Page 23 of Vicious Hearts

But then there were others. Other zealots like Apostle. They were the true weirdos. Sometimes, I wonder if I met Apostle in that life I vaguely remember before my father was arrested.

But it doesn’t really matter. Given that he has Finn, I’ll do whatever he says now.

I clear my throat. “How’s—”

“He’ll be fine,” Apostle barks. “So long as you do what must be done.”

I shudder, hugging myself as my eyes slide to the wall of photos.

“Find the rest. Do what must be done.”

The line goes dead.

* * *

I sleep laterthan usual the next morning. I’m still sore, too. But after a couple of Extra Strength Tylenols and a long soak in a hot bath, the pain slowly begins to ebb away.

The tingles and illicit ache that come with that pain, however, remain.

I’m sitting on my bed, butted right up against the wall to try and snag a single bar of my neighbor’s WiFi. On my crappy, cracked, ten-year-old laptop, I’m reading about Ares Drakos, head of the Drakos Greek mafia family. As of a few months ago, he’s also husband to Neve Kildare.

That would be, for those keeping score, the niece of the man I killed last night.

I shudder, my stomach knotting as my eyes drop to my hands. As if I’m still expecting to find blood on them, even though I’ve showered twice and taken an hour-long bath since then.

Killing a person isn’t what I thought it would be.

It’s also lingering in my soul way more heavily than I thought it would.

I shake my head, trying to clear those thoughts away. I have to. I simply cannot dwell on my sins, or think too much about how this makes me just a little bit more like the father I wish I could forget.

How I’ve ended up running headlong down the very path he wanted us to follow, even though I never wanted to.

Focus on what’s next. Focus on Finn.

A knock at the door jolts me, yanking my eyes up from the laptop.

It’s him again.

Of course it’s him again.

I wait a good thirty seconds before slowly sliding from the bed and walking quietly to the door. I don’t want him to accidentally see me, and I’m sure he doesn’t want me accidentally to see him. As expected, out on the landing, there’s another black box.

Apostle never calls me on the same phone twice. The one from last night’s brief conversation is already snapped in two with the battery removed, sitting in my bathroom trash can, as instructed.

On the edge of my bed, I take out the new burner. This time, it buzzes instantly.

“Yes—”

“Cillian Kildare is still alive.”

It hits me like a slap to the face.

Like a punch to the stomach.

Like a knife to the heart.

But there also a little glimmer of…something…inside of me that throws me for even more or a loop.

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