“How are you feeling?” he asked tightly. I had an inkling the mere idea of pretending to care made his skin crawl, yet I oddly appreciated his concern, even if it wasn’t genuine.

“Fine.” I rubbed my forehead. “Just tired. Overstimulated.”

“Stay at my place. I have a spare bedroom and zero fucked-up parents living under my roof.”

“And I have two brothers who’d kill me if they find out I spent the night with you.” I sighed, inwardly admitting the offer was very tempting.

Sam wasn’t going to go to war with Da and my brothers just to be with me. I came to terms with that a long time ago. So there was no point in accepting his offer and creating more tension between him and the men in my family.

“A dead Aisling would make life easier for me. The offer still stands,” Sam remarked.

“Charming, but I’ll pass. I don’t go where I’m not welcome.”

“Since when?” he asked, dead serious.

“Since always.” I felt my cheeks flush. “For your information, you’re the only person to bring the crazy out in me.”

“Dangerous dick tends to do that to good girls.” He kicked the back door to his office open. “I had no idea things were that bad at home.”

We poured outside into Boston’s December freeze. A thin layer of ice coated everything, from the ground to the buildings and glass panes of windows. Red, white, and gold Christmas decorations hung on the streetlamps twinkled back at us. Sam clasped the back of my neck possessively, leading me to his Porsche like I was his prisoner.

“They weren’t always,” I heard myself say. “There had been ups and downs. Being the backbone of the family wasn’t so bad when the posture of our skeleton wasn’t terrible. The last weeks were the worst, though. Ever since the media picked up the story of Da’s stupid affair, things began deteriorating. Then the poisoning happened and the mysterious threatening letters. The heirloom cufflinks were the cherry on top of the crap cake.”

Sam unlocked his car and helped me inside the passenger seat. The drive to my house was quiet.

The first portion of it, anyway.

When we reached the affluence of the Back Bay, a silver Bentley closed in on us from behind. Sam’s eyes flicked to it in his rearview mirror. The Bentley sped up, kissing our bumper once and sending us flying forward with a jerk.

“Shit,” Sam muttered. “Unbuckle yourself, duck your head, and cover it with both hands, Nix.”

“What?” My blood froze in my veins. “Wh-why?”

“Just do it.”

“But—”

Sam didn’t wait for me to finish my sentence. He took a sharp left turn, driving over the manicured lawn of someone’s front yard as he sliced through a junction, not stopping at a traffic sign, and sped through a side street. The first bullet pierced the rear window and popped into the AC unit, where it got stuck.

“Motherfucker,” Sam hissed, still completely calm. He grabbed the back of my head roughly, dipping it further down, leaning toward me to ensure I was tucked away as carefully as possible. The car skidded, and I knew that the fact it had been snowing and the road was extra slippery didn’t work in our favor.

“On the floor, Nix.”

“Sam,” I screeched, terrified, “don’t lean toward me! They’ll shoot you if you do.”

“Better me than you.”

Another shot pierced through the rear window. It made it shatter completely. The glass came down in a sheet. Sam jumped on top of me, his torso covering my body, blocking me from harm, but still somehow driving.

“What are you doing!” I moaned. “You’re going to get yourself killed. Drive!”

He floored the accelerator. The car started to sound like a plane taking off. Then, without warning, he swiveled, making a sharp U-turn and speeding up again. Since my head was tucked firmly below my seat, I couldn’t tell if we lost whoever was after us or not.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” I chanced a look at him through my periphery, noticing that his arm was bleeding. He caught a bullet while pushing me down to the floor. He took a bullet for me.

“You’re bleeding,” I said.

He groaned but didn’t say anything.

“Are we safe?” I asked.

Sam didn’t answer. I could tell he was concentrating on deciding which turn he was going to take next. I guessed driving home was out of the question. He was hardly going to lead his enemies to his doorstep.

“Who are they?” Tucked under the passenger seat, I pressed, my knees knocking against my chin as my teeth chattered. I’d never been this scared in my life. The kind of fear that seeps into your bones and burrows into your soul.

“Bratva. The Russians.”

“They own Brookline,” I murmured. I knew that. Everyone knew that. My parents hadn’t allowed me into their neighborhoods fearing I’d get kidnapped for ransom.

“Not anymore.”

“They’re trying to kill you because you took over their territory?”

“Conquered, fair and square. If they find you in my car, they’ll have a merry good time milking your daddy for money. But they’ll gang-rape and torture you first. Which is why you need to stay the fuck down and let me handle this.”

I heard another shot fired toward us. I squeezed my eyes shut, keeping my head bent, just like he told me. Sam took another sharp turn. He opened the glove compartment above my head, knocking my forehead in the process. He took out a gun, stopped the car, then reversed fast. He turned around and started heading in the Bentley’s direction, releasing the gun’s safety, a devious smirk on his face, his eyes zinging with determination.

He is playing chicken.

I wanted to claw his face to ribbons.

The buzzing coming from the Bentley became louder, and I knew they were close. Sam stretched his arm outside his open window and fired two shots.

Time and space hung above our heads, suspended.

I heard a scream. A moan. Then footsteps over damp concrete, the crunching of the snow underneath someone’s feet. Someone running. Fleeing. Sobbing.

“You can come up now,” Sam murmured, stone-cold. Numb, I slid back to my seat, buckled up, and moved a shaky hand over my raven hair.

Sam slowed his vehicle, and I noticed he was following a man. I only saw the back of him. A scrawny figure with blond messy hair and a prominent limp. He wore baggy sweatpants and matching hoodie. The glow-in-the-dark type. Sam directed his gun at his head, holding it steadily.

“Are you going to shoot him?” I whispered.

“Only cowards shoot people in the back, Nix. I’ll shoot him in the face. Respectfully, of course.”

I didn’t know if he was being sarcastic or purposely crass. Either option seemed completely unsuitable for the ears of a lady. But that was the essence of Sam Brennan. He would take a bullet for me without even thinking twice about it but trash-talk to the moon and back in my presence.

The man stumbled on the uneven cobblestone of the sidewalk, trying to pick up his pace when he heard us driving by his side. It was futile. Sam had already caught him. The Monster was now playing with its food.

The man’s shoulders quaked, and he sniffled loudly.

“Please.” I put a hand on Sam’s arm, the one that wasn’t holding the gun. “Don’t make things worse.”