Chapter 50

Is it so wrong to hide? The Reaper knows me better than anyone—he sees all my doubts, my fears. He’s the only one who can destroy me with them. Hiding was a way of protecting myself when I was a child—and it’s a way to protect myself from him now.

I can exist when I hide. I’m no longer the hunted captain, the responsible eldest daughter, the broken girl—I’m just me. Is it so wrong to wish for safety, to escape from the ghosts haunting me?

It’s hard to deny the effect he has on me. Killian did something I never let anybody do—and I’m having a horrible time remembering why I never want him to do it again.

Scanning the various stacks of currency, the different reports, the inventory catalogue—I ignore my blush. “Yeah. It does.”

At my feet are two black bags full of money, the last filled as we work. It’s not as much as when the Board funneled buyers to us, but we’re slowly rebuilding.

That was a daunting task. Under my father’s power, I was made to count the nightly income—not as a punishment for screwing up. No—if I did too well.

In my father’s eyes, women were only good for one thing—being used by men. He hated that Sloane liked men and women; he wanted to keep Collins a virgin, and he wanted me to know my place. So, when I exceeded what his men could do—made a good deal, saved a run, evaded the cops—I was punished.

How dare I, a woman, be better than a man? When he was feeling especially vindictive, he’d make me do inventory right after, and I wouldn’t stop until morning light.

As the captain, I could hand this off to someone I trusted. But that’s in short supply, and this is familiar work. This is what I know—the movements of the counter, the hush of the room, and the creak of the zipper. None of it requires me to figure out what to do or understand. I’m on autopilot, shooting the shit with my friend, who I barely see.

Our biweekly counts and the monthly inventory are the only times we spend together. I don’t dislike the time he spends with Collins—they are perfect for each other—but there are days when it would feel nice to have someone to talk to.

“Maybe I should,” I say, chewing my bottom lip. At his curious expression, I shrug. “Outsource. It could be good for someone else to learn. You’d be with Collins more.”

“It could,” he concedes. “But it’s an us thing.” He’s offering me an olive branch, but I know he’d rather be in bed.

“Growing bored of me?” I lean back, kicking my foot out. “I know it’s not the most entertaining of tasks?—”

“As opposed to going to random meets in the middle of thunderstorms?” He huffs. “If it keeps me dry, I’ll happily count shit until dawn.”

“Besides,” he grabs my glass, carrying both to the far cart where my Scotch sits. “I could never get bored with you. I could do with less Linwood, but not you.”

I rub my breastbone. A horrible childhood fear that lingers lightens with his casual admittance: I matter, and he likes me for me.

You’ll never be a leader.

“Yeah,” I agree. Turning to look at the bookshelves, I tap my fingers on the armrests. “I think we could all do with less of him.”

Sitting down next to me, he hands me the full glass. “What exactly do you think he wants, Maeve?”

I shrug, fighting to look at my friend. Because once he sees my eyes, he’ll know exactly what happened. Hayes reminded me of how much Killian had hurt me. He reminded me of the months I spent in pieces with his abandonment, and how I wanted to end it.

And none of that matters because I still opened my legs for him.

It was stupid—something I should never have done. A mistake I can’t repeat.

“I’m not sure,” I lie. “I don’t care. I want him gone.”

There’s a stillness as I fiddle with the edge of a page. The clink of ice in our glasses and the abysmal fireplace heighten the silence. He swears, “Fuckinghell, you didn’t.”

Wide eyes look up at him. “Didn’t do what?”

“Maeve,” he drawls, rubbing his forehead. Pretty sure I’m the reason for this headache. “You reallysuckat lying.”

Scoffing, I cross my arms. “I’m the leader of a fucking criminal organization. Lying comes with the territory.”

“Maybe for people who don’t know you.” He flicks my hair over my shoulder and pointedly looks at my neck. Slapping a hand there, I avoid his gaze. “Where did that come from?”

“Would you believe me if I said Reese?”

Hayes rolls his eyes. “You’ve never slept with him.”