I’ll never know for certain. But a minute later, the gates swing inward. We move inside, park, and get out of the car.
“Stop.”
An armed guard blocks my path, his eyes narrowed on me. He clutches his gun threateningly.
I yawn pointedly and wait.
Then the front doors of the mansion swing inwards on silent hinges. A small group of armed men pour out, but I know they’re just lackeys.
Did he come? I wonder. Did the sound of his son’s name call him out here?
For a second, I think I fucked up. That my plan has failed and I’m about to take a bullet to the skull courtesy of some underpaid stooge with a twitchy trigger finger.
And then he emerges.
A tall, grizzled man. Blond hair faded to snowy white.
But it’s the shock of his bright blue eyes that has me reeling for a second.
If Cillian had lived into his fifties, this is what he would have looked like.
The thought twists in my gut like a serrated knife.
Ronan O’Sullivan’s eyes fall on me. Despite the startling blue, they darken with anger.
He moves his gaze over my shoulder to skewer the idiot who’d let me in.
“Any fool can see that this man is not my son,” he says, his native brogue booming out like rolling thunder.
Then he sighs and waves a dismissive hand.
“Kill him.”
22
Esme
ON A BUS SOMEWHERE SOUTH OF CARLSBAD, CALIFORNIA
Geoffrey leaves us at the bus depot with a warm hug and all the cash in his wallet, even when I insist that I can’t take it.
“You need that, hon,” he says, closing my hand back over the money. “Pay it forward.”
Then he’s gone, and I’m on my own again.
The ride is long, made even longer by the headache of crossing the border. I don’t get much sleep because Phoenix keeps fussing from the second we pulled out of the station.
All the way through San Diego and Encinitas, he fusses. We stop and start and stop and start and passengers come and passengers go. And through it all, Phoenix fusses.
The other riders glare. Some complain, both under their breath and to my face.
But there’s not much I can do to quiet him.
Except of course for feeding him. Then he settles for a few minutes, but I’m aware that my milk isn’t coming in as fast anymore.
Probably because I haven’t had a real meal in more than twenty-four hours.
I’m feeling the effects of the IV drip fading, too. Whatever magic juice was in that stuff is disappearing faster and faster, and without it, I’m left feeling weak. My body aches everywhere too.
What I really need is rest. Food, safety, a warm place to lie down.
I’m not asking for much. But I don’t know where I’ll find even those meager comforts.
I no longer have the luxury of worrying about my own needs, either. Phoenix needs me and I need to get out of town.
I look down at him in my arms. In the last few hours, he’s finally fallen asleep. Nuzzled up against the sunshine yellow blanket that Gabby gave me and drifted off, though he still twitches from time to time.
For a little thing, he requires a lot.
I’ve already used and discarded five diapers. That fact alone is starting to panic me.
If he’s going to go through diapers at this rate, I’m going to run out far sooner than I expected. I have some cash left on me but I need to make this last couple of hundred dollars last at least a month or two.
I’m pretty sure that no one will be willing to hire a new mom.
And even if they would, what can I do with Phoenix?
My life feels like it’s collapsing slowly. Burning to the ground just like Papa’s compound did.
But I have no choice but to kick away the debris and move forward.
At last, the bus driver calls out the name of the town Geoffrey circled on a map for me. It’s nowhere I’ve ever heard of, which is perfect as far as I’m concerned. It’d be best if no one else ever heard of it, either.
The town is about an hour from the ocean. I wish it were closer, but beggars—which I think it’s safe to say I am at this point—can’t be choosers, right?
Still, my body itches for the ocean I grew up near. For the peace and calm that comes from being near salt water and ocean breeze.
But I can’t give in to those urges anymore.
Only one thing matters: keeping Phoenix safe. What I want is no longer important.
We descend to a squealing stop. I gather my things and shuffle my way off the bus.
It’s a relief to be off. But as the bus roars away, leaving me alone at the station with nothing but cockroaches for company, the old fears set in.
Am I making a mistake?
Should I just go back to Artem?
“No,” I say out loud firmly. I stamp my foot for emphasis.
A rat picking through a garbage can a few yards away looks up at me in alarm. He eyes me as if to say, What’s wrong with you, woman?
In my arms, Phoenix is still sleeping. Well, thank heavens for small favors, I suppose.
I fish through my pocket and retrieve the little piece of paper with the shelter’s address on it. It’s meant to be a women’s home, but I have no idea what to expect.
Geoffrey was kind to me. So were Gabby and Ruby and Sara.
But I’ve lived on kindness for too long. I need to try and forge a path for myself that doesn’t require pinning all my faith on other people.
I start walking, with Phoenix strapped to my chest. I’ve wound the blanket around my body so that he’s nestled against my breasts without me having to hold him in place.
The duffel bag is heavy on my shoulder, and I keep having to switch sides so that I don’t throw
