Page 64 of Crown of Smoke

"Don't pretend you care?—"

"But I do care!" The words explode out of me, wanting to make her understand. "Fucking hell, Lucy, I can’t hardly breathe each time you’re around Kean’s men.”

“You just want my research.”

I throw my hands up. “No, I don’t. I never did. That was you, sweetheart. You’re the one who insisted on working with us?—”

“I thought you were law enforcement.”

“It doesn’t change that working together was your idea. And I went along not because I wanted what you knew. I went along because I knew you’d do stupid shit that would get you killed. Because I wanted to be around you—” I cut myself off.

"That's not fair." Her voice cracks. "You don't get to say things like that. Not now."

"You think I wanted this? You think I planned on caring about someone when I'm trying to bring down the most dangerous family in Boston?"

"Stop it." She wraps her arms around herself.

"No, you wanted honesty?" I step closer. "Here it is. I'm terrified. Not of the Keans, not of dying. I'm terrified of losing you. And now you're looking at me like I'm a monster, and maybe I am, but I can't…” The vulnerability hits too hard. I retreat, walls slamming back up. "But none of that matters now, does it? Because all you see is your story."

“I’m not the bad guy here.”

I laugh derisively. “Really? I wonder, how many times have you thought about your headline since learning the Ifrinns aren’t gone? You just got the biggest story of your life, Lucy.”

Her blue gaze holds mine, and I can see the wheels turning in her head. I’m not wrong. She knows that her story about the Keans’ corrupt rise in business is now one that will put her in the spotlight. It’s the biggest story in Boston in years.

It fucking hurt to see the fear and loathing in her eyes toward me since learning who I was, but this, having her view me as a ticket to a Pulitzer instead of a man who cares for her, it guts me.

I’ve been wasting my breath. It’s time to move on.

"You're staying here." My voice comes out rough, final. "Not forever, but until we deal with the Keans.”

Lucy's head snaps up, those blue eyes blazing. "You can't just?—”

"I can and I will." Steel enters my tone. The same steel that's kept my brothers and me alive for ten years. "But you won’t have to see me again. I'll have Ash bring you food, clothes, whatever you need. But you're not leaving this house until it's safe."

"And when will that be?" Her voice cracks. "When you've killed everyone who knows what happened?"

The accusation burns, but I force myself to stay steady. "When the people responsible for murdering my family can't hurt anyone else. Including you."

"I don't want your protection." She spits the words like venom.

"Tough. Because you've got it whether you want it or not. I won't lose someone else I care about to the Keans." I hold my hand out. “Give me your phone.”

“No.”

“I’ll have Ash bring you a new one. This one isn’t safe. The Keans will find you.”

For a moment, I think she’s going to continue to resist, but finally, she hands me her phone. I pocket it with plans to dump it on my way back to the city. I head to the door, pausing at the threshold. I resist looking back at her because I know if I do, my resolve might break.

"Everything you need will be provided. Just… stay alive. Please."

I slam the door behind me, but Lucy's wounded expression follows me out into the night. My chest feels like it's being crushed in a vise. Every step away from her physically hurts. Is this how Ash feels all the time? No wonder he’s against love.

"Damn it!" The shout echoes in the car as I drive back to Boston. Maybe I should have told her sooner, should have trusted her with the truth before Marshall exposed it. Maybe then she wouldn't think everything between us was a lie.

But I couldn't risk it, couldn't risk her getting caught in the crossfire like Ash’s girl, Megan, did. Like everyone else we loved.

The memory of her in my arms twists the knife deeper. The way she'd smiled at me, trusted me, let me in. And now she's my prisoner, locked away for her own protection.

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