Page 20 of Starting Over

Then I was angry.

I was hurt.

I had been betrayed. We all had. Eduardo took care of the books. No one understood why Eamon, the former boss and Sal’s father,had brought someone in that wasn’t Irish.

Eduardo was Italian.

Duane thought he was a plant. A spy sent to learn about the organization. When Eduardo and Kara disappeared, Sal took over.

He was only thirty. One of the youngest bosses in the organization. Sal killed his father and led with an even harder fist than Eamon had.

“Maureen,” King called softly. “Tell us what happened.”

“Are you crazy? I’m not telling you shit.” I stood from the table again and walked to the door. “Move, or I will move you myself.”

The men standing behind me laughed, while the one before me just smirked. He looked over my shoulder briefly, then hissmiled dropped and he puffed out his chest. He was trying to scare me. He didn’t realize I didn’t scare easy.

Not anymore.

He wasn’t small, but I had taken down bigger men than him.

“Just remember, I warned you,” I leaned in and whispered, just before kneeing him in the balls.

When he doubled over, I pushed him to the side and slammed my hand against the wooden door, pushing it open.

I only got a few feet into the room before large hands pulled me back against a solid chest. My feet lifted off the floor, and I found myself bent over a table, just as I heard a woman yell.

“Dad, what the fuck are you doing? Let her go!”

The sheriff.

I should have known. This was the second time in as many days that this man had bent me over something. I hated the way my body reacted to him. I blamed it on the past five years without sex.

Duane tried. But when he got the cancer diagnosis, we knew the medication he was on would have certain side-effects.

He took care of me as best he could, but it just wasn’t the same as being bent over the furniture and fucked.

“Beck, I told you not to come over here,” he hissed.

“Since when do I listen to any of you? I knew when Micah called there was something going on.”

Micah? His name was Justin.

I lifted my head and looked around the room for him.

Locking my eyes on him, I hitched an eyebrow and waited.

“I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours,” he said. I narrowed my eyes at his glib attitude.

Did I care?

Did I need to know what happened when his family left Boston? Or could I just sell the house I hadn’t even seen yet and go somewhere else?

I let out a heavy breath and nodded.

I did care.

I needed to know.

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