“But—“
Oh, for crying out loud. “Say I’d kept you. How much would you resent me for spending more than half your life in prison? How embarrassed would you have been when your friends found out about me? The only reason you don’t feel those things now is because I’m not the person you counted on to be there for you.”
Tears slipped down Shannon’s smooth cheeks. “You didn’t want me then and you don’t want me now. I get it.”
“Fuck.” Killian reached over and grabbed the girl’s hand in a grip that was probably a little too tight. “What I want—what I’ve always wanted—is for you to have the best life possible. That’s a life I knew I couldn’t give you. I pulled a gun on you, for Christ’s sake.”
To her surprise, Shannon laughed. “Fucking psycho.”
Killian grinned and moved her hand up to cup the girl’s face. “Listen to me. You’re the best thing I’ve ever done. And the best thing I ever could have done for you was let my sister raise you. This doesn’t have to be a soap opera unless you make it one.”
Shannon nodded. “Okay.”
“I’m going to grab a shower. Don’t eat all the wontons before I get back.”
A few minutes later, Killian stood beneath a pounding spray of water, thinking about that day more than sixteen years ago when she’d made the most difficult and painful decision of her life. She’d made the right one; she knew that with all her heart.
But that didn’t stop her from crying over it.
Shannon was still asleep in the guest room when Killian woke a few hours later. It wasn’t a surprise; the kid was like a cat. She’d sleep all day if you let her. Killian quietly dressed in her running gear and left the apartment.
Spring in Connecticut was a strange thing. It started off wet and messy and then quickly jumped into hot and oppressive, which meant humidity levels that could feel like an anvil to the chest. That morning it was blessedly cool, but the sun had already begun its ascent into the sky and it wouldn’t be long before cool gave way to hot. All the weather apps were calling for record highs that Memorial Day weekend.
She jogged to a nearby park where there was a playground and did her usual routine of crunches and pull-ups on the various equipment. Hanging from the monkey bars, she repeatedly tucked her knees up to her chest until her shoulders burned and her abs protested.
Killian dropped to the ground to find a young woman with a toddler watching her.
“Hi,” she said, rolling her shoulders.
“You make me want to run home and join a gym,” the woman replied with a slight smile. “I thought chasing him was all the exercise I needed, but seeing you I’m pretty sure I’m wrong.”
Laughing, Killian shook her arms at her sides. “I’m sure he keeps you on your toes.”
It was obvious from the way the woman looked at the kid that she was enraptured. “He sure does.” The toddler bolted toward the swings, giving his mother no choice but to follow. “Have a nice day,” she called as she gave chase.
Killian watched them go, waiting to see if she got that pang she’d heard other women talk about, but nothing happened. She might have doubts or regrets when it came to Shannon, but there was one simple fact Killian couldn’t ignore—she had never wanted to be a mother. In fact, the thought of being responsible for another person like that made her uneasy.
When Rank Cirello kidnapped Shannon last fall to force Killian to come after him, he’d pushed the right buttons. Killian had been more scared than she would admit, and she beat the snot out of every last person who stood in her way when she set out to bring the girl home. But when she brought Shannon home, it was to Megan’s house, not hers.
She really did love the kid as much as she was able. It just wasn’t what Shannon deserved.
Turning away, Killian limbered up for her run home and set out for her apartment. It was several degrees warmer than it had been when she’d left, the sun inching closer to noon.
There was a shiny silver Jaguar she didn’t recognize parked on the street in front of her building when she approached. It was a little flashy for that neighborhood, the kind of car that attracted attention. Her friend Story, who was a professional driver, would never be caught dead in one for that reason.
She walked into the apartment greeted by the smell of bacon and eggs and coffee. Shannon might be difficult sometimes, but the girl was one hell of a cook. Killian toed off her sneakers and padded into the kitchen, stomach grumbling.
“Smells good,” she said, then stopped in her tracks.
Raven Madera sat at the table with Shannon, drinking a cup of coffee. Dressed in a red jumpsuit and heels that screamed money, she looked more like she was ready to hang out in the VIP section than pay a social call. She raised a sharply arched brow at the sight of Killian. “Too bad you don’t,” she quipped.
Killian might have rolled her eyes if she trusted her old cellmate enough to take her gaze off her for that long.
“What are you doing here?”
Shannon got up from the table and poured a cup of coffee, which she then handed to Killian. “Raven needs your help. Sit down. I’ll get your breakfast while she tells you about it.”
Killian’s gaze narrowed. “Figured telling her would increase the chances of me saying yes, huh?” Shannon had witnessed firsthand the kind of violence of which Killian was capable; there was no point hiding what she did for a living from her.
Raven smiled coyly, her full lips the color of ripe cherries. “Something like that.”
“You could have called.”
“This is the kind of conversation I like to have face-to-face.”
“It’s a conversation you should have with someone else,” Killian told her. “I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling.”
“Killy,” she admonished softly. Killian scowled. How many times had she heard that husky voice whisper her name in the dark? Raven had been her cellmate, her friend, and her lover for several years. It had all been a setup—Raven had been planted there by Maxine—and Killian hadn’t found a way to forgive her for it just yet.
“Please, sit,” Raven tried again. “I’m here because I need your help and you’re the only person who can do what needs to be done.”
Those were the last words she expected to hear from a woman Killian had once seen beat the snot out of three inmates and a guard. Against her better judgment, she pulled a chair out from the table and sat down across from Raven. Shannon set a plate in front of her before joining them.
She was ravenous and not even a snake at her table could stop her from digging in. “What kind of help?” she asked, cutting into a fried egg with her fork.
“The personal kind.”
“Does Maxine know you’re here?”
“Of course.” The other woman sighed, shifting her long body. She was beautiful in an intimidating kind of way—dark skin, high cheekbones, eyes that were almost black, and glossy natural curls. Her father was Puerto Rican and her mother was from Ghana. They divorced when Raven was five—if she’d been telling the truth—but they made three beautiful babies first. “I wouldn’t be here if she didn’t.”