Page 26 of Retribution
We’re led down a wide hallway lined with photos. Across the top is the sloganWe Honor the Fallenand at first, I think it’s some kind of veterans’ memorial. Except it becomes clear these are fighters who’ve died. Each flicks past, meaningless, until I latch onto a familiar face. My breath leaves me in a rush, and my body starts flashing hot and cold in alternating waves. I falter. The guy behind me runs into my back.
“Sorry, Kim,” he mumbles as he squeezes around me.
Lorcan is busy talking to Antonio and doesn’t notice I’ve fallen behind. When they get to the office door, Lorcan pauses and examines me.
I’m frozen to the spot. Too scared to see the photo again. Afraid it’s real. Afraid it’s not. I blink several times, not meeting Lorcan’s gaze.
“Kim?” He gestures to the interior of the office.
“Bathroom?” I’m too stunned to get anything else out of my mouth.
“There ain’t no chicks’ toilet here,” the biggest of Derry’s brawny guards says. Using a thumb, he gestures around the corner. “You can use that one.”
I shove open the door to the wheelchair accessible bathroom. The door clicks closed behind me, and I press on the soap dispenser over and over. Suds overflow my hands. Every time I glance down, there’s a flood of red with flecks of gray across my hands, staining them. Impossible to get out. I wash them over and over.
Chadwick Lee. Chad. My half-brother. Mydeadhalf-brother. His face flickers in my memory, and I close my eyes, forcing it back.
How is his photo on that Goddamned wall? Did he work for the O’Malleys? Did they do it?
Bile bubbles into my throat. I only just get to the toilet before my stomach lets go, my whiskey lunch resurfacing. Seeing the contents of the bowl, I realize I haven’t eaten anything today.
“You all right in there?” a male voice calls from the other side of the door.
I sink to my knees and close my eyes. “Yeah.” My voice is weak.
Get it together, Kim. Get your head in the game, Kimi. Deep breaths.
The door opens without a knock. Why didn’t I lock it?
“Kim?” Lorcan’s words have the lilting quality that warms my body.
With the wall for support, I try to rise, but my legs almost give out. He rushes to my side and wraps a strong, sturdy arm around my waist.
“What the hell?” He examines my face, confusion and annoyance warring in him.
“I’m not feeling well.”
Concern overtakes the other emotions, filling his hazel eyes, and his lips purse. “We’ll reschedule.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I just need a minute.” Easing away from him, I tug down my jacket and straighten my shirt. My hands are raw, red.
“Kim.” His voice is pitched low. “I’m not putting you in that room if you’re feeling rough.” The bright color of my hands catches his attention, and he snatches one to examine. “What’d you do?”
“The soap.” With my head, I gesture to the sink.
He watches me, curiosity tinged with anger dancing across his face. “Did mydeartháir mordo something to you earlier?”
I tug my hand from his larger ones. “No, no. I’m fine. I must have eaten something that didn’t agree with me. It came on suddenly, but I’m fine now. I can do this. I’ll be fine.” Even as I say it, my hand shakes when I yank again on the bottom of my jacket.
“That room is full of men who could kill us. It’s not the time for false bravado. Could you shoot a gun right now?” His voice is an urgent whisper.
“No.”
“No?”
“No.” Under my lashes, I can’t meet his gaze.
He sighs. While he looks at me, his hands clench into fists and then relax over and over. “Come out when you’re feeling better, or I’ll have someone come get you when we’re done. You hear shots, you get the hell outta here. Exit out to your left. You understand me?”