran’s state, and sighed like he’d just been asked to fix the plumbing.
“Jesus, Kieran. Are you trying to win a Darwin Award?”
Kieran didn’t flinch. “You said you were handling it.”
Tristan frowned…then his lips parted in surprise as he realized what Kieran meant.
“They came after Ruby?”
I shook my head. “They tailed me. He intercepted.”
Tristan’s gaze flicked over his brother. “Looks like the intercept went both ways.”
“He passed out in the car. Can you help him?”
For the first time, Tristan actually looked worried. He came around the desk, ignored Kieran’s muttered sarcasm, and dropped him into a rolling chair. Kieran’s bloody palm left a streak on the armrest. Tristan didn’t hesitate—he yanked open a drawer, grabbed a military-grade first-aid kit, and slammed it down.
“Shirt off,” he said, pure command.
Kieran looked at me, shrugged like a kid in trouble, and peeled off his shirt. The real damage was his head—hair matted black with blood, a raw gash above his ear. The rest was bruises and an old scar on his ribs, one I remembered patching up years ago.
Tristan didn’t waste time. He uncapped a bottle of something that burned my nose from three feet away. “This’ll sting,” he warned, then dumped it straight over the wound.
Kieran’s groan was more bark than scream. “You gonna put me down, Doc?”
“I’d sedate you if you wouldn’t kill me for it,” Tristan said, already cutting gauze with surgical scissors. He wiped the blood away with alcohol, didn’t warn him. Kieran didn’t flinch.
“You follow the guy?” Tristan asked, never looking up.
“Not local Crew. Said the jobs are open posts now, gig work for psychos.”
Tristan made a noise, pinched the split until more blood oozed out. “Which means someone’s mass-ordering hits through the platform. Too many contracts for one crew, so it gets distributed. Uber for murder. Fucking adorable.”
He taped the gauze down, tossed the mess in the trash. Kieran’s face was white under the blood, but the bleeding had stopped.
“Better?” Tristan asked.
Kieran rotated his neck, satisfied. “Feels like my head is on a spin cycle, but I’m wet-brained by nature.”
Tristan sighed. “I’m calling the doctor.” He was already texting, screen alive with a thread I’d kill to read. “You wait here. Ruby, water’s in the fridge. Sheets are clean in the guest suite. Nothing to do but let me work.”
