Thrown, I clear my throat. “It’s… Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. Especially if you get caught.”
“I won’t get caught.”
“You already did.” He steps away, shaking his head. “Who are you working for?”
“No one.”
“Who is supplying the drugs?”
“I’m not telling you that.” I take a breath.
My best friend stares at me like he’s seeing me for the first time. “Are you getting even with dealers because someone hooked you?”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I don’t take responsibility for my actions. I could have said no. I didn’t.” I brush a hand down my face. “I’m focusing on taking out the dealers who evade the system, the ones the law can’t keep off the streets.”
“Judge, jury, and executioner,” he grouses, maybe wishing he had the power.
“They’re guilty,” I argue. “Selling drugs and ruining lives. Killing people who overdose. I don’t move until I witness the sale, then I take them out. It’s not like I’m showing up at someone’s apartment with a syringe hoping I get the right guy.”
“I see.” Trace lets that one judgy word settle. “Since you’re open to street work, I can use you for one of these fentanyl kills.”
My eyebrow raises. Irony dripping, I scoff, “Oh, I can kill for the empire.”
“Quinlan Empire will protect you,” he says proudly. “There’s a ghost from Ava’s past we’re tracking. But he’s not a dealer.”
“Just this one?” Up until now I’ve been on a transactional quest. Dealers only.
“Kill, yeah. And maybe treat some of my guys who can’t go to a hospital?”
I sit up, alarmed. “You want a private clinic, too?”
He blinks. “If you’re open to getting calls in the middle of the night.”
I didn’t want to be a part of this world. Now Darragh is married to a Bratva underboss, my sister is married to a Mob enforcer, and I might be working for them, too.
There’s no escaping who you really are, I guess. What runs and burns in the blood. Part of my healing was learning to let my true destiny guide me.
“Can I bring in a med student or two to observe?” I ask, thinking some of those Hamilton students can use a dose of emergency medicine reality. “It would be a great experience for them. A good way to find out who in the medical field you can trust once they graduate.”
“That’s risky,” Trace says. “I was hoping that would be you.”
“I’m one man,” I say, and shake my head like I’m forecasting my own demise.
“But if you think you can find the right students, trustworthy ones, I’m good with it. I’ll run it by Griffin.”
Griffin Quinlan is now the new head of the Irish Mob in Lower Manhattan. He and his brothers, Connor and Shane, escorted me to Ireland for my incarceration at the request of Lachlan. But those Quinlan brats flew back there when Trace and my sister were in trouble.
For that, they’ll always have my loyalty.
“When do you plan to start looking for a wife?” Trace changes the subject.
“I don’t know.” I shake my head.
“Do you want help finding one? We have loyal guards with sisters.”
For some reason, my mind strays to how one day, J.P. will be Pakhan. Shit, he’ll probably have to marry someRussian royal if that ever happens.