I slammed the door of my truck so hard the windows shook. My hands curled around the steering wheel and I let out a growl.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Maggie’s words ran through my head, taunting me with their truth. But she didn’t know anything. She didn’t know me and she never would. I wasn’t good enough for someone like her. I saw it on her face every time she looked at me.

The truck rumbled to life but I didn’t drive away. Not yet. I was on the verge of smashing my fist through the windshield.

I should’ve told her about my plans to own the gym, proved to her she was wrong about me. That I wasn’t interested in power or taking over Ting’s business. That I wanted nothing more than to get out of that world. That she saw only what she wanted to see. She hadn’t given me a chance to defend myself. Now I didn’t want to.

My hands had been on her slim arms, squeezing, before I knew what I was doing. I hadn’t hurt her, but it was no wonder she thought I wanted to. It’s not like she’d seen any other side of me.

I pressed my head against the steering wheel and let out a breath. My temper simmered below the surface. I’d never had good control over it. Not at times like this. I needed the gym.

The drive wasn’t long but it felt endless. Rock music blasted from the stereo, but nothing could shake Maggie’s words from my head. Or the sight of her in that short lace dress, her long legs pale in the dark street.

Maggie. If she didn’t come up with the money, what would I do? I couldn’t hurt her. But if it wasn’t me, then Simon would send Alonso, or someone worse to do the job. That’s why I couldn’t leave now. Couldn’t quit, couldn’t ask to.

But if I did nothing to Maggie, Simon wouldn’t forgive me. I’d never had to harm a woman before. I’d threatened plenty, but never gotten physical with one. I wasn’t dumb enough to think Simon didn’t have female clients, but he sent others to deal with them.

Someone darted in front of my truck and I slammed on the brakes. It was a man, weaving as he walked, completely wasted. I cursed at him out the window, but it had probably been my fault. I couldn’t even remember the drive between there and the restaurant.

When I reached the gym, I unlocked the front door and flipped on the lights. Without bothering to change my clothes, I strapped on my gloves and went at one of the heavy bags. Tension, aggression, frustration—it all exploded out of my fists onto something that couldn’t be hurt. I didn’t stop until my shirt was soaked through with sweat.

I grabbed the bag, slowing its momentum, then rested my forehead against the leather.

Maybe Simon would leave me to it. I’d never volunteered for a female mark before, maybe that would squash any suspicions he had about me going soft. He’d trust me to do my job.

Or maybe I’d just put a bigger target on Maggie.

I wanted out, now more than ever, but Maggie had made that impossible. Unless I ignored my conscience and let Maggie sort this out herself. It was her fault she’d volunteered the money. Maybe Simon would go easy on her. She wasn’t a criminal, after all. She had nothing to offer him. She wasn’t the kind of person he’d ever lend to in the first place. Simon was a good man, or he used to be. I’d seen the kind of scum he’d put behind bars. I’d helped.

But lately, he seemed more interested in making nice with criminals than putting anyone away. Like his meeting with Aguda. Whatever Simon was up to, I couldn’t be blind to it any longer.

The only way out now, without hurting Maggie in the process, was by going after Simon. My testimony alone might be enough to convict him. But if I took him down, he’d take me down with him. I could go to Aguda, but then I’d be owned by a man far worse than Simon.

Or I could talk to that cop who pulled me over then cornered me at The Wall. Hopkins. He said he’d help me if I helped him. But I didn’t know him. I certainly didn’t trust him. I had firsthand knowledge of how cops weren’t always what they seemed. For all I knew, he just wanted to take Simon’s place.

I went to the front desk, searching one of the cabinets for a water bottle. The message light on the phone was flashing. All of my anger disappeared when I heard the recorded voice on the line.

“This is Nurse Nevin, I’m calling from North Vista Hospital. We have admitted a Conall McCrary and he has your name listed in case of emergency. He’s in stable condition now if you’d like to come in and see him.”

I exploded out of the gym and back into my truck. North Vista was only ten minutes away. Five if I floored it.

I got there in four.

“McCrary?” I asked the front desk nurse, panting to catch my breath after running from the parking lot. “Conall McCrary. Where is he?”

She took an agonizingly long time to find the information, then yelled at me not to run when I booked it down the hall to the elevators.

McCrary had to be okay. Not because I wasn’t ready to buy the gym, but because I wasn’t ready for him to go. When Simon first took me in, he was the father I’d never had. But when I met McCrary, I realized that even though Simon loved me in his own weird way, he wasn’t the kind of person to call family. I’d respected Simon because I’d feared him, and because of what he’d built out of his life. I’d respected him for using any means necessary to get the job done.

McCrary was the opposite of Simon, and I respected him for that even more.

I leaned against the doorframe outside his room. No one had ever accused me of being afraid, but in that moment, my feet didn’t want to move. Conall was asleep on the hospital bed, his wrinkled face an ashy gray color. An IV fed into his arm. Drool made splotches on his hospital gown neckline.

I went inside and sat by the bed, closing my eyes against the sight of age catching up to someone I cared for. I pressed my fingers to the bridge of my nose.

“Where’s my pajamas?”

My eyes flew open. McCrary was awake and glaring at me.

“You didn’t bring them, did you?” he barked.

My lips twitched. I sat up. “No. I was too busy worrying about you, old man.”

He laughed but it came out a wheeze. “You better bring them tomorrow. I hate these nightgowns. I ain’t no lady.”

“You’d make one ugly lady.”

“Hey now,” McCrary said. “Don’t you give me lip.” Despite his haggard appearance, his eyes were bright and alert.

“What happened? The message didn’t say much.”

“It’s a fever, no big deal.”

I glanced pointedly at the IV.

He let out a loud sigh. “And I’m dehydrated or some nonsense. They’re making a big fuss over nothing.”

At his age, any illness was something. McCrary wasn’t one of those people who hadn’t realized he’d gotten old, he was one of those people who knew and fought it every second of the day.

I leaned my elbows on the chair arms. “When do you get out of here?”

“They won’t tell me. I need further testing.” His voice went high on those last words, as if he was imitating one of his nurses or doctors. “That’s why I need my pajamas. And maybe a couple of books. Bring me my Dostoyevsky, and maybe sneak in some Guinness while you’re at it.”

I snorted. The nurses would have a field day with McCrary if he managed to get himself some of that. “I’ll bring the books and the pj’s. No Guinness.”

He groaned. “You’re killing me, son, you’re killing me.”

The smile melted off my face. McCrary noticed. He shut his eyes for a few moments. I thought he’d fallen asleep until he said, “It’s yours.”

His eyes opened and he held out a hand for me. I took it reluctantly. His palm was cold, his skin so thin I worried my touch alone might crush it.

“The gym is yours. It’s in my will.”

I opened my mouth but he wouldn’t let me say anything.

“I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you’d pitch a fit. But in case something… In case this is worse than those blasted doctors are saying…”

“It’s not.” My grip tightened. He winced and I let go. “You’ll get out of here in a day or two and when I have enough money to get the gym the proper way, you’ll be able to go off to Mexico, or Hawaii, or wherever you want to go.”

He sighed. “Ireland. I want to go back to Ireland.”

“Ireland, then. That’s the plan, got it? No screwing it up.”

“I’ll do my best,” he said, his voice getting faint. He closed his eyes again. “But I always was a screw-up.”

When McCrary fell asleep, a nurse kicked me out. I drove home, but instead of going to bed, I tackled the business books again. But I was distracted, worried about McCrary, worried about the gym, worried about Maggie, worried what I would do if Maggie couldn’t come up with the money.

If I left Vegas behind for good, all my problems might disappear. Wishful thinking. Simon would send someone after me. I knew too much and I owed him. If it hadn’t been for him, I probably would’ve ended up in prison, or dead.

Before Simon, I’d been a foster kid, but I hadn’t felt like one. My foster parents had been the best parents a kid could’ve asked for. I’d been with them since I was a baby, I hadn’t known anything else. Even when they had a child of their own, they didn’t neglect me. We were a family, my little brother, my foster parents, and me.

And then they’d taken in a girl. I was twelve when she came, she’d been eight. From the start, she knew how to manipulate—our foster parents, teachers, other kids at school. She lied, twisted stories, got people in trouble and always ended up coming out the innocent one. When I caught her stealing money from our foster mom, I threatened to tell if she didn’t fess up. Instead, she went to them with bruises on her wrists that she’d given to herself, telling them I’d done things to her. She was convincing, and they believed her.

They hadn’t kicked me out, but they had to report it to social services. The problem was, no one believed me. They had to do something, distance me from my foster sister and brother. No one wanted to take me, and I didn’t want to go to the group home, so I’d run away.

I’d been sleeping in an abandoned warehouse when Simon found me, hungry and dirty, two years without a real home. I walked right into the middle of something going down. I took one glance at the uniform and made a break for it.

A guy had grabbed me and I’d kicked and screamed and bit him, fighting him with everything a fourteen-year-old kid had. The guy, I couldn’t remember his name, kicked me right in the face with his boot, breaking my nose. Simon had shot him in the leg and told him to get out of town, he was done in Vegas. Then he bent down to me, holding out one of those old-school handkerchiefs so I could stop the blood flowing from my nose. He’d told me I was strong, and smart. He’d told me he could help me.

I still didn’t know why he did it. Maybe he’d always wanted a son. Maybe he saw someone who could be molded into what he wanted, who would do his bidding, no questions asked. Whatever the reason, my life had gotten better after that. He’d given me a home, an outlet for my anger, a purpose.

Later, I found McCrary and the gym, and that outlet, that purpose changed into something I loved. Something I respected myself for. Simon didn’t understand.

The pages of the book on my lap blurred. Two paths spread out before me. Do things Simon’s way, or McCrary’s. It should’ve been an easy choice, but it wasn’t.

It came down to Maggie or Simon. A girl I barely knew over a man I wanted to break free of. Neither would get me what I wanted.

I wasn’t ready to choose.