Page 72 of Iron Crown

“You told me that you would never rely on anyone for anything ever again. You said you’d never be poor.”

He was reminding me of the night I had been in his penthouse, his face bruised, as he downed absinthe like it was mother’s milk. “You told me that you would never beg for the kindness of strangers, or be at someone’s mercy. Well…” He gestured, as if indicating the car and the world around us. “As my widow, you would have everything you need to do whatever you want. You would have everything you desired and more.”

“Eoghan…”

Those words uttered so long ago seemed so foolish now. The words of a woman holding on to loneliness and pain.

“As Mrs. Green, you answer to no one, even when I am gone. Neither will Cillian.” He cupped my face, his thumb rubbing a slow circle over my cheekbone. “Let me give this to you.”

He was staring at me, his eyes pleading for me to accept.

“I don’t want to be a widow.”

“Aye,” he chuckled, as he kissed my nose. “There are a great many things I do not want. Yet, they happen all the same.”

“Eoghan–”

“Promise me, Kira.’

“Eoghan!”

“Promise me!”

“No.” I grabbed the door handle, and with a hard yank, opened it.

If he wanted me to let him go quietly into the good night, to give him comfort as he did something that would end his life, then he would have another thing coming. He didn’t get to do this. He didn’t get to bring me back, just to leave me. He didn’t…

“Blink,” I said, on a gasp.

Andres Lutkus was there, in his tactical gear, his back against the small door of a large warehouse. His eyes flicked to me, then his brows pinched together. He tilted his head. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I said, wiping my face quickly, in case tears fell while I hadn’t noticed.

His dark, almost black, hair was slicked back, his eyes a deep brown, and his face free of any tell-tale signs of what would pass for an expression. But his lack of expression did not mean a lack of feeling. That was a mistake a lot of people made when it came to Andres “Blink” Lutkus.

I knew him. I knew him as well as I could know anyone.

“I see you won’t be leaving the James Bond-ing to me,” he said, in his flat, British accent, his eyes cold as he looked me over.

Then he looked over my shoulder, at what I knew was an irate Eoghan Green.

“Famous last words, right?” I said, with a noncommittal shrug.

“I hate to say I told you so, but… I told you so.” The slightest inkling of a smile ghosted his lips, but was gone in a millisecond.

“You love to say ‘I told you so’,” I scoffed.

“Touche, Picasso.”

Footsteps came up beside me, halting to my right. I did not need to look to know that it was Eoghan.

“Are you able to function without your little shit machine by your side?” Blink teased.

Eoghan tensed, looking at him strangely. I admit, our conversation style had grown weird over the last few years.

“Don’t make me start talking aboutViper,” I said with narrowed eyes. “And his name is Cillian. Not shit machine.”

Blink rolled his eyes, his nose wrinkling in response.

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