I try to scramble from Spark’s lap, but he simply holds me tighter. “Come back to me, little chick.”
Adrenaline. Pain. They all surge around my body. I shake. Not from cold, because Spark radiates heat. My body no longer feels like my own.
“Jesus, are you hurt anywhere I can’t see?” he asks.
“I think . . . so.” My words come on sobs.
“We’ll get you through this,” he says, his voice tortured. “That’s an ironclad promise, Iris.”
I look up at him. He’s aged since the morning. I focus on him, trying to catch the whisper of myself I seem to have lost in his eyes. “I knew you’d come.”
He places his lips to the side of my head. “Always. Smart girl to set off the alarm.”
The world is coming into focus. “Shit, I’m naked,” I whisper, and I start to cry again. Like everything that has already happened wasn’t degrading enough.
“It’s okay, little chick. No one can see. I’ve got you. And so what if you’re naked? You fucking lived, Iris. You were smart. Made clever choices.”
I look up at that goddamn hook. “Not always.”
“You kept yourself alive. It’s everything.”
He’s right. My prayers came true. “I’m alive.”
“Yeah, little chick. You fucking are.”
Suddenly, the sound of bullets stops. There is groaning, and crying, and words being fired at each other, but no bullets.
I take in a breath. Then another. I focus on the way Spark keeps kissing the top of my head, the solid strength of his thighs beneath me. The fierceness of his hold, so tight, I can barely breathe. But it helps me find a kind of calm.
When he finally straightens, he grabs the hem of his T-shirt and does his best to clean up my face. “You okay if I kiss you now?” he asks.
I nod.
And he does. It’s the gentlest of kisses, a whisper of a touch on my broken face. “I’m sorry it took so long. But I’ll always come find you, Iris.”
He turns me so I’m sitting with my back to his chest, then removes his cut and T-shirt. Gently, he places his T-shirt over my head. “This might hurt,” he says, taking great care to thread my arms through the sleeves.
I whimper, and he kisses the side of my neck.
Once I’m in the T-shirt, he pulls me back into his arms. “I know it would be easier to be seen by Switch,” I say, “but I think I need an x-ray. I don’t . . . I don’t think I can pretend this didn’t happen. I can’t let Switch treat me and not report this to the police. There were four more women. They talked about selling perfect wives. Did you see them?”
Spark shakes his head. “I’m sorry. We didn’t. And I understand. Give us a chance to figure out what we need to do to make that happen.”
“I also . . . I don’t think . . . shit.”
Spark holds me closer. “Whatever it is, tell me. We get through all this together.”
“I was unconscious for chunks of time. I don’t know if he raped me. He did other things . . . I . . . oh, God.”
“Iris.” His voice is filled with anguish. “I’m so sorry. We’ll get you to a hospital. Fuck everything else.”
“Iris.” Cillian’s voice makes me jump.
“I’ve got you,” Spark whispers as he kisses my temple and offers me his hand to stand. Then he climbs to his feet next to me, reaching for me as I stumble. Everything hurts. My wrist. My arms. My face. My ribs. Even my knees and feet, from kicking my assailant and scraping my toes on the floor.
Cillian sighs when he looks at me. It’s heartfelt. In that one stream of breath, I can see beneath the cool demeanor.
He reaches out his hand, but I step back into Spark. I don’t want anyone else to touch me. Not yet.
Noticing my action, Cillian drops his hand. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry,” I sob. “Like that covers any of this. Revenge for a dead man meant more to you than my life.”
“You were never meant to be harmed,” he concedes. “You’re free of me, Iris. You want free of Jersey; I’ll give you the money to go. You can take Michael with you. And so you know: I love Michael with my whole heart. I never intended to stop anything. I just knew you’d believe that I would.”
“You bastard,” I say, my voice cracking. My throat is raw.
“I am. You have my word that Michael can come live with you when you are recovered and ready. I’ll pay for whatever support he needs.”
All my life, I thought it was what I wanted. To be free of this.
I look up at Spark, see the tension in his shoulders.
He came for me.
He never tested me or tried to make me prove my feelings for him.
He protected me without needing anything in return.
He loves me.
“I want Michael with me. But I’m staying here. With Spark.”
His hand slips around mine and squeezes it gently.
Cillian nods. Once. “For what it’s worth, I loved all three of you.” He looks to Spark. “She gets hurt again, I’ll kill you myself.”
“Stop making threats.” I try to shout the words but my voice cracks. “Please. Put an end to this.”
King joins us and Spark stands taller.
“King and I made our peace,” Cillian says. “It’s settled.”
Tears sting my eyes. The world goes blurry. “Because Spark paid you. If you really want peace, don’t take his money.”
“How did you know?” Spark asks, but I’m too tired, too sore, too shaken to fight with him.
Cillian offers Spark his palm. “We’ll consider everything settled.”
Spark shakes his hand. “How about we stop threatening to kill each other and work together instead?” Spark says.
King and Cillian both turn to him, and I’m proud of him, of the way both of them want to listen to what he has to say.
“The harbor has always been an issue because the channel splits the two states, but the biggest dock is on the Jersey side and still has huge interference from the Italians,” Spark says. “What if we work together to reclaim it, and then you manage the New York side, and we’ll manage Jersey? We’d run your weapons because we have the connections, and you’d supplement our manpower and funds to get control of the docks.”
I’m anxious to hear what my uncle says in response, but the queasy feeling turns into spinning and then darkness.
38
SPARK
I hurry Iris to the van and Saint follows me with the keys. The others are still inside, figuring out how much cleanup is required. But all I give a fuck about is the woman in my arms. Her head lolls as gravel crunches beneath my boots. It’s cold, so she must be freezing in just my shirt.
“Fuck, hold on, Iris,” I mumble. I don’t know how much damage has been done to her. I just know that a piece of me died when I saw her hanging from a fucking hook.
The image is burned into my brain for all time. And if it feels this awful for me, I can only image her pain.
“She’s going to need to tell the truth of what happened here,” Saint says.
“Can’t think about that now. Open the door.”