Page 70 of Crown of Smoke

"Maybe she finally learned to mind her own business." My knuckles whiten around the empty glass. I’m either holding back my rage or I’m about to cut his throat with my glass.

"Or maybe…" O'Brian leans in close, his breath reeking of cheap beer. "Someone finally shut her up permanent-like."

Fuck. Did they find Lucy?

I work to keep my face impassive as I turn to face him fully. "How's that shoulder healing? Must be hard drinking with a dislocated arm."

O'Brian's face flushes red. "You think you're tough shit because you got in a few lucky shots? Things are changing around here. Might want to watch your back."

"That a threat?" I stand slowly, using my height advantage. "Because last I checked, you boys don't do so well in fair fights."

"Who said anything about fair?" Connor pipes up from behind.

I smile with menace. "Fair, unfair, doesn't matter much to me. Results tend to be the same either way. But you’re not worth it. Kicking your ass doesn’t pay.”

“You think you’re tough shit, Tine.” Connor’s use of my fake name is a relief. No one has made the connection that I’m Flint Ifrinn.

“Sometimes.”

“How about I take you out back and teach you some respect?” O’Brian sneers.

I laugh. "You really want to do this again? Because last time didn't work out so well for either of you."

O’Brian steps closer, but I keep my eye on Connor. He's the real threat out of the two of them. "Would hate for you to end up like Marshall."

I study him. “That was your work?” I make myself look impressed. “Gotta hand it to you, O’Brian, you’ve got some major cojones. No brains, but big balls to take out Kean’s Pet Cop.” I say it loud enough for others to hear.

Panic flashes over O’Brian’s face and his eyes dart about the room as if he’s worried who might have overheard. “I never said?—”

“I heard one of Kean’s men was with Marshall. I never in a million years would have guessed it was you. Was that ordered by Kean?”

O’Brian’s meaty hand fists my shirt. “Shut the fuck up, Tine.”

I brush him off. “Goodness. Why are you in such a tizzy? I was complimenting you.”

“You’ve had your fun, Tine. Get the fuck out. No one wants you here,” Connor says, pulling O’Brian back.

“Sure. I don’t much like the stench around here, anyway.” I toss some bills on the bar. “Oh, and O’Brian? Test me again, and we'll see how well those threats hold up when you're drinking through a straw."

I leave O'Malley's resisting the urge to go back and finish what O'Brian started. His threat about Lucy rings in my ears, mixing with Ash's earlier warnings. She’ll never be safe if she continues this story until and unless we get rid of the Keans and everyone who supports them.

I stop at the corner, staring up at the dark sky. Ten years I've carried this vendetta, let it shape every decision, every move. Now I'm torn between the revenge I've lived for and protecting someone who sees me as just another criminal.

The worst part is, she's not entirely wrong. I am dangerous. I did kill Marshall in cold blood. And I'd do it again to keep her safe. I’ll kill anyone and everyone who threatens her.

That's what scares me most. Not the killing. It’s that I seem to care more about keeping her alive than keeping my commitment to my brothers and getting justice for my family. Everything I've worked for, everything my brothers and I have sacrificed, and I'm willing to risk it all for a stubborn woman who probably wishes she'd never met me.

25

LUCY

Ipace the small safehouse for what feels like the thousandth time, my fingers twitching for my laptop keyboard. Five days since Flint locked me away here, and the walls keep closing in tighter. Every time I close my eyes, I see Marshall's body crumpling in that alley, see Flint's cold efficiency as he…

No. I can't think about that.

The burner phone sits useless on the counter. I could call Ash, but what's the point? He made it clear that I'm nothing but an inconvenience to their plans. And Flint… my stomach knots at the thought of him. The man I was falling for doesn't even exist. Flynn Tine was a lie. Flint Ifrinn is a stranger who murders people in alleys.

I shuffle through my research papers again, but without my computer to cross-reference and organize, I'm getting nowhere. The story of the century is right in front of me. The lost Ifrinn brothers returned for revenge. But I can't write a word of it, can't even call my editor to let him know I'm alive.

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