Mafia King (Young Irish Rebels #2) - Vi Carter Page 0,64

is close. Small, soft hands touch my face. “Shay.” Her voice breaks. “What did they do to you?”

It’s not that bad. I want to say, but my voice doesn’t work. Instead, I let the smell of vanilla and the soft touch of Emma’s hands drag me deeper away from the pain.

***

I blink several times. My head is cushioned, the heat is nice, and I grip a thigh. I know it is Emma before I see her legs that my head is resting on. Her hands move in a rhythm across my cheek. I turn but pause as pain bounces around my skull.

Her hand stops, and I want her touch again. “Shay.” Red hair fills my view, and through it all, a set of emerald green eyes that are filled with worry make me smile.

“Are you okay?” My voice works, but each word causes more pain. What the fuck did they hit me with?

A half-laugh falls from her chewed-up lips. “You should see yourself.”

“Nah, I know I look good.” I force myself off her legs while I keep my eyes closed. I sway, and my stomach rebels, but I hold still leaning against a solid cold wall behind me. I want to return to the warmth of Emma and have her drag those hands through my hair, but we need to get the fuck out of Dodge.

“How long have I been out?”

I open one eye and look at Emma. She’s on her knees facing me.

“A few hours.” Her puffy red eyes and chewed-up lips make me think of all the stuff she could have suffered.

I’m not ready to accept any of it. “Okay.” I try to get up and fall back on my arse. Emma’s hands grip my arm.

“Jesus, Shay. You need to rest.”

I can’t look at her now without thinking about what must have happened. I focus on the room while shrugging off her hands that fall away immediately. The room is large but empty. No light shines in from the window over our heads, telling me a lot of time has passed.

“We need to get out of here.” I try to stand again and manage to keep upright. Emma rises with me.

“I thought you sent them to get rid of me.” Her voice is tiny, so fucking tiny, but I hear her. I just can’t answer her.

“I thought you made them bring me here.”

I want her to stop.

“I thought I was going to die.” A sob chokes her words.

Her head is hanging, her arms dangling at her side, and something in me breaks. I reach for Emma, and she immediately walks into my arms. Her small frame shakes and rattles, and I hold her tighter.

“Let it all out, love.” I run my hands up and down her back, just like she ran them across my cheek. “I’ve got you.” I bend my aching head and press a kiss against the crown of her head. She still smells like herself. My brain is searching for the smell of a man.

I take my nose out of her hair. “We need to leave.”

She sniffles. “You’re in no condition. Please sit down and rest for a few minutes.”

I give in to her demand, but only because my legs won’t hold me up any longer. Standing causes my head to spin. The moment I sit down, I feel a bit more stable. Emma sits beside me and curls into my side. I wrap an arm around her; her head rests on my chest.

“Tell me something about you.”

I want a smoke. “I don’t know, Emma. You know pretty much all of it.”

She buries her head deeper into my chest. “Tell me about Frankie.”

In the darkened room, with my senses not fully intact, I talk about Frankie. “He was gay, but not like a fucking girl gay. He was a man who liked men. You wouldn’t know, really. My ma knew. I think all ma’s know.” I smile when I remember them in the kitchen together. He always made her smile.

“He could be a little prick at times, stealing my aftershave.” What I wouldn’t give to have him steal it now.

“My shirts.”

“You were the same age?” Emma’s words make me aware that she’s listening to me.

“He was younger.” He was better than me. So much better.

I don’t want to talk anymore. I let my hand sink into the mass of red curly hair that’s untamed and wild, just the way I like it.

“My mom wasn’t exactly motherly. I got a lovely warm feeling off yours. My