His words were nothing short of a dagger piercing my heart over and over again. I began pacing, moving away from Dom before my fist connected with his large nose. I circled the pool table, snagged the eight ball, and rolled it in my hands.
Maggie rushed to my side. “You need to breathe.”
I was trying to make sense of what I was hearing.
I haven’t heard from Emily in two weeks.
You’re the one she looked up to.
The one she trusted.
He was only regurgitating what he knew and what Grace had told him.
I’d failed her.
The pool table separated Dom and me, and if it hadn’t weighed a ton, I would have flipped the fucker over.
Dom’s words were on repeat in my head.
Maggie’s small hand rested on my back, rubbing lazy circles, hoping to soothe the raging lion inside me.
I tossed the ball on the table, and it landed with a loudthwack. Then I shoved my hands through my hair and paced again. Maggie gave me a pitying look. I wanted to tell her I didn’t need her pity. I was the one at fault. I was the one who had left Grace. I was the one who’d forced her onto the streets of Boston. The only thing that made me not lose my shit even more was that she was alive.
I came to an abrupt halt at the archway and looked into the club, scanning for that girl I’d seen at the jukebox. My old man had described Grace as having hair shorter than mine. That girl at the jukebox had had short brown hair, almost cut into a style that mirrored Dom’s. But from where I’d been standing, I couldn’t tell if that girl had had a hummingbird tat.
Not looking at Dom, I said, “Describe Grace to me.”
“Aside from the tat on her neck, she has others on her arms, much like you do. Her hair is short, cut over her ears, long on top, and she’s beautiful, if you ask me.” He sounded sad, as though he were remembering a lost love.
The girl at the jukebox hadn’t had tats on her arms. “Are you in love with my sister?” I returned to Maggie’s side. I was doing the math in my head. Grace was twenty. Dom appeared to be in his twenties, around my age, I would guess. “When did you meet my sister?” I shouldn’t be trying to play big brother and beat Dom’s head in for liking my sister. I had no business deciding who Grace dated. I’d lost that right the day I left for the merchant marines.
“Grace is alive, Dillon,” Maggie muttered. I got the impression she was trying to convince herself more than me.
Dom rubbed his chin. “I met Emily about nine months ago. Actually, I found her stealing food from a grocery store. She was filthy, bruised, and her hair was caked in blood.”
I hated to think what had happened to Grace. The way he was describing her reminded me of Nadine.
Dom pressed his lips tightly together. “I gave her a room, a warm bed, and food.”
Maggie and I rounded the pool table, then Maggie hopped up while I stood.
“I tried to ask her where she’d been,” Dom continued, sitting on the edge of the stool along the wall. “Who messed her up? But she wouldn’t talk. I tried to get my sister”—he pointed a finger at the entrance—“Fi, the girl with black hair, to talk to her. But Fi struck out too. I’ve never touched your sister. I’ve never slept with her either.” He touched his chest. “I swear, man.”
While I believed him, Dom and Grace sleeping together wasn’t why I was boring holes into him. “Continue.”
He lowered his shoulders. “All I did was give her a bed to crash. She came and went. After about a month, she started leaving money on the kitchen table before she left in the morning. On a few occasions, she would hang out with Fi and me here before the fire gutted the joint. She was always quiet. Kept to herself. As long as I knew she was safe, I didn’t question her. Where she went during the day, I couldn’t say. How she got money, I don’t know.” Dom sighed heavily. “I’m worried about her.”
I folded my arms over my chest. “So if she hardly spoke, then how do you know about me, and how do you know she trusted me?” Something wasn’t adding up. He sounded as though he knew her but didn’t know her. He was leaving something out.
He gnawed on his lip. “I overheard a phone conversation. She mentioned your name and another name.” His forehead creased. “Duke, if I remember correctly.”
Motherfucker.
“So you’re saying she was talking to Duke?” My gut coiled like a rattlesnake ready to sink its fangs into someone.
He shrugged his wide shoulders. “Don’t know. Why? Is he related to you?”
Maggie listened intently.
