“Right,” she said, nodding. “Drilled it into them.”
“Good.” I helped her outside.
Irene jumped out of hiding and scared the shit out of me. She ran to Sasha, sucked in a shocked breath, then got under her other arm. “Are you okay?” Irene asked. “Oh my god, you’re shot.”
“I’m fine,” Sasha said, smiling weakly. “We’re going to a doctor.”
“There’s one at the manor,” I said. “Don Valentino put one on standby for tonight.”
“Let’s go then,” Irene said.
We hurried back to the car. I got them in the back seat then drove away into the night just as the girls filed out of the house. I watched in the rearview as they yanked the bodies from the Healy cars and began to get inside.
More texts came throughout the night. In all, five girls died, eight more were injured, and most of the rest met up at the Valentino mansion. Some ran off and went on their own, and I wished them good luck.
Twenty-six Healy men died that night, including Ronan. Only two got away.
Those fucking girls. Those warriors.
I met Irene’s eye as she pressed her hand against Sasha’s wound and she grinned at me, and I couldn’t help but smile back, because I knew that this was over—but the real stuff, the good stuff, had just begun.
23
Irene
Two Years Later
Someone banged so hard on our front door that the hinges shook. “Hold on!” I shouted as I struggled to stand up.
I grunted and cupped a hand under my pregnant belly. I was seven months along and couldn’t wait to give birth, mostly because I wanted to stop sweating so damn much. Cam installed central air in the townhouse we bought near Passyunk Avenue and renovated, but it still didn’t seem to cool things enough.
I walked as fast as I could to the door and yanked it open.
Sasha beamed in at me. “‘Sup girl,” she said and walked inside without waiting for an invitation.
“‘Sup yourself,” I said, closing the door behind her. She flopped down onto the couch and beamed up at me.
Sasha looked good. She gained weight since everything happened, but it suited her. The bags under her eyes were gone and her skin looked healthier. She was still loud and obnoxious and hilarious, the same Sasha I met two years earlier, but she’d grown into someone comfortable in her own skin and didn’t give a damn about what anyone thought of her.
So really she hadn’t changed all that much.
I walked over and sat down next to her, gingerly putting my feet up on the coffee table. I sighed and leaned my head against Sasha’s shoulder.
She tugged at my hair and started braiding a few strands.
“I’m exhausted,” I said. “Just absolutely exhausted.”
“What’d you do so far today?” Sasha asked.
“Woke up,” I said. “Showered. Came downstairs. That’s a lot when you’re as pregnant as I am.”
“Good point,” Sasha said and pressed a hand against my bump. “Look at that, he’s kicking.”
I could feel it, a constant rhythm. I didn’t know if it was a boy or a girl, but I thought it might be a boy, just based on how much he liked to roll around in there. But that didn’t really mean anything. Cam said he didn’t care either way, just wanted a healthy child, and I agreed.
Although I had better boy names than girl names.
“Are you here because you’re nervous?” I asked absently, pretending like I wasn’t really all that interested when I was actually dying to ask a million questions.
“Since when did I need a reason to come visit you?” she asked.
“Since never, considering you appear at least once a day,” I said.
“You love it,” she said, laughing. Sasha lived in an apartment that Cam bought for her right after everything happened. We moved in a few houses down about six months later when our current house went up for sale. It was complete luck, or kismet, or whatever.
But I loved living near Sasha. Cam said he liked it too, although I wondered about that. She wasn’t shy about showing up and hanging around, even when I was out running errands. Sometimes I’d come home to find her sitting on the couch with Cam watching baseball or something, and he’d give me a look like, thank god you’re home.
“Are you going to tell me about him or do I have to guess?” I asked, nudging up against her.
Sasha groaned. “I don’t want to say.”
“Come on, please?”
“All right, fine, since you’ll hear about it eventually anyway.” She started braiding a new section of hair. “His name’s Adam and he’s a dentist.”
“Wow,” I said. “Dentist. That’s amazingly boring.”
“I know,” she said, grinning. “I love it though.”
Sasha hadn’t been on any dates in the last two years, at least none that she’d told me about. She kept saying she wanted to spend time with herself and figure out how she was going to live in a world where she had her freedom, but I had a feeling she was still dealing with her trauma.