Page 34 of The Thief
Simple statement. Matter of fact. Like he's talking about the weather instead of declaring war on one of the most connected men in Boston.
"Mav—" Stephen starts.
"I'm going to find Trace Harrington and put a bullet through his fucking skull. Slowly. Make him beg first."
"That's not how this works," I say.
Maverick's on his feet in a heartbeat, getting in my face. "Don't tell me how this works. Don't tell me anything. You weren't even here when it happened. You were off playing nursemaid to some Belfast princess while my uncle died."
The accusation hits like a slap. He's right. I was with Alastríona when Jer needed me most. Playing chauffeur with Henry Gallagher's granddaughter while the closest thing to a father I ever had bled out in the street.
"I was doing my job," I say quietly.
"Your job?" Maverick laughs but there's no humor in it. "Your job was here. With us. With him."
"Enough." Stephen's voice cuts through the tension. "Fighting each other won't bring Jer back."
"Nothing will bring him back," Maverick says. "But we can make sure the bastard who killed him pays for it."
He's spiraling. Grief and rage are making him stupid, making him think with his fists instead of his head. Jer would've hated seeing him like this.
"What did Henry say?" Emmanuel asks.
"About what?"
"About his granddaughter. About how this changes things."
Good question. How does this change things? Alastríona's here now, under Henry's protection. Trace knows she exists, knows she's Killian's daughter. That makes her a target, but it also makes her valuable.
"He wants her kept safe. Protected."
"By who?" Maverick's voice is bitter. "You? The man who was like a son to Jer, but wasn't even here?"
The words cut deep because they're true. I should've been there, should've seen this coming, should've done something to prevent it.
"That's not fair," Stephen says.
"Isn't it? Freddie's off playing hero for some girl he's known for three days while Jer dies. Tell me how that's fair."
"Jer wasn't alone," Emmanuel says quietly. "I was there. Stephen was there. We all were."
"But not Freddie."
The accusation hangs in the air like smoke. They're all looking at me now, weighing whether I'm still one of them or if I've gone soft. If the job's compromised me somehow.
Maybe it has. Maybe watching Alastríona fight for her life in that alley, seeing her try to build something from nothing in Belfast, has reminded me what it feels like to care about someone other than myself.
Dangerous territory. In our world, caring about people gets them killed.
“Fuck no,” Stephen hisses. “We’re all reeling from Jer’s death, but we’re not doing this shit. You can be upset that he wasn’t here, but he’s not to blame for this.”
Emmanuel nods. “He’s right, Mav. Freddie’s not to blame for any of this and you damn well know it. He’s lost more than anyone because of this cunt.”
I watch as Maverick’s entire body deflates. He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he says low.
I shake my head. “I get it. I’m pissed too. We’re going to find this fucker and we’re going to kill him.”
"Tell us about Boston," Stephen says. "What did you find out about Ava and Trace?"
