“The Montague side didn’t. We’ve always handled our own shit. But things are changing.” She looks up at me, then glances at something over my shoulder. When I turn to follow her line of sight, I watch Sloane gather the skirt of her wedding dress so she can sit on Rowan’s lap. His arm wraps around her waist, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled to the elbows, his recent tattoo a burst of black and color across healed scars. They whisper to each other as they pass the bottle of whiskey between them. “The Montague side of the family is going to need to outsource soon,” Lark says, drawing my attention back to her. “Protection. Fixing. Cleaning. It won’t be as much work as my stepdad’s contract, but still enough to be of interest to your boss, I’m sure.”
“What’s the business? If it’s drug smuggling, I won’t do it.”
Lark rolls her eyes. “It’s not drug smuggling.”
“What then, weapons? Shipping logistics? Investments?”
Lark takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders. “Muffins.”
“Muffins …? Your family’s big bad business is feckin’ muffins?”
Lark jabs a finger into my chest. “Do you not know the mass market food industry is full of sociopaths and murderers and dodgy-as-fuck behavior?” Lark hisses as I dissolve into laughter. “Have you never heard of the history of literally any food and beverage franchise or producer? Montague Muffins can psycho with the best of them.”
“And you need contracts. For your muffin business.”
“It’s a highly competitive industry. Don’t you know Bob’s Banoffees? That guy’s always riding my aunt’s ass.”
I briefly raise my hand from her waist in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, okay, I believe you. Anyone who feels the need to argue that point clearly fits the bill.”
“Fine. Maybe sometimes weapons might get shipped with a batch or two, but mostly it’s just about the muffins.” Lark rolls her eyes and shifts her attention to the other couples on the dance floor. Her steps become smaller as she watches them, her movements stiff. Maybe it’s just nerves that I sense in her. She’s clearly worried about getting to the point of what she wants out of this proposed deal. But when her eyes linger on Conor and his wife, Gabriela, as they dance nearby, it isn’t just anxiety that I see in Lark. It looks like loss. Like surrender. Like she’s trying to wrap herself in tight armor, when all she really wants, all she really needs, is just a deep breath of cool air.
I know what that looks like, because I know what it feels like. “What is it you want from me? Because I’m not going to gnaw my leg free from one trap just to find myself caught in another.”
“Spoken like a true trash panda,” Lark says with a fleeting, melancholy smile. When she tugs her gaze away from Conor and Gabriela, she keeps her eyes away from mine, her face pale. “It seems as though someone is killing off my mother and stepfather’s business associates. It’s spilling into my extended family. And this isn’t really the kind of thing where we want the police nosing around in our shit. I’m sure you can understand wanting to keep law officials away from the people you love, right?”
“Right,” I reply, my voice grim. I automatically scan the room to find my brothers. “Do you have anything to go on?”
“Nothing concrete yet aside from a set schedule. The killer seems to be targeting the victims when they’re alone and leaves nothing behind. But I’m hoping you’ll be able to help me put the pieces together. From what I understand, that kind of thing is in your skill set.” Lark nods in Rowan and Sloane’s direction. “You know how to investigate crime as much as you know how to cause it. I know you’ve put together information for their annual game.”
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you know about that.”
“Let’s just assume from now on that I know more about you than you do about me, shall we?”
Lark’s snide little glare isn’t just a swipe at me, it’s a warning. And though I try to keep my expression neutral, we both know she’s right. Ever since the night we met, I’ve done my best to avoid anything that has to do with her, mostly out of sheer shame and stubbornness. The consequence? Lark Montague now has the upper hand.
“So my boss gets the two contracts, you get the murderer, and I get my freedom. Everybody wins. Does that sum it up?”
Fine lines crinkle at the corners of her eyes as Lark’s face scrunches in a cringe. “Almost.”
“What do you mean, almost?”
“There’s a slight catch.”
“Can’t wait to hear this.”
“We need to get married.”
“Bollocks.” I snort a laugh, but nothing in Lark’s expression changes. I laugh again and it’s a derisive, mirthless sound, but she doesn’t flinch. “Oh my feckin’ Christ, you’re bloody serious.”
“Sadly.”
“Why …? Why the hell would we need to do that?”
“Because it’s the only way I can guarantee your safety. My family sees you as a likely suspect.”
“Me.”
“Disgruntled assassin with the means to exact precise revenge on the people who fucked up his contract killer gig? Kinda fits the bill, don’t you think?”
I see what she means but I don’t want to give it to her. “No,” I say.
Lark sighs, exasperated. “Does it even matter if it’s not you? You’re a strong contender as a potential threat, so to them it’s better just to put you down and see if that solves the problem. And me vouching for you won’t fix it. My parents won’t care if they think we’re friends. They won’t care if I tell them I hired you myself. And they won’t care if we’re just dating. But marriage …?” Lark pauses. Her blue eyes glisten but she quickly looks away. “Marriage is different. It’s a vow they both take very seriously, and they won’t fuck with it if they believe it’s what I really want. They wouldn’t risk hurting me that way. Especially my stepdad. He’s kind of old school like that when it comes to the people he cherishes.”
I scoff and roll my eyes, trying to hide the growing sense of dread I feel. “This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had a target on my back. I can ride this out on my own. Sorry about the deaths and all, but I’m sure you’ll be just fine.” Though I say those words out loud, I immediately want to cram them back in my salty feckin’ mouth. I resolve to look into the situation of the murders in Lark’s inner circle without the additional burden of having her around.
“Right. I feel your concern for my well-being in my very soul. But since you’re clearly not motivated by my health and happiness, which tracks, you should know that you and I aren’t the only ones on the line.” Lark’s determination is a fortress when she nods toward Rowan and Sloane, and I can only break against her like a wave. “They know enough about your brother to think he’s a risk. And they don’t suffer risks, they mitigate them. To my family, it’s best to put down all the strays.”
It takes a moment for me to realize that we’ve stopped moving, or that I’ve stopped breathing. That other couples pass us. That the song has changed. We’re suspended in time, and all I see are the variegated blues in Lark’s eyes anchoring me in place.
Lark’s hand slips from mine. My heartbeat thumps in my ears and dampens every other sound but her voice when she says, “Without me, Lachlan Kane, you’re going to die. And I can’t guarantee the reckoning will stop at you.”
And then she backs away, just out of reach.
A round of hoots and applause shocks me out of my stupor as Rowan takes the small stage next to the DJ, microphone in one hand, whiskey in the other. He tilts his bottle in my direction and winks as he clears his throat and belts out the first lines to “The Rocky Road to Dublin.”
“Let me know if we have a deal by the end of the night,” Lark says, her voice grave as it rises above the off-key lyrics that leak from the speakers. “We don’t have much time.”
Lark plasters on a smile and turns away from me to join the crowd in front of Rowan. He beams as she cheers louder than anyone else and sings along.
One two three four five
Hunt the Hare and turn her down the rocky road
All the way to Dublin.
JUSTICE
Lark
“This is probably one of the worst days of my life,” I say as I dispense a burst of spray adhesive onto the petals of a pristine white rose.
A string of swears and pleas and panicked exhalations accompanies the song that plays in the background.
“I mean, I can’t say it’s the worst, but definitely top five for sure. Probably number three. And considering that the top two spots have involved gruesome deaths and harrowing, traumatic experiences that carved indelible marks into my very soul, that’s really quite the accomplishment for a wedding day.”