Page 89 of Reclaim (Deadly Hearts 3)

He snorts. “What the fuck for?”

“Yeah, okay, I get that this isn’t a regular occurrence…”

“…that will never happen again,” he says, snickering uncontrollably.

I scowl at him. “Shut the fuck up, man.”

“Sorry! Sorry!” he rasps. “Go on.”

Turning to lean against the counter, I take a sip of the steaming hot liquid. “My mum shouldn’t have done what she did. I tried to tell her, but she butted her nose in where it doesn’t belong and that was wrong. I’m sorry she did that, even after I asked her not to, repeatedly, and I’m sorry I didn’t stop her. I’m also sorry for not telling you what she was doing.”

“Three sorries?” he says, his tone going flat. “Wow, I’m honored.”

“Fuck off.”

Silence.

We stare at each other for a while, until he sighs.

“It’s fine. I get that she was trying to help.” He shrugs it off as I knew he would. He is so closed off about it. Not that I blame him. His mum was the worst. She deserves to rot next to Smith, wherever the fuck he is right now. Probably in some evidence box, locked up tight.

“David,” I say as he walks into the kitchen, his nose buried in one of his books. “Do you think you can find out the exact location of Smith’s box?”

He places his book down on the counter, his eyes gleaming. “Already did. I’m not the retrieval guy, though, so I was waiting for Declan to get back.”

“Where did he go?”

He shrugs. “Don’t know. Didn’t ask.”

“Okay, well as soon as he does, we have a mission. I want that box back in Ruby’s hands tonight, come hell or high water and if we land in jail because of it, so be it. Agreed?”

“Yep,” David says.

“Totally,” Ramsey agrees.

“Count me in,” Cillian’s rough voice adds to the conversation.

“You need to sleep,” I inform him.

“Need a piss,” he says. He staggers to the back door, opens it and proceeds to slash down the outside grid.

“Fuck’s sake,” I grumble and place my mug on the counter. Bending down to grab the bleach out of the cupboard under the sink, I straighten up and run the hot water.

Ramsey hands me a bucket from the utility room with a chuckle as Cillian stumbles back to the overnight room and crashes into the doorframe before he lurches forward.

“Fecking hell,” he groans.

There is a loud smash and Ramsey goes to investigate what our drunk Irishman is up to while I go to flush out the grid.

Fun times.

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