Page 65 of Killaney Blood
The delivery guy didn't know who it was from, but I think I know.
I just caught him looking at me, again.
The sudden roar of the crowd turns both of our attention back to the ring. A man stumbles, but isn't going down.
I thought I could brush it off. Tell myself it didn't mean anything.
But that's a lie. One I'm still trying to make myself believe.
Getting involved with a man like Declan is suicide. Men with power take what they want and discard what they don't need. I learned that lesson years ago with the Albanians. With my father.
The bell rings, signaling the end of the round. I stand, stretching my legs. I need to walk around. Some space. Something to clear my head from the memory of Declan's hands on my body.
I weave through the crowd, nodding at a few fighters I've patched up before. The warehouse is packed and reeking of sweat and cheap beer. I push my way toward a quieter corner, off to the side.
Just as I'm about to break into a small, free bubble of space, someone reaches out and grabs my elbow.
"Ghost Angel," a voice says. "Been a while."
I turn slowly, coming face to face with him, the Albanian who killed Tatiana. The one I saw at the grocery store. The one who's been hunting me.
Ice floods my veins. Nightmares that I've buried come rushing back.
"Not long enough," I say, forcing my voice to remain steady. "What do you want?"
His smile widens, revealing teeth too perfect, too white. "What we've always wanted," he says, his accent coming through, "your hands. your skills."
I glance around, looking for an exit. For help. For anyone.
"Well, I'm done," I say, pulling my arm from his grip. "I settled my debt. I'm done with you."
I turn to walk away, but his fingers close around my wrist like a vise. He twists my arm, exposing the inside of my wrist where the scalpel tattoo sits like a brand.
"This says otherwise." His thumb brushes over the mark, and I feel like I'm going to throw up.
"I don't belong to you," I say, yanking my arm back. "Not anymore."
He moves faster than I expect, grabbing me again, his fingers digging into the flesh of my forearm.
"You're coming with me," he says, voice low and threaded with menace. "New girls. New territory. Same job. You know the routine."
Panic bubbles up inside me. I know what this means. New girls to stitch up after they've been beaten and raped. New territory means they're expanding again.
"Is there a problem here?"
The voice is calm, laced with something deadly.
Declan comes up, towering over this asshole.
The Albanian turns his head but doesn't release me. "Not your concern. She belongs to us."
Declan laughs, not his genuine laugh; it's different. "That's funny. She's my medic. I pay her, which makes it my concern," he says, taking a step forward. "She's not going anywhere."
The Albanian's other hand opens his jacket, flashing the butt of a gun. "Don't be stupid. Die trying to protect a bitch who ain't yours."
Declan doesn't flinch. He leaps at the man holding me like lightning. One punch sends him stumbling.
The Albanian recovers quickly and draws his gun.
