Page 103 of Lucky Strike

“Nope. I brought Finn and Malachi. Alex stayed in the car, watching in case things went to shit,” he says. “But she seemed to be alone. Said she was leaving Boston, but that she wanted us to know that Ilya’s who plowed into you Halloween night. Ivan and his guys were behind the break-in at the townhouse. That’s who’s been messing with your security system, by the way.”

Disbelief wars with rage. “Did they take the dogs or just let them go?”

“Tranqed ‘em, then took ‘em.”

“Why are they doing this?” I growl. Shelby wanders over to me, her tail wagging uncertainly. She’s always in tune with my emotions, and right now, I’m so angry I’m shaking. I reach down, giving her a brief cuddle. “Why would they escalate things like this?”

Tristan’s face hardens. “Anya said they think you tipped the cops off down at Conley and got a bunch of their guys arrested.”

“What the fuck?”

“Yep.”

“Wait, wait.” My brain feels like it’s about to explode. I set my beer down. “Why would Anya tell you all of this and rat out her own family? This doesn’t feel fishy to you?”

“At first. But the more she talked, the more I felt like she was being real.” He rests his head on the back of the couch. “Like I said, she was on her way out of town. She’s tired of that life, said they treat her like shit. She left her husband …” He gestures to his face. “She was covered in bruises.”

“All right, fine, but how does she know all of this?”

“She’s worked at Natalya’s for a long time. And her husband’s tight with Ivan. Said she hears stuff.” Natalya’s is the Sokolovs’ most popular club in Allston. It’s a family business, but I’m surprised they had Anya working there.

“I still don’t understand why she took the time to tell us this.” I reach for my beer again, trying to process. “I’m sure she’s seen a lot of shit in her lifetime. What makes this any different?”

“She said when your kid got hurt in the crash, she realized there were no boundaries. If they’d endanger a child, they’d do anything. And then she got the shit beat out of her, again, and she was just … over it.”

27.Bria

Now

Icaress the top of Shelby’s head and feed her another chunk of rotisserie chicken. She went to the vet this morning, where Lucky was told she had a few minor abrasions on the pad of her paw. Then a trip to the groomers to get cleaned up before coming to the condo.

“You’re spoiling her,” Lucky says, watching from the counter. I’m finishing the last of dinner, compliments of Nola, who dropped by earlier with groceries. She offered to come stay at the condo with Liam and me, but I declined. We won’t be here for too much longer. The townhouse is newly armed, the locks fixed and the alarm updated.

Meanwhile, Lucky’s up to something; I know it. He used to be able to get away with his secrets, but I know too much now. I also know his tells: the vague way he answers questions, taking calls on the balcony, the faraway look he gets that says he’s here, but he’s nothere.

“She deserves it,” I respond, casting an affectionate glance at Shelby’s sweet face. She wags her tail, knowing her antics melt me. I toss her one last piece, my heart clenching as I think of Bacon, still out there. “She’s had a rough week.”

“I don’t even want to think about it,” Lucky says, his voice dropping. A shadow passes over his face, and then he’s gone again, lost in thoughts that’ve kept him captive all day. Having Shelby back is, at least, one small victory in this shitty war.

He told me what Tristan said last night, that the Sokolovs were behind everything. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Lucky and the boys are plotting revenge. I don’t blame them. How do you extend an olive branch to an enemy that refuses to take it? They’ve been dealing with these psychos, trying to figure out their angle, for months now.

After dinner, Lucky gives Liam a bath and reads to him. We say prayers, making sure Liam has Brax and his nightlight and then, leaving the door cracked open, Lucky follows me to the bedroom.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, helping me into a loose sleep shirt. “Are you still icing your ribs?”

“Sometimes.” Coughing exercises too, which hurt like a bitch. I take a deep breath now, flinching as my ribs expand with the movement.

Lucky reaches for me, then drops his hand. “What can I do?”

“Nothing. I miss being able to breathe normally,” I grouse, sitting gingerly on the side of the bed.

He touches my cheek. “You want your meds?”

“Please.”

He disappears, returning a moment later with water and a Vicodin. They make me feel lethargic and dopey, and sometimes queasy, so I’ve only been taking them at night, relying on ibuprofen during the day. I pop the pill, knowing I’ll be a space cadet in about fifteen minutes.

Meanwhile, Lucky’s trading his gray chinos for a pair of black cargos. I get a glimpse of the purplish green bruises still blooming over most of his chest as he slides on a black t-shirt and hoodie. Slipping something from the dresser drawer into one of his many pockets, he glances up at me. “You okay?”

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