Page 45 of King of the Cage

He stared at me and made no move to take it.

“I said, got it?” I repeated, my heart pounding hard.

Bran shook his head slowly. “I’m afraid not, selkie. I can’t let you get involved with this.”

His sudden refusal felt like a slap. “I’m already involved. Like you said, this would have been me if I’d drunk that, right?”

A muscle ticked in Bran’s strong jaw as he shrugged. “Even more reason you shouldn’t get involved.”

“I can help. I can track the drugs down online, trace the materials and where they’re coming in from. I can figure out?—”

“No. I said no. You’re out of this, from this day on.” Bran’s voice was final.

I stepped back, pulling my singed feelings with me. I felt like he’d snatched the rug out from under me. The whole evening, we’d been shoulder to shoulder, working together. He hadn’t been turned off watching me track Sol down, or strong-arming my way into Raffaele’s office. He hadn’t told me I was too opinionated or loud or self-sufficient. My stupid heart had used that moment to justify leaning on him, even a little.

But I’d been right from the start. Lowering my guard only meant getting hurt. I’d let my walls slip a fraction of an inch, and this guy had been there, luring me into letting him in. Even the slightest amount, and bam — hurt. Rejection. The feeling of being too fucking much, all the time.

I stepped back and turned toward Sol, tearing my eyes from Bran’s handsome face.

“Okay, fine. If that’s your opinion, I can’t change it. I can take care of Sol now. You guys can go.”

There was an uneasy silence, and slowly, the other guys started to clear out while Bran watched me.

“It’s not that I don’t think you have skills, wee one, believe me, I know you do. It’s that you need to stay away from trouble, not run right into it.” Bran’s tone was heavy and final.

The fucker really thought I was going to follow his orders like one of his lackeys? We’d see about that.

I shrugged. “Whatever.” I held my hand out to Bran. “My knife. I want it back for protection. Now.”

He hesitated before slowly pulling it out of his pocket. I knew he had it. He had cut Enrico’s ear off with it. I had no idea why he’d lied before, except to toy with me.

“We’re even now. Give me my knife back.”

“You think we’re not going to see each other again?” Bran flipped the knife around in his fingers like a pro, holding the hilt toward me.

“A girl can dream. Let’s go back to what we’re best at… being enemies.” I took the knife and tucked it into my pocket. “That’s all you and me were ever meant to be.”

The Irishman moved slowly toward the door, and I folded my arms, closing myself off as well as I could. His rejection didn’t hurt me, because I wouldn’t let it. I didn’t care. I didn’t.

Bran lingered in the doorway and shook his head. “You’re wrong, selkie. None of this was coincidence… it was fate.”

“Fuck fate,” I said with a bitter smile. “And just so you know… your selkie is a curse, and she’s heading back to the sea, never to be seen again. Nice knowing you, O’Connor, and it’s even nicer saying goodbye. Have a good life.”

With that, I slammed the door and turned the lock and deadbolt, only then sinking down and burying my head in my arms.

12

BRAN

Iheld up the vial of drugs I’d taken off Enrico and turned to the man strapped to the chair in the center of the room.

“Rico, you’ve been a naughty boy.”

Enrico wasn’t looking too hot. He was my guest, deep in the underground garages of Hell’s Kitchen, where many an enemy of the O’Connor family had been laid to rest.

Declan had duct-taped a towel around the side of his head to stop the bleeding from his severed ear. The towel was nearly soaked through at this point.

The fucker was losing a lot of blood, so I had to make this quick.

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