Page 102 of Manacled Hearts

“Please tell me you didn’t speak with her. You didn’t tell her that I’m not coming back, did you?” I’m braced against the countertop now, leaning in angrily, my tone low and harsh.

He shakes his head. “I didn’t, Evie darling, but Lulu loves you, does she not? Do you really think that she would allow you to go out there, in a public place, and work with a target on your head?”

For God’s sake. He’s right. Lulu wouldn’t allow it. She would tell me to hide in the depths of the damn earth with Maya until all this blows over and both Frankie and Vassallo—or Bartiste as they know him—are dead.

“Fuck!” I snap, slapping my hand against my mouth the moment the swear leaves my lips.

Finnigan snickers, his expression lighter. I guess he never hears me swear. Being in Maya’s presence constantly, I had to learn to hold back vulgar words and try to be calm all the time.

“Stop laughing,” I quip, but even I can’t help the smile as I rub my face with both hands and rake my fingers through my hair.

“What’s with the hair, Evelyn? Sorry, but I’ve been dying to ask.”

His question surprises me in the middle of this conversation. I shrug. “Needed a change.” It’s not a lie, but not quite the truth either.

He cocks his head, and I realize something gave me away.

“Very drastic change.”

I nod and change the subject. “Were the guys at least able to trace Frankie’s car?”

He takes too long to answer, but I don’t press. He knows what I’m doing and finally he appeases me.

“They did. It wasn’t a rental, which is good. Carter and his team are on it. We’ll find him soon. But things will get worse before they get better.”

“As long as they get better…”

“They will. Neither of them is gonna touch you ever again.”

I nod, even knowing it’s not a promise. I wish it was, but that would be very unfair of me.

“How are you feeling after last night? Do you need to talk to someone?” he asks.

I scoff. “Sure, let me go tell my therapist that I bashed someone’s head in last night and, probably killed him. I’m sure that won’t land me in jail.”

“Oh, he’s dead.” He swipes his hand over his face. “Shit, Evie, I’m sorry. I just… I’m used to—”

“No need to explain. I bet this is just another Tuesday for you.”

“It’s Sunday, actually.”

I glare at him, and the smirk drops off his face.

“It’s strange,” I finally answer him. “It feels like I was in a trance because I barely remember what happened during. I recall how he raised the gun at Maddox, how I tackled him to the ground, being dragged off of him, and then… you.”

“But you saw the aftermath?” I appreciate how he’s now trying to be delicate about it.

“Briefly, yes. Though I’m not entirely sure I understood what I was looking at. It didn’t feel like I did that, the scene almost looked foreign to me.” Though, it’s enough to look at my red and bruised knuckles and the sides of my hands to confirm to myself that I was indeed the one who killed that man.

“You can talk to me, you know. What you did, no matter how common it may be for me, it isn’t for you. Taking a life is hard, no matter who it is, and it will always take something out of you. I’m here.”

I’m not sure what to tell him, because even now I don’t know how I feel about it.

“Beyond anything else that’s happening between us, I appreciate this. Thank you.”

I keep wondering if the ball’s going to drop at some point, and then it doesn’t. Last night I blamed it on adrenaline and shock, but what excuse do I have now for not reacting like a normal, law-abiding citizen?

I was quick to condemn Finnigan and his Sanctum for their criminal ways, but what does this… and everything from before… make me? Am I at the same level as The Sanctum? Or no better than the people who killed my mother?

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