Page 42 of Forbidden Girl

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

I watch his ego deflate as he says, “Please.”

Didn’t think he had that word in his vocabulary. “No.”

He flinches at the understanding that he has unequivocally and forever lost me.

I take in the aftermath of the shootout. At least six people caught a slug or two and are bleeding out in the grass. “William’s dead or dying. I don’t know who else is about to join him, but if you don’t want to be dragged outta here in handcuffs, I suggest you leave. You don’t have time to clean up your mess and you don’t have the ammo to take care of all the witnesses.”

“Call me when you come to your senses,” he says, despite knowing that I already have. He turns back to the mausoleum and signals to Jeremy with a snap. Ever the dutiful soldier, Jeremy falls into step beside him. They saunter, nonchalant, to the SUV, then floor it out of the cemetery, leaving William by the wayside to rot like trash. A peon casualty. Predictable. He expects loyalty but has none to give.

Once the detritus from the SUV settles, the handfuls of mourners who scattered to the wind regroup. Some rush to help the fallen, others—the mobsters—rush to leave before the police arrive to ask questions.

Jules’s hand is still in mine. Even as her parents approach us, she keeps holding on. I’m grateful Patrick Calloway can’t shoot lasers from his eyes—neither Jules nor I would have hands left if he could.

“Of all the women in this city you went for the only one off-limits.” I can’t tell if he’s talking to Jules or me. Maybe it’s both. There’s no question his follow-up is directed toward me. “You protected my daughter and for that I’ll let you live. Go. Now. Back to wherever it is you’ve been hiding like a coward.”

“Dad—”

“She killed one of my men and nearly killed your cousin.” Jules and her mother both gasp in unison. Patrick nails Jules with a scowl. “You think I didn’t know there was something going on between you? I figured it out the day she shot Gino, and you blamed your family for it instead of her. Teague’s a blockhead and even he figured it out. I suspected you’d be with her, so I gave him permission to find you and exact his revenge on her. I got a call from the hospital this morning. He failed; that’s his fault. He won’t fail next time. So run, Monaghan.”

This son of a bitch. He knowingly put Jules in danger. I can’t unlearn how to hate him while he keeps earning my hatred. “Take a good look at your daughter’s face. That gouge in her forehead isn’t from me—Teague did that. Your family, not mine. Keep him away from Juliet or the next time I see him I’ll deliver his fucking head to your doorstep.”

His maw curls like he’s about to snarl. And on that note, he’s done with me. “Juliet, you’re leaving with us this minute, or I’ll kill her where she stands.”

She’s torn. The battle she’s fighting in her mind is written all over her body, from her green, grass-stained knees to her big blue eyes.

The cop cars are in view now. We all have to leave. “Go with them. It’s okay.” I pull my hand away from her.

“It’s not.”

No, it’s not. But I have to believe that it will be. I want to kiss her goodbye and reassure her that we’ll figure it out. I don’t dare, under her father’s scrutiny. He quickly ushers Jules and his wife toward the line of cars. He allows Jules to get into her BMW. She starts down the road first and he and Maria follow in their Mercedes. They exit through the gate on the far side of the cemetery as two cop cars pull through the main entrance.

I don’t run. I make the rounds checking on the wounded. Two men and two women, no kids, thank fuck. Gino’s family is unscathed. As far as I can tell, the only person critically injured is William. I have no empathy for him. Death at a funeral, how fitting.

The police arrive and it turns out that I’m acquainted with two of them. Partners. They belong to my father. Officer Byrne, the younger of the two, makes a beeline for me. “You can’t be here.”

“But—”

“Walk away. I didn’t fucking see you.” And then he’s off to the scene of the crime to “do his job.”

It’s like I couldn’t confess my sins if I tried to. Nobody wants to listen. The perks and the curse of being the sovereign of corruption’s heir.

I wander the city aimlessly for a few hours, processing. The first thing I need to do is get back to Maine. I left a hundred thousand dollars in the safe in our suite, and I don’t have anywhere else to be, anyway. And all my clothes are there. I’m dying to get out of this fucking dress. There’s a car rental place in South Boston, about half a mile up Tremont Street from where I’m currently shuffling my sorry self. That’s my destination.

I’m waiting at a surface road T stop for the Green Line train to pass, so I can cross the damn street, when a blaring car horn catches my attention. Someone’s laying hard on that thing. A two-toned silver-black Nissan Z keels to a halt at the curbside a few feet in front of me. I know that car. I’ve sat my ass in the passenger seat many times. I approach it and find its blackout windows rolled down. Peering inside, a flood of relief washes over me.

“You’re the messiest bitch alive, Row,” Merrick says from the driver’s seat.

“You’re telling me, bro.”

“You look wicked hot in a dress though.” He whistles.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Get in.” Once I’m in the car, seatbelt securely fastened per his request, he gets back on the road. The inquisition begins at the first red light we encounter. “Why didn’t you ask me to come get you?”

“I told you, I want you to stay out of it.”

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