Page 67 of Beautiful Lies
I had nothing to lose by telling the truth. “I was settling an old score. That douchebag bullied Ava.”
“Didn’t Killian already beat him up for that?”
“It was my turn.”
“He probably got what he had coming to him. He’s always been an asshole.”
“Are you booking me for assault or am I free to go?”
“You’re free to go.”
I didn’t leave like I wanted to, sensing there was a catch and he wasn’t finished with me yet. Tonight would make three times that Deacon had saved my ass.
Just over a year and a half ago, he was the first on the scene of my traffic accident. I hadn’t caused the accident and I wasn’t high on drugs when it happened. I was on my way home to get high. A white van jumped a light and hit me, knocking me off my bike, before it took off. Instead of busting me for possession, Ramsey called Killian who had hauled my ass to rehab. Even bigger than that, Ramsey had saved Killian’s life the night those four men came seeking retribution. And now he was letting me off the hook again.
“You owe me a favor,” he said. I should have known he’d want to cash in on his debts, and I couldn’t really blame him. Killian had given him a free gym membership for life, but I’d given him jack shit, except a thank you which he’d brushed off.
“You want a tattoo?” I asked. “I can do that for you.”
“I might take you up on that one of these days. But what I’d really like is the truth. What happened in Miami?”
“I got busted for weed and ecstasy. Cut a deal with the cops. It’s all in the reports.” I looked him in the eye. I was telling the truth. But I’d left out a few details.
“I know what you said in your statement.” Ramsey ran his hand through his dirty-blond hair. “Why did you lie?” I rubbed my chest and his eyes followed my hand. “Has it healed?”
“It’s all good,” I said, pushing back my chair and standing. “If we’re done here, I need my beauty rest.”
He stood and rounded the table, holding out his card to me. “Call me if you feel like talking. You can trust me. I’m not a dirty cop like your father.” It shouldn’t surprise me to hear that Seamus had been a dirty cop, but it still disappointed me, and it also surprised me that Ramsey would voice it.
“Why are you always saving my ass?” I asked, curiosity getting the best of me. He had no reason to help me. We’d been acquaintances, but never friends.
His cool façade dropped for a split second, long enough for me to see his vulnerability. “I was one of the lucky ones,” he said. “My foster family adopted me when I was eight and raised me as their own son. Before that, I’d been passed around to different foster homes. Everyone wanted a cute, cuddly baby, not a troublemaker.”
“And what does that have to do with me?”
“Some kids get a lucky break. You and Killian weren’t so lucky. But Seamus Vincent got what he deserved. Karma’s a bitch, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I guess it is. Thanks. For tonight.”
He nodded, still hoping for more, but I pocketed the card and walked out of the room. I had nothing left to say.
Pulling up my hood, I lowered my head as I strode past the desk and out the front door. Outside, I took deep breaths to clear my head.
“What the fuck happened?”
Killian was leaning against his Range Rover, arms crossed, waiting for an explanation.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I got a call from Officer Healey.” I let out a humorless laugh. “Get in the car. I’ll drive you home.”
I looked down Union Avenue, debating, then climbed into the passenger seat. The night played out in my head as we drove in silence, the bass from Killian’s music thumping in my head. I massaged my temples, hoping it would ease the pain. I felt like my head might crack in two.
When we got upstairs to my apartment, I flicked on the floor lamp and collapsed on the sofa, my head throbbing. Killian disappeared into the kitchen and I heard the ice dispenser spitting out cubes, the sound of water running. He was playing nurse.
Killian sat on the coffee table across from me and inspected my face. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the sofa cushion, weariness settling into my bones even as my mind raced. Ava. Her mother. Jake Masters. Ronan. Marco. Miami. All my shitty memories vied for attention as Killian cleaned off the blood with a damp towel. I grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away. “I’m good.”
He scowled and pressed the ice wrapped in a kitchen towel against my cheekbone. “Keep it iced.” Killian sat across from me in one of the leather chairs. “What happened?”
