Page 361 of Lodestar

Frowning at the sight, I drawled, “That won’t make up for good sleep.”

“Like you can judge,” he teased as he tossed me a can too.

I settled it on the desk. “I sleepsome. That’s more than you. You do too much, Conor. I did half of what I had to do tonight because of you. So thank you for that.”

His yawn cracked his jaw. “Come on, let’s get this shit with Dagda over with.”

I took the can with me as we headed downstairs and opened the tab when I thought it wouldn’t blow up in my face.

Conor set the GPS to our location and I jumped behind the wheel of a more fitting Mob ride—an SUV tank that would have served us well in the sandbox.

Thanks to it being four in the morning, traffic was quieter than usual. We got to the building in short order and there was a Pointer waiting to get behind the wheel so he could park it for us.

Oddly enough, the building was in the center of the city, not on the outskirts, and it appeared to be a now-defunct mall.

We were quiet as we headed inside, and I grimaced at the black-site hospital which was located next to a water feature and between two non-functioning escalators.

The ward's walls were made of thick, heavy-duty plastic that was shaped like a cube so Dagda was enclosed in a sterile environment.

Because it was transparent, I could see him sitting up in his hospital bed, his chest covered in blood-stained bandages, which told me his wounds were still leaking.

“Infection?” I inquired.

Conor hummed.

I cut him a look, saw the exhaustion in his eyes, and silently promised him we’d sleep on the flight over the Atlantic. No way in fuck was I letting him head to the funeral tomorrow as tired as he was now.

It was a weird feeling caring about his well-being. Not because he didn’t deserve it, but because I’d never felt that way about a man before. I guessed I had with Maverick; however, it wasn’t likethis.

I wanted to cup Conor’s cheek and press a kiss to his eyelids.

I wanted to get into bed with him, to make sure that he slept.

I wanted mushy shit. Mushy when I’d never let myself get like that before.

I didn’t know if it was a weakness or a strength, which put me on edge, but I had to trust that it’d work itself out in the end.

Loving Conor was the simplest thing I’d ever done, but that didn’t mean complications wouldn’t arise from it as a result.

I was prepared for those complications, and that was all I could do.

“You’re staring.”

I hitched a shoulder. “You look tired.”

“I am.” He rubbed his eyes. “Ma mentioned something that got my mind racing and it made getting into the Canadian gun registry harder than it should have been.”

“What did she mention?”

“Match-fixing.”

When he gave me no other context, I rubbed his arm. “I need sleep too. We’ll get some rest on the plane.”

Quickening my pace because I wanted this interview over with, I made my way to the makeshift ward in the abandoned mall with him at my back.

A nurse in scrubs opened a zipper from inside the cube and shot us both disapproving glowers before she took her leave.

Dagda wasn’t wearing an oxygen mask, but he had it piped up his nose. His face wasn’t cut up any, but his chest was a maze of gunshot wounds.

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