Mafia King (Young Irish Rebels #2) - Vi Carter Page 0,77

hand and open it. I take out the silver drinking flask. “Are you trying to tell me to drink more?”

She’s fighting a smile; her eyes still hold the weariness that she’s displayed since Amanda. “I notice you keep picking up cigarette butts and putting them in your pocket, so I thought you could seal them in the flask.” She shrugs like what she said is stupid.

My fingers tighten around the flask. I can’t remember the last time anyone bought me a gift.

“Thank you.”

She steps deeper into the room. Each step is unsure. She looks at the TV over my shoulder. It’s off, but even when I look, I can still picture the man’s face who paid to have Frankie killed.

“Who was he?” Emma steps up beside me.

She’s so small. Breakable.

“Another one of your victims?”

I grin at her words. She’s still angry at me.

I sit down on the couch, still holding the silver flask and the paper it was wrapped in.

“He’s the one who paid to have Frankie killed.” I turn back on the TV, and his face slowly reappears.

Emma blocks my view as she passes me and sits down.

I glance at her. She places her hands in-between her thighs. “So Michael, Amanda, and now this guy will die too.”

“Yes.”

“What if he isn’t the end? What if someone else paid him?”

I look at Emma, and she holds my gaze. “Then I will find him or her and kill them too.”

“So one life equals how many, Shay?”

She didn’t understand. I came from a world where if you didn’t bite, you would be bitten.

“As many as it takes.”

“What about yours?” She’s moved sideways, so she’s really looking at me.

“What about it?” The flask is heavy in my hands, and I want to give it back. I don’t want to accept her gift. I leave it on the coffee table.

“You think every life you take doesn’t take some kind of toll on you?”

I laugh and get up. “This is it, Emma. This is the world I was born into.”

I go back to the bar and pour myself another drink. If killing took a toll on us, then we were all pretty much fucked.

Once I have the drink filled, I take a sip. Emma hasn’t looked away from me. I point at the TV with my glass. “They have cameras on the street and inside the fight club. That means they will be looking for us, and now they know what we look like.”

Emma’s skin pales. “What do we do?” Fear clogs her throat, and I don’t leave the bar as I watch her worry grow and weigh down heavily on her shoulders.

“Come on.” I take my drink with me as I go into my bathroom. I don’t use the main one that Emma had been attacked in. I had closed the door, and she seems fine with not using it, either. All the bags are no longer on the bed. I don’t see her clothes, so I can assume she has put them away. I should have told her we weren’t staying long.

I enter the bathroom and take out my electric razor. Emma leans against the counter with a raised brow. “Are you cutting off your beard?”

“Yes. This will be the biggest transformation of all time.” I grin at her as I put the blade to my beard. Her small hand rests on my forearm.

“Are you sure?” Color has re-entered her face.

“Why? Are you worried what I look like under all this?”

Emma smiles and folds her arms across her chest. “Yes. It’s like a woman washing away all her makeup. I mean, you could have a face like the back of a bus.”

I laugh at her wording. “You have quite the mouth on you.” My gaze travels to her red ruby lips, and all I want is to kiss them or have her wrap her lips around my cock.

“You're not the first man to tell me that.”

My humor fades faster than ice melting in a desert. My hand tightens around the blade in my hand.

I want the fucker’s name.

Emma’s lids flutter closed, and she’s half-smiling. “My brother says my mouth will get me into trouble one day.” Her gaze flickers back up at me, and I remember to breathe.

Her brother.

“He isn’t wrong.” I exhale and return to the mirror, afraid to look too closely at the anger that swells in me.

“He also says I’m as thick as a donkey going backward.”

I start up the razor. “I think your brother and I would get on