Page 4 of Forbidden Romeo

Connor pauses to examine his gun, and I can feel the hairs sticking up on the back of my neck.

“You’re right,” he continues. “I’m here to send Padraic a message.”

He looks at us both slowly. Then his gaze lands on me, and his expression turns icy cold.

“But the thing is… You only need one person to send a message.”

The gun echoes.

Time stops.

I glance down at my body, half expecting to see blood already blooming from my chest. But there’s nothing. I’m fine. I look back up at Connor because the bastard fucking missed me. All this talk and hemissed.

But he’s not looking at me anymore.

He’s looking at Graham.

“No.”

I run to him, not caring that I’m turning my back on an armed Maguire. Graham looks as shocked as I feel, his face white and drained of color.

“No!”

I lower him to the ground, applying pressure to the wound. Dear God. There’s so much blood already. It seeps through my fingers and splatters across the floor.

“No!”

Distantly I’m aware that reinforcements have arrived. That the Maguires are scattering. That Connor has disappeared.

But all I can see is Graham, his mouth opening and closing, eyes unfocused and rolling wildly.

“J-Jack?” he finally manages to whisper. Suddenly, he’s not Graham Duffy anymore. He’s the boy I played with as a child. The teenager I would bully in the boxing ring. The man I fought and killed for. My brother. My best friend.

“I’m here,” I whisper back.

“You better fucking kill them for this.”

The light disappears from his eyes.

I roar.

Chapter One

Jack

You go to enough funerals, and you realize they never look like they do on TV. The sky isn’t pouring with rain; there’s no sea of black umbrellas or a shady character observing from a distance.

All the shady characters are right here, and only half of them have the decency to wear black.

Any other day, I’d beat Lars O’Neil for showing up in jeans but, lucky for him, I just want this day to be over. Padraic insisted on an open casket at the wake. God knows I’m relieved to finally see Graham lowered into the ground. Seeing his face again, hearing his last words echo through my skull over and over.

You better fucking kill them for this.

My hand itches towards my holster. I should be out there hunting down Maguires until I have Connor begging for his life at my feet. I should be avenging mybrother.I don’t have time for this parade of politics. I said my goodbyes to Graham days ago; the funeral is just a way for Padraic to show anyone bothering to pay attention that we’re still a united front.

The priest drones on and on. I’d happily wager that none of the Dead Eyeshave ever crossed the threshold of a church if there wasn’t already a dead body inside, but traditions are traditions.

Last time we were here, Graham’s mother was the one on her way out. She was a shrewd woman who never took a liking to me, but Graham struggled that day. I snuck him out of the cemetery for a smoke at the end of Pier 88. We spent the rest of the day there, just drinking and throwing rocks in the grimy water below.

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