I travel the roads in the dead of night, unsure what the fuck I’m going to do with her as she shivers and shudders beside me. The fact that I’ve managed to get the buckle across her lap without her shredding my face is at least one problem solved. Every time I try to touch her she yelps, going into some crazy panic mode. The rest of the time she’s zoned out, barely alive. It’s two parts of her I don’t like. Parts that remind me of myself all too often, my family’s legacy, too.

The phone keeps ringing in the car, fucking annoying me that Shifty’s not picked up quicker. Eventually, he does.

“Boss?”

“Go to the old place. Clean up the mess that’s there.”

“What, boss?”

“My brother, Shifty. He needs disposing of.” There’s an intake of breath that could eclipse the damn sun. I don’t give a fuck for it. I’m still too wound up to care a shit for anything Shifty might think, and too confused about my own reactions to make any sense to anyone. All I care about is getting Emily away from the place before she falls into a madness I can’t stop.

“Yes, boss. But how?”

“Burn him for all I care.”

“Boss?”

The concern in his voice is evident. It’s the same sense of concern I have, but mine’s tainted with the fact that he did what he did to her, then attacked me. I sigh and look across at Emily, her fingers picking at her top, trying to wipe the blood splatters from it. It reminds me of my mother and her constant fidgeting, which makes me think of how the hell I’m going to explain any of this to the rest of my family. Mother included.

“Just get it cleaned up, Shifty. He’s no different than any other problem that needs attention.”

“Yes, boss.”

That’s enough of a confirmation for me to end the call, dispassionate about how he does it, or where the fuck my dead younger brother ends up. At the moment, and because of the continuing soft humming that’s coming from my dirty little girl, I just care about her.

She carries on as I let the roads guide me, hoping they’ll bring some sense of clarity. I don’t know what I’m doing now. I’m just driving, unable to make a decision about what to do next. I wish I understood why he attacked either of us. I’ve given him everything over the years, fought everyone for him, protected him. Yet he tried to take something of mine, tarnish it. And then when challenged he attacked me like a rabid animal, ready to slit my throat. None of it makes any sense.

My fingers push at the wad of bandages I took from the kitchen before leaving, applying pressure to the stab wound in my thigh. It’s not bad, just a few stitches needed. I’ll do them when we get to wherever the hell I’m going. What’s more rankling is that I should have shot her in there. I should have pushed the barrel into her goddamn head and pulled the fucking trigger, no thought to it. And I would have to anyone else on this planet, but I couldn’t. She looked at me with those fucking eyes of hers, lips quivering around the words and told me she was protecting me. She did it for me. It’s one thing to add to the list of my fucking regrets. Decent human turned murderer. She’s been pulled as far under as we all are now, part of a broken system. One she never even knew of prior to me.

Some new generation.

I glance at her face as we head back into London, streetlights illuminating the gash on her cheek. It galls me as much as the sight of Josh’s chest seeping blood onto the floor. More if I’m honest. Fucking idiot. Why? I’ll never have an answer, never know what I did that was so wrong. All my power and I couldn’t even look after him. And this woman here beside me, the one who still looks like she’s fought for her life and is now barely part of reality, she killed him. Picked up my weapon and shot him. Dead.

By the time we end up pulling into the parking lot at my apartment, me not knowing where else to go, she’s asleep. Or passed out through whatever catatonic state she’s in. Either way, I’ve got blood coming from my wound, and she either needs a bath or a fucking doctor. Hell if I know, but she’s not going to a damn hospital in this state. The nurses will ask questions, and with that comes cops, and then they’ll ask damn questions—questions I won’t let her answer. And they’re questions I want nowhere near my business.

I carry her up through the back entrances towards the elevator, her arms draped around my neck and face tucked into my chest in case anyone sees us. Unsurprisingly, no one does. It’s 4:00 a.m., barely anyone around as I walk through the small lobby and push the card over the keypad. And then I just fucking hover with her in my arms as the door closes behind us, my own knees almost giving in at the thought of my dead brother. It takes everything I’ve got to put one foot in front of the other and place her on the bed, a blanket tossed on her for warmth.

Fuck. My hand massages my brow, still trying to understand what the hell has gone down tonight. Yesterday she was miles from me and now I’m standing in London, her mutilated body in my bed, and my brother shot dead by the woman I love.

I need a damn drink.

I turn from the room and head to the bar, shedding my bloodied clothes into the basket as I go and gulping down the scotch the moment I reach the bottle. The liquor soothes its way down, calming the explosion that wants to trash every single fucking thing in this room. I stare at the lights outside the window, the skyline doing nothing to disguise the reflection of myself standing over it. Quinn Cane, gangster. I snort, near fucking lunacy taking over what should be rage. I couldn’t protect anything for shit. Not my mother, not my brother, and now not even Emily. She’s in there because of me, her mind in a billion fucking pieces because I did just what my father would do. I took.

Seems Josh wanted a fucking go at that, too.

The bottle falls from my hand, the crash bringing me back to the present and making me look at the liquid seeping into the carpet. It reminds me of blood, Josh’s blood. It was everywhere. The floor, his chest, coating my hands as I tried to get him to breathe again, nearly reaching in through the hole to squeeze life back into his heart. Nothing worked. He was dead the second she shot that round into him. Straight shot. Aimed well regardless of her panic. How the hell she didn’t hit me I don’t know. Perhaps she’s just lucky.

I remember my own blood is still pumping out of my leg. I twist to look at it, still able to feel the stab of the blade as it tore through my flesh. It’s been a long time since someone cut me, and it’ll be even longer before anyone does it again. I can’t feel the pain. I’m too numb to give a damn. Numb because of her. Numb because of him, some semblance of normalcy settling in again now the night is finished. There’s nothing to be done anymore. He’s gone.

I rub the scar on my chin and head to the medibox, searching through it for a needle and thread. I could staple my leg closed, but I’ve got time to kill while she sleeps. I might as well make a neat job of it. I can organize what to do with her, work out how to make this situation safe again. Like it or not, she shot someone. A Cane. Nate should be good; he’ll bend to whatever I say, and Mother and Father will just have to be told something vague to prove I’ve dealt with the issue. What the fuck that will be I don’t know.

My feet end up dragging me back to her, medical supplies in hand as I hitch a chair and sit in the light of the bathroom. She hasn’t moved. Her body’s stock still beneath the grey blanket. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s pretending to be asleep, but she isn’t. I know that because the humming has finally stopped. Whether it starts again the moment she wakes or not is anyone’s guess.

“What the fuck did I do wrong with him, Em?” I ask, threading the needle in my fingers and then looking back at her. She’s not listening. She’s barely able to function let alone listen to me talk, but I need to get this out into the air, give it credence somehow. No one knows. Nate doesn’t, and Mother barely registered him as alive most of the time. But she loved him so much, said he was her baby, and that I had to look after him.

‘He’s not like you, Quinn. Not strong and brave.’

She said that to me the night after my first murder. Made me promise. She stood there with her finger running over the line of my open wound and asked me to protect my family.

I did.

Until now.

“What the fuck do we do now, dirty girl? You killed my brother and yet I’m still in love with you.”

It’s another question I haven’t got answers for as I clean the last of my bloodied leg up and begin pushing the needle through my skin. I hiss the first time, squeezing the opening together and pulling the suture through, but the second goes easier as my mind wanders off again. What do we do now?

“I should have left you that first night. Maybe called you the next time I was in town. We might have been better that way.” I snort and look at her again, watching her chest rise and fall. There is no way we can be better now. She’s complicit in murder, caused by me and my breed. The idea should turn me on. That any woman is ballsy enough to pull a trigger to protect her man should have me smirking, but it doesn’t cause a smile of any sort. It hurts me inside. Makes me want to take that away from her and make her clean again. That’s what she was to me. Dirty when I asked for it. Innocent the rest of the time. She was never meant to be pulled in this deep. “You wake up lucid again and I’ll take you out for dinner, treat you properly.”

She deserves that from me, not that I have a choice. The tables have turned. I’m in debt to her now. She saved my life, rightly or wrongly. I should give her my dice, have her spin them along a surface, tell me to call a number.

I finish up the rest of my sutures, spraying the wound, and head back to her with the rest of the supplies. She looks pretty, eyelashes fluttering as she sleeps, some colour coming back to her skin. That makes me smile. Probably the first one since I arrived in this country. I sit and brush her hair back, turning her face slightly to inspect the damage Josh caused. It’s deep, but not too long. Cleaned up right it shouldn’t scar badly.

It doesn’t take long to wipe it over and lay some strips across it. It seems to take longer for me to wipe the tracked mascara streams that still line her face. They fucking annoy me more than the cut does. The thought of another man causing them infuriates me. Brother or not. I wipe at them some more until there’s no makeup left at all, just her skin and the faint trace of a frown lingering while she sleeps. It feels good to soothe her and cleanse her of all this, rewarding somehow. She breathes easier as I touch her, her body seeming to fall deeper into sleep.

“I don’t know when it all changed, Em. I tried to keep him out of it, but he kept pushing me. He wasn’t supposed to get involved in this world. I just …” I shake my head at myself, wondering why I’m talking at all, and stare at her as those eyes flutter again. “He was supposed to be like you. Away from it and living a good life. Kept safe. That’s all I ever wanted for him. The youngest, you know? Fuck.” He was. He was meant to be the one on the outside, never having to look in and deal with Cane, but at some point he became half invested. Neither in nor out. Probably too mixed up in the rights and wrongs to understand the principles of business. And now, because of that and my failure, she lies here damaged and he’s gone. “And look at you here now. Fuck. None of this was supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to become a debt like the rest of them. You were just for me, Em. Just mine.” I stare at her, watching another breath rise in her chest softly, still waiting for her to erupt into a nightmare like my mother does. “I watch my mother like you now. I’ve seen her do what you’re doing now and then turn into a maniac because of what the Mortoni family did to her. What my damned father did to her.” I snarl and blow out, closer to killing the bastard each time I think about it. But this in front of me isn’t his fault, not this time. This is all me. “It wasn’t him this time, though, was it, dirty girl? It was me. I did all this. I caused this whole fucking thing and there’s not a damn thing I can do to rectify it now.”

She rolls a little onto her side, lips mumbling something as I watch on and wait for her to come round. Nothing happens other than soft breathing. “You’ve got to be stronger than that, Em. You hear me? You’ve got to wake up and deal with this. Win your own damn fight and prove to me you’re not screwed up like my mother. Fight me if you have to. Show me you’re still alive in there.” I half snort. Deal with it? How does an innocent deal with this shit and move on? Fuck knows. “It’s a damn mess, Em.”

Hours seem to go by and I watch the sun rise through the window, lighting up the room and bringing with it the realisation that she’ll wake soon. I need something to give her, something to make it safe in her mind. Quinn Cane should be furious with her for killing his brother. I’m not, though. I’m relieved she isn’t dead, too. I sip at my scotch, watching the sunrise and waiting for the inevitable words of apology to come from her again. “I’m sorry, Quinn.” Fuck knows why they mean so much. It wouldn’t have meant a damn thing from anyone else. They do from her.

She slowly stirs, legs curling up into herself. I’ve got nothing in my head but images of her in my bed at home, one she’s never slept in. I want her in it. I want her there in the mornings, there in the evenings. Hell, I want her there every time the sun rises and every time it sets. The vision is as fucking infuriating as it is beautiful.

“Quinn,” she mumbles as her fingers come up to her face. I smile and watch as she begins to come around. Soft movements, elegant whispers of touches across her skin as she stretches and pulls the blanket tighter to her. Her lips tip up, a flicker of a smile gracing bruised lips before she frowns and grimaces at some memory. And then the kicking starts, her body suddenly alive and fighting a battle that she’s already won. I stare for a while, waiting to see if she’ll fight her way out like my dirty girl always does. She’s reckless like this, hands and feet clawing, strength coming from places she never knew she had before me.

It suits her as much as the vision I saw two minutes ago.

Eventually she settles and squeezes her eyes tight, shaking her head into the sheets and whimpering. It makes me realise she’s pulled the trigger in her dreamlike state.

“I don’t blame you, Emily,” I say, smiling at the thought. She frowns but stills, her fingers loosening their grip on the blanket. “I just wish I knew why he did any of it in the first place.”

Her eyes open slowly at that, immediately latching onto mine as she sighs out a breath. She lies there perfectly still, no movement other than her eyes blinking.

“I heard you last night,” she whispers. “Some of the things you said.” I nod, not caring if she did or not and wondering which bits she did hear. “I felt you touching me, too.” My brow lifts, comforted with the thought that she allowed my hands on her after last night. Her hands slide up to under her cheek, a small frown gracing her forehead as she touches the strips across her cut. “It’s a damn mess, Em. That’s what you said.” I nod at that, too, a sigh coming from me as I wonder how to make it all right again. “He tried to rape me.” I keep nodding, nothing else to say on the subject. He’s dead now. She’s had her revenge for the act. “You really don’t blame me?” I shake my head and lift the bottle for more scotch, still unsure why I don’t but assuming love has something to do with it. “He said he hated you. He said he was taking what was owed to him, that he always had your seconds and this time he was going to make the most of it.” I scowl at the words, angry at the thought and trying to contain the rage that starts building. “He said he was tired of living in your shadow and that he deserved more than you allowed.”

I stand and walk to the bathroom, too wound up and confused about the words to carry on listening. She should bathe, remove the rest of the night from her skin, and then she can go back to her life. I’ll make some apology somehow, buy her studio and give it to her so she’s set up right for her future.

“Quinn?” I don’t answer. I turn on the bath to drown out the sound of her voice telling me things I don’t want to hear. It’s just reminding me that all of this, all this fucking mess is my fault. It’s a fault I’m not letting her invest anymore time in. She should go and be free again, away from anything I thought I might be able to offer. I walk back out and point to the bathroom.

“Clean up. I’ll call Shifty to come take you home soon.”

She gapes at me, but then nods quietly and moves to sit up on the bed. I leave at the same point as her mouth starts trying to talk again. She needs time alone to realise that this isn’t going to work. Whatever she heard me say makes little difference. My dirty girl needs to get on with the rest of her life without me in it, become who she once was again. Nate’s right. She’s not meant for this world, no matter how much she’s suddenly become a part of it.

“Quinn, please,” her voice says behind me. I turn to her and glare, warning her to stay away from the topic now. It’s done. Over. “I need to talk about this, please. I just need …” The scotch bottle flies from my hand and crashes at the wall, desperation to stop the conversation taking over my calm demeanour. She quivers, her feet taking a step back from me. She’s fucking right to. I just want her gone and safe. Away from me. “Quinn?”

“No. No more talking, Em. This is over now. Get cleaned up and then you can go.”

“But I...” My blood boils as she keeps standing there, confusing me further. Part of me wants to pull her close and the other wants to make her disappear. “I think I... If you’d just talk like last night we could—”

“Why the fuck did you protect me?” I yell before I can stop it, the sound of the shot still so damn loud in my mind. She stalls her mouth, fingers coming up to it in fear. “Stupid girl.” The vision of fear pisses me off more than the continued ring of the bullet. I sneer at it, annoyed that any of us are where we are now with no ability to turn back time. “Welcome to my world, dirty girl. You pulled a trigger. You’ve become one of the fucking damned.” Because of me. She falters her feet backward, shaking her head at my scowl as I move forward into her. “Innocence finally shattered along with the rest of us.”

She hovers there like a bluebird in the middle of chaos, no chance of finding her way out of the mess I’ve created for her. I stop four feet from her, desperate to tell her she’ll be fine and unable to do so. She might never be fine again. She’ll be changed for the rest of her life and the only thing I can do is repay a debt I never asked to be indebted to.

I sigh and calm my turmoil, my hand reaching for her regardless of the fact that I won’t let my feet move. She’ll stay there, away from me. She’ll go back to being safe and manage life the best way she can. It’s easiest that way. Better for both of us.

“I’ll make sure the studio’s paid off so you don’t have to worry about money, set up a bank account. Hell, you want the house you live in? You can have that, too.” She frowns and hardens her features, some thought flicking through her mind to change her from scared to irritated. “Whatever you need to get on with life, just ask and it’s yours.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because that’s how I pay my debts, Emily. The tables turned last night. You saved my life for whatever reason. This is all I can give you in repayment.”

That’s all I’ve got to give, because this love isn’t worth her having. I’m not bringing her further into a world she’s not meant for. She can go on without it.

Without me.