Mafia King (Young Irish Rebels #2) - Vi Carter Page 0,41
don’t turn to Emma as she hovers in the doorway. “I’m going out for a few hours, so I want you to stay here in my room.”
Emma steps into the bathroom. Her smell circles me as she picks up a fresh navy towel. “Where are you going?”
“To kill someone.” I expect her to look at me with disbelief, but her eyes swim with a new kind of pain—a pain that tells me she believes me.
A weight on my shoulders from her gaze has me turning off the tap. She holds out the towel, and I take it, dabbing my hands as gently as possible. Fresh blood oozes from the wounds. I place the towel along the hand basin and meet my gaze in the mirror.
“I don’t want to stay here. Can’t I come with you?”
I meet Emma’s green eyes in the mirror. “You want to help me kill someone?” Before she can answer, I turn back on the taps and splash water on my face. My hands burn again.
“The man in the cage…” Emma’s words trail off.
The warning in my eyes is enough to make her stop. Pulling the shirt over my head, I let it fall to the floor. When I look up, Emma’s cheeks are pink. The mark along her jawline is stark.
“Sit down.” I point to the toilet.
She sits while placing her joined hands in between her legs. I run the towel under the cold tap before kneeling down in front of her. This close, I can see gold flecks swimming in her emerald green eyes. Taking her chin in my hand, I tilt her head so I can press the cold towel to her face. She doesn’t move a bunched-up muscle.
“My brother, Frankie, used to fight in the cage.”
Emma tries to move her head to look at me, but I gently move it back, so she’s facing the bathroom door. I push the towel back against her face.
“He wasn’t built like Da or me. He wasn’t a fighter. He died in the cage.”
Emma moves again, and this time when I try to tilt her head away, she stops me by grabbing my hand. Her green eyes glaze over. “I’m so sorry.”
I kneel further back. Her sincerity and the way she still holds my hand have me wanting to move away from her. Her fingers are warm, yet she’s being careful not to hurt me.
“I couldn’t get to Frankie. I couldn’t stop the fight.”
“Oh, Shay.” Emma bites her bottom lip like she can hold back the wave of emotion that swims in her eyes. “Why did no one else stop it?”
“You can fight to the death in the cage. There are no rules.”
Reality sweeps in and carries all Emma’s guilt. “I’m sorry…” She starts and trails off again. “How old was Frankie?” Her brows draw together as she speaks.
“Twenty-two.” I take my hand from Emma’s and rise slowly. “Keep this pressed to your face.” I hand her the towel.
“Is this who you are going to kill?” She doesn’t take the towel from me. I release it, so it falls into her lap and leave the bathroom. “Revenge won’t bring Frankie back.”
Emma’s words send fire exploding through my system. I move, I don’t think, and she’s against the wall in a second. My hand around her throat, wanting nothing more than to cut off her fucking words.
“Don’t say his name.” I squeeze.
Emma’s frozen for a fraction of a second before she starts to claw at my damaged hands.
I close my eyes and squeeze tighter as she tears more skin from my hands—the pain burns and sizzles before fracturing the pain of losing Frankie. When Emma goes slack, I release her, and she slowly sinks to the floor.
Her head dips onto her chest, and I’m staring at the crown of her head. She gulps loudly, and I move back away from her. I don’t stand there long enough to meet her eyes.
Taking a fresh shirt from the wardrobe, I get dressed. Gathering my jacket and placing my hands back in the gloves, I leave her on the floor with all my guilt and all her pain.
Turning the key in the door, I pocket it before making my way downstairs.
“Are you going out?” My ma calls from the kitchen.
I enter and smile at her. “Emma’s sleeping. It’s been a rough day for her. I’m going to go out and get a takeaway for us.”
My ma’s smile stretches wider. “I’ll keep the noise down so she can rest.”