Page 362 of Lodestar

“You’re lucky to be alive,” I drawled unsympathetically.

His eyes flickered open, and there was curiosity there. No fear.Intriguing. “Lodestar,” he greeted.

“My reputation precedes me?”

“No, you’re too much like your mother.” Eyes drooping, he chuckled under his breath. “You mean to tell me that I survived that fucking mess only to meet my end in this hellhole?”

I knew what he meant—black-site hospitals were the worst. The security vulnerabilities made it hard to rest and recuperate which was a vicious cycle because that was the only way you’d get out of the ward.

“I made a deal with your niece. I’m not going to kill you, Dagda. But I want answers.”

His expression was disbelieving. “What kind of answers do you think I have?”

“My mother was a Jorgmundgander hit?”

He tensed. “She was.”

“And she died?”

That had his brow puckering. “What kind of question is that?”

Conor cleared his throat. “Someone led us to believe that Star’s mother might be alive.”

Dagda frowned. “Impossible.”

“How do you know?” I insisted.

“You want the details?”

“I want whatever you, as an ally of the Five Points, can give me.”

Dagda flicked a look at Conor. “She’s yours?”

Conor merely dipped his chin.

Though the question pissed me off, I knew why he asked.

“Got her in the throat.” He sighed. “Watched her die through my scope.”

I thought back to that traumatic day at the funeral home. It had started with an argument because Dad hadn't wanted me there. Then, I'd seen her and I'd understood why he'd tried to protect me.

Mom didn't have it in her to be still. But she was.

Her skin was faintly clammy when I'd pressed my lips to her forehead, with a smooth, porcelain-like texture that had felt fake. There'd been no color on her cheeks aside from an unnatural blush.

I remembered Dad had the undertakers put her in her favorite sweater and jeans. He'd said she'd be more comfortable like that.

Had they dressed her in a turtleneck to hide her wounds?

It made more sense than using reconstructive makeup.

Mind stuck in the past, I loomed above Dagda, stuck a thumb over the bloodied spot on one of his bandages, and pressed down.

His heart rate increased to the point that the machine started beeping, but he only clenched his jaw.

“No way she could have survived.”

“You sure about that?”

---