While others had discussions in small groups, Score kept her right hand in his and laid his left on her back to guide her toward their car. The driver got out to open the door. Score funneled her into the back. She skootched across the long seat, expecting him to get in after her. Instead with a hand on the roof and the other on the top of the door, he bowed to look inside.
“Stay here,” he said.
“Phoen—”
Before she got the word out, he slammed the door. The windows were tinted, but she dipped her head to watch him stalk away from the car. Mick was out there. Shyla didn’t think Score planned to do anything to him. Others weren’t so sure; several people kept an eye on Score’s progress across the grass.
As unwelcome as any kind of scene at Stan’s final farewell would be, Shyla wouldn’t rush out to drag him back to the car. Whatever he did, he’d always have her support. He’d done an amazing job at supporting her; returning the favor was the least she could do.
Except as she watched, Score passed by all the groups without getting close to any of them. As he kept on going, those dotted around returned to their conversations. Wherever he was going, there was purpose to his stride. Being used to seeing him in the apartment, she didn’t often get the chance to see professional Score.
The sight of him that morning when he’d come out of the bedroom in his black suit, black shirt, black tie, he looked devastating. In every definition of the word. Like some kind of lethal assassin, a cool, composed professional, and a man who could melt the panties right off every woman he came into contact with. Shyla had forgotten to breathe for at least half a minute.
Just the memory heated her up again. Despite watching him progress away from their car, she still felt connected to him. All of her was part of him. Shyla couldn’t believe that he was her other half. Her partner. Her significant other. Nothing he did or said suggested he had any plans to abandon her any time soon. Yet, each time she told herself to get used to them being together, doubt niggled at her.
How could she be with a man like Score? They were so different, complete opposites in just about every single way. What would their future be? In her mind, the future involved home and family. But the more she thought about it, the more flexible her dreams became. People often thought they wanted what society and tradition expected without considering that it might not be for them.
Her thoughts were interrupted when Score stopped by the parallel road. A car pulled forward, just enough for her to see the hood and a little of the windshield’s profile. Phoenix went to the passenger door, it opened and then it closed. Tilting her head, she peered closer. With the distance between them, it was impossible for her to see the driver. Her man was in that vehicle and she didn’t have a clue why.
Something was going on.
Suddenly, the lack of answers about the club became more significant. Anytime she asked about his work, Score changed the subject. In each instance, Shyla hadn’t wanted to pry or had quickly forgotten because he distracted her. Had she been naïve? As far as she was concerned, her comment about him being separated from his previous life was fact. Score hadn’t been as definitive.
Those from Stan’s congregation were drifting toward their rides. The gravesite was empty, abandoned, Stan was alone. Fixating on the flowers around the hole he’d been lowered into, Shyla considered the finality of the day. Her old life was over, the last of it would be buried with Stan. Score had numerous lives; he was used to adjusting, dealing with what was in front of him and sucking it up.
Shyla wasn’t as adaptable.
Her thoughts wandered and so did her focus. She didn’t even notice Score was on his way back until the door opened, startling her. The second he closed the door, the car began to move.
Surprised by his return, she expected him to say something. He didn’t. He sat there next to her, scowl on his face, staring straight ahead.
“What was that?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
Most other men would probably try to offer an excuse. Not Score. He didn’t apologize and didn’t answer to anyone. Even her.
“Was it work?” she asked, persisting. “You got in a car… Who was there?”
Despite sounding like a jealous girlfriend, she didn’t actually think he’d been talking with another woman. Maybe it was the heightened emotion of the day, but Shyla began to think more about the past of the man at her side. He was capable of anything. He’d suggested that although he hadn’t killed Siobhan, he may have killed others.
That made the fact they’d just attended a funeral sort of ironic. Did he or his family think about the people they eliminated or did they see death as a business transaction?
“Did you know any of them?” she asked, fixating on him.
The random question got his attention. “At the funeral?”
“The massacre,” she said. “You said the Dohertys and the Byrnes wiped each other out.”
“Not completely,” he said. “But yeah, they lost people.”
“Did you know any of the people who died?”
“Yeah,” he said, frowning at her. “You shouldn’t be thinking about that now.”
“Were they your friends?”
Touching her jaw with the back of his fingers, he peered into her. “McDades aren’t friends with Dohertys or Byrnes. If a McDade meets a Byrne or a Doherty, it’s kill or be killed.”
“Even now? With all they’ve done to you… You’re
