Page 61 of The Final Contract
He rubs the spot, grinning like a devil. “It’s true, though. Things were better when Kill was here. Just…don’t tell Cormac I said so.”
Finn and I slip out the back, the air sharp as knives, my mind turning over what the boy gave us: one brown eye, one blue. A ghost who doesn’t carry trays, doesn’t belong, leaves no trace but a camera feed.
Finn mutters low as we cut down the alley. “Could be one of the Italians. Could be some rogue client who thinks he’s owed. Could be?—”
“Could be anyone,” I finish, jaw tight. “That’s the problem. He’s hidin’ in plain sight. And if he was bold enough to walk into a Ledger trainin’, he’s?—”
Before I can finish, two black cars screech to a stop, boxing us in. Doors open, men spill out, and the weight in my gut tells me who it is before he even steps into the light.
Cormac.
My brother.
He doesn’t rush. He strolls, hands in his pockets, his men fanned wide. His smirk is the same one he wore at sixteen when he cut his first throat—when he realized he liked it.
“Well, well,” he drawls, Irish lilt sharp as a blade. “Look what crawled back onto Irish soil. Didn’t think we’d see the O’Malley family’s shame in this part of town. Sorry, it’s Shaw now, right?”
My brother looks just like me: a few inches shorter, not as thick. Where I have a short beard, he’s clean shaven. It somehow makes him look more sadistic and vulnerable at the same time.
I don’t move. “I’m not here for you, Cormac.”
“You’re not supposed to be here at all.” His smirk curdles. “Lucian’s dog, sniffin’ round territory that doesn’t belong to him.”
My hand twitches toward my knife, but I don’t pull. I don’t need to. My silence is enough, and Finn’s steady at my side—a shadow with teeth.
Then the bar door bangs open, and the kid steps out. He freezes the second he sees the cars, the guns. He should have waited longer before leaving.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath and shift, blocking him from Cormac’s view. “He’s not part of this. Just a kid leaving his job.”
Cormac tilts his head, eyes narrowing. His men twitch, hungry for an excuse.
“Let him walk,” I say, voice low but hard.
For a beat, the air hums, sharp with the weight of choice. Then Cormac chuckles—mean and humorless. “Still got that soft spot for kids, do you? Thought I beat that out of you years ago.”
The kid pats my shoulder twice and slips away, bolting down the alley while I keep my eyes locked on my brother.
Cormac circles me, slow, like he’s sizing up prey. He’s younger, but his eyes are old with rot.
“What are you here for?” he asks.
“None of your business,” I say flatly.
His smirk widens. “And what if I make it my business?”
I square up, my voice a razor’s edge. “Then it’ll be the last decision you make, little brother.”
The chuckle that leaves him is humorless. His men tense, hands twitching like they’re waiting for a signal.
Cormac lifts his hand, shapes his fingers into a gun, and closes one eye like he’s sighting down a barrel. He clicks his tongue, mimics a recoil, aiming straight at my head.
“Mind your days, Kill. You’ve a debt to repay. A big one. Killing our own cousin is going to cost you,” he spits on the ground, “and your Italian handler.”
I take one step closer, close enough that he has to tilt his chin up to meet my eyes. “Funny thing about debts, little brother—they only matter if I let you live long enough to collect.”
I hold my brother’s stare a moment longer than appropriate so he will be sure to feel the weight of those words.
“Enjoy sitting at the head of the table, Cormac, and remember—you’re only sitting there because I walked away.” I take a measured step back and Finn does too.
