Burn Down the Night (Everything I Left Unsaid #3)- Molly O'Keefe Page 0,7
had it. Or even my fucked-up neighbor, Ben, who happened to be Max’s father. I couldn’t imagine that old asshole caring about my stuff.
Or maybe they were all gone. Maybe they all got wise and left that place and the trouble that was brewing just up the road at the strip club.
I’d warned Annie. I did. At one point I even told her I was DEA. I had a fake badge and everything. One of my many tricks. I flashed that shit around and told her to get the hell out this place.
And she did.
But then she came back.
Because some women had shit survival skills.
“We gotta make a stop,” I said, looking into the rearview mirror at Max. But he was out cold. Slack and bleeding against the door.
He reminded me of a blade. Even like that. Cold. Lethal.
And I’d lied to him.
I was taking him right back to his family.
—
I rolled through the front gate to the trailer park. The place was dark. A few people were outside, standing on their little porches or yards looking at the illumination from the blaze visible just over the tree line.
No one paid any attention to my car.
I got to the space between my old trailer and Annie’s and I could see Annie was outside looking into the distance with everyone else. Ben, too, and another man, big and wide. Stocky.
That could only be Dylan. Max’s estranged brother.
Sorry, Max, I thought. A family reunion was unavoidable. Good thing he’d be passed out for most of it. I had a weird manic shrieking laugh thinking about the nature of this Daniels family reunion.
No potato salad. Only bullets.
Annie turned and saw the car, and Ben and Dylan closed ranks around her. Protecting her.
I didn’t begrudge her the protection. She was one of those women, you know? Big eyes, big heart, just oozing compassion and potential heartache. She was a Bambi. A little lost creature, alone in the wide, dangerous world.
I was Maleficent. Horned and vicious, my wings ripped off. Ready for bloody revenge.
C’est la who gives a fuck.
I turned off the car and stepped out with my hands up. Ben might be old, but he was former Skulls with a past so violent it put mine to shame.
“Joan!” Annie cried and fought past her two guards who scowled at me. “She’s my friend,” she said to Dylan, but he looked dubious.
Smart man.
He actually looked kind of terrifying, a burn scar covered part of his face, pulling the corner of his lip into a perma-snarl.
“Are you okay?” Annie asked, coming to a stop a few inches from me. I could see her want to hug me, thank God she stopped herself. “Are you hurt?”
“Fine,” I lied. “I am. Really.”
“You were in the fire?”
“Barely got out. Look, I don’t have time to talk. I need my bags from my trailer.” Beneath my skin, I was frantic. A manic terror pulsed out of me, and I knew Annie could feel it. They could all feel it.
“Are you in trouble?” Annie asked
“Not if I can outrun it. Please, get my bags.”
“Yeah. They’re…they’re actually in my trailer. Let me go get them.”
Dylan watched Annie go, but Ben watched me. Cagey bastard.
“You start the fire?” Ben asked me.
“Nope.” I was an excellent liar. It was, in fact, easier to lie than tell the truth.
“You sure seem nervous,” Ben said, and he and Dylan shared a knowing look.
The way I saw it, I had two choices. Come clean about Max in the backseat and take my chances. Or lie and take my chances when they found out anyway and skinned me alive for not telling them about Max.
Right. No question.
“Yeah, well, I got Max in the backseat of my car.”
Dylan stared at me incredulously for exactly one second before he bolted past me and grabbed the passenger door handle, but I got around him, leaning my weight against the door so he couldn’t open it without jerking me out of the way.
No way was I going to let Dylan take my only connection to Lagan. I didn’t care how rich he was, or dangerous. Max was mine.
“Listen to me,” I said, hands up. I would play this like I was Max’s only chance to survive. Which wasn’t a total lie. “Rabbit tried to kill him—”
“What?” he cried and the pain on Dylan’s face was powerful. Luckily, I was immune to such nonsense.
“He’s been shot. Twice, actually. Flesh wounds. I need to take the bullet out of the one in his calf.”