One thing I could always trust Brigid for was a good supply of booze, and after the poor excuse for beer I'd had to force down at the bar, I really needed it.

Although I was the one who spent their nights pouring drinks and Trevor worked as a bouncer, he was definitely the mixologist of our little group. He mixed up three drinks in no time once we got back to their apartment, not bothering to ask what either of us wanted, and brought them to us in the living area where Brigid and I were already sprawled out on the couch.

One swig of the whiskey sour and I was sighing contently and settling into the couch cushions.

"How are you doing, Killian?" Trevor asked from where he'd taken up residence in an armchair next to the couch. I knew by the tone of his voice and soft concern on his face he was being serious, not looking for me to play down the warring emotions in my skull.

So I obliged him. "There's a part of me that wants to run down to the garage, get in my car, and get back to Boston, because none of this feels real and I don't want it to be. But another part of me knew this day would come, and wants to find the bastard who killed my dad and rip them to shreds."

"If you want to pick option one, we love you, and we'll understand." A rueful smile twisted at Brigid's face beside me. "But if option two wins out, you know we'll be right beside you."

"I'll even drive the getaway car," Trevor added, reaching over and squeezing my ankle where it was propped up on the arm of the couch.

Damn, it was so easy to fall back into the easy friendship between the three of us. Brigid and I were fire and gasoline, while Trevor was the oxygen— fuelling us, but also snuffing us out just before we could burn the whole world to the ground.

I huffed a sigh. "I don't even know where to start. Ennis just showed up out of nowhere, dropped this bomb and gave me nothing but the obvious 'dad's dead, and nobody's doing shit'." He knew I was too damn curious for my own good, and would drive myself mad with so many what-ifs that I wouldn't have a choice but to come back.

Asshole.

"Ask away," Brigid prompted, hand clasping my wrist tightly. "And don't give me shit about not wanting me to compromise my loyalties. You come first, and you damn well know it."

All the questions bouncing around inside of my skull came to the forefront. There were so many things I needed answers to, but I had no idea where to start asking. Each question was important to me, no one more than the other.

So I plucked one out at random.

"Is my dad the only one? Or are there others my brother neglected to mention?"

It was too strange. Despite the drugs and guns the Descendants were involved in, the club was actually relatively peaceful. Yes, they had trouble with the law. No, they weren't best friends with other clubs in the area, but I couldn't remember them ever having any real enemy threats. But there hadn't been a member murdered... ever, that I could recall. So what had changed? And did this go beyond just my father?

Brigid rolled her lips into a tight line, and I could see her contemplating how to answer me before she did.

"There were two before him, in the last year," she admitted. "One transplant from out West, and one other low-ranking member who patched in shortly after you left. Both shot pointblank in the head, both dropped at the clubhouse gates. But neither of them had a casing with them. Not like your dad."

I let that information sink in for a moment. My father hadn't been the first club member to be murdered and left on their doorstep, but he had been the first one of any real rank to be taken out. It was a brazen move.

"The cops didn't give a shit about them, either," Trevor added, taking a swig of his drink and setting the empty glass on the table. "Which is fucking rich, all things considered."

I arched an eyebrow at that one. "What things considered?"

Brigid flipped him off, mumbling about Trevor "opening his damn mouth again".

"What am I missing?" I asked, my head bouncing between the two of them.

It was Brigid who let out an annoyed curse and explained. "Because whenever any case even remotely related to the club comes up in the station, they like to hand it off to the same cop every time. If one of us is the perp, he's more than happy to put all the effort into locking us up. But if we're the victim? I swear he burns the file before it sees another set of eyes. Like it never even happened."

I blinked. "What the hell kind of assholes do they have working for them? That's ridiculous."

She downed the rest of her drink. "Plymouth County Sheriff's finest, Deputy Kieran Delaney."

If I'd been drinking anything, it would have been spewed on the floor. "Kieran is a fucking cop?!" I practically yelled.

Brigid turned a glare at Trevor. "This is why I didn't want to tell her this yet, asshole," she mumbled before turning back to me. "Trust me, we were all shocked."

Ten years ago, if someone had asked Kieran Delaney what he wanted to be when he grew up, the answer would have been anything else. The boy grew up idolizing the Descendents, doing everything he could to befriend us in school and tag along when he could. We had let him join in on a few of our pranks— some mild vandalism and harassment of school officials. I would even have called him a friend.

When we were sixteen, a handful of us had had the genius idea to Hotwire the principal's and vice principal's cars and take them for a joy ride. We'd thought one of the roads just outside of town would be a safe enough place for us to race without being caught; there were no houses out there and nobody went out there at night. Except some idiot deputy who had heard we liked to ride our bikes out there in the middle of the night, and wanted to pull in a couple of the club kids to annoy our parents.

We all ran when the sirens blared and the lights started flashing. Kieran hadn't been quite fast enough.

His parents, both lovely people who never liked the kids their son chose to spend time with, sent him to a military boarding school for the rest of high school. I hadn't seen him since. It would have appeared that boarding school had in fact done it's job turning him to the right side of the law.

It would also explain his apparent grudge against the Descendants.

"I did not see that coming," I said, shaking my head, "but I guess we should have."

Brigid let out a scoff. "It was one incident, and he was a minor. It's hardly our fault his parents overreacted, like, a decade ago."

"Sure, but they did, and now we're paying the price," Trevor grumbled, knee bouncing. His eye slid over to me, a brow arched. "Think maybe you could pay him a visit? See if your wiley charms still have the same effect on him?"

A surprised laugh escaped me. "Excuse me?"

"Oh come on," Trevor insisted, hands raised in innocence, like he hadn't just made such a ridiculous suggestion, "we all know he had a huge crush on you growing up. Never forget your first love, and all that bullshit. Hey, if it wasn't for what's-his-nuts, you two probably would've even had a shot."

Any good humour I may have had left in me at that moment flew out the window at his insinuation. A pillow flew across the room, smacking Trevor in the face before I even had the chance to flip him the finger.

"You dumbass," Brigid hissed, staring daggers on my behalf at our friend. "You know the rules."

Trevor, looking offended by the pillow that just hit him, threw his hands up. "It's not like I said his name!"

But he didn't need to. We all knew exactly who Trevor was talking about. The boy I'd grown up with, fallen in love with. The boy who I would've gladly burned beside in hell. The boy who broke my fucking heart and sent me running from this town before he could drag me down with him.

Forcing my head to move, I gave a small shake and snatched up Brigid's wrist before she could launch another pillow. "It's fine, guys. It's been years." I pushed into a sitting position, tucking my sock feet underneath me. "Aside from being certifiable, Trevor has a point. If he's the so-called lead on my dad's case, I should try talking to Kieran. With any luck, the fact I've been removed from the club since high school might give me some brownie points to work with, and he can give me a sense of what I'm dealing with here."

"And given he doesn't blame you for getting him sent off to military school," Brigid scoffed, picking at the chipped polish on her nails. Her blue eyes flicked to mine, an odd mix of sympathy and pity. "He's always butted heads with your dad and your brothers, Killian. Who do you think got Fitzy locked up?"

"Son of a bitch," I muttered, fist clenching, "what did that little shit do?"

Of course, with the weekly phone calls from Plymouth County Correctional, I knew somebody close to me had to be behind bars. And since my father was dead and I had just seen my big brother in Boston, it made sense that it was Fitzy making those calls. But it still left a pang in my chest at the thought of my little brother in a six foot cell.

"Got nailed on a traffic violation of all things, and they found a nice cocktail of narcotics and two unregistered firearms in his bags. The 'resisting arrest' part didn't exactly help him either. Club lawyer figures he'll be out on parole in, like, a year," Trevor explained.

If he wasn't locked up, I'd smack that kid upside the head with his damn gun. Fucking idiot.

"Let me guess," I said sarcastically. "Kieran nailed him."

Trevor nodded. "And was sporting the black eye to prove it for a good week."

My jaw clenched. Appealing to Kieran would be far from easy at this rate, given the heaps of history piling up around me. "Club must've loved that one."

"You bet they did. Miles and your dad had to physically restrain Ennis when he heard about it. Dude was this close to pummelling Kieran into ground pork."

My heart ached at the thought of my brother and father going through that... and I wasn't there. The part of me I've kept quiet for so long, the girl who loved and protected her family so fiercely, rattled at her cage. I was Fitzy's big sister, for fucks sake, and I wasn't there.

"I'll talk to Kieran in the morning," I said resolutely, ignoring the rage simmering in my blood. I refused to give in to the instinct to march down to the precinct and show the man I used to think was my friend how I really felt about how he'd been treating my family. Yes, the Devil's Descendents straddled the line between citizens and outlaws. Most of them had varying lengths of criminal records, and history with the police. But they were still human, and deserved to be treated like there lives mattered.

Brigid piped in from beside me. "I hate to ask, but are you going to stop by the clubhouse? I mean, someone's bound to see you around town. Maybe you should let Miles know you're here, at least. And your brother."

That was a conversation I knew had to happen, of course. But it wasn't something I wasn't looking forward to in the least.

You couldn't simply leave a club like the Descendants. The patch was our lives. I knew my father had covered for me in the beginning, saying I was away at school— but the months came and went, and I never came home. I'd left my cut on my bed when I had left town. I'd missed meetings, ignored messages and changed my number. I had disrespected the patch and the club.

The truth of the matter was was, I hadn't fully considered the repercussions of coming back. Dealing with Kieran Delaney and my finding my father's killer might very well be the least of my worries if the club decided to hold me accountable for my actions. And my father wasn't around to protect me anymore.

The tattoo on the back of my neck practically burned at the thought.

With a shaky deep breath, I nodded once. Any bravado I'd had earlier about showing up at the clubhouse was gone. "Best get it over with, I guess."

"It'll be okay, Killian," Brigid assured me softly, hand squeezing my knee. "Just talk to Miles in the morning. He loved your dad, and he's always loved you."

I had loved him too once upon a time, loved all of them like family. But that was a long time ago, and feelings changed. After all, I had cut them all from my life in one harsh strike, and to some, that would be unforgivable.

"We'll come with you," Trevor added, an easy grin spreading over his features. "Anyone starts looking murder-y, and I'll fake a heart attack or something, and Brigid can get you the hell out of dodge."

The sound I made was somewhere between a laugh and a hiccup. I'd missed these two with my whole heart. "You're twenty-five, Trevor. You're too young to have a heart attack."

"Not everybody has a college degree, smartass."

Brigid shook her head. "Or common sense, apparently."

"Fine. I'll start taking my clothes off and run around like a maniac, then. That's distracting, right?"

While Trevor and Brigid bounced ideas back and forth, each one more obscene than the last, I let myself sink farther into the couch cushions. The last couple of days were weighing heavily on my lids, and it was getting harder and harder to fight it off. Just yesterday, I'd been considering just how crazy I was to go back to school for another round of endless lectures and late-nights.

Now I was back in a place I had been hellbent on avoiding for as long as possible. My father was dead, and I had more questions than answers about what had happened to him. Tomorrow, I would have to own up to my actions, and ask for help from people I'd abandoned years ago.

But for now, I let my lids close, and drifted off to the sound of my two best friends bickering, like nothing had changed at all.