It wasn't the first time I'd woken to a dull, pounding ache in my abdomen. A feeling that probably should've felt worse than it did—which was as though someone had kicked me in the gut with a steel toe boot and left me to rot. My first instinct was to reach for it, half-expecting more blood, but when my fingers brushed the bandages, all I felt was rough fabric and the faint stickiness of fresh gauze.

It didn't hurt as much as it did before. Actually, it was almost like the pain was coming from a far-off place, not screaming in my head the way it had when that bullet first ripped through me. Painkillers. Strong ones, by the feel of it. Something better even than the morphine Charlie had stashed.

Blinking against the low amber glow of a single lamp, I tried to piece together where the hell I was. The ceiling above me was a patchwork of cracked plaster, sagging and stained from what looked like years of leaks. My eyes moved down to the walls—damp, grimy brick covered in flaking layers of faded paint, once-white but now tainted with a sickly yellow tinge. Despite all that, even in the coldness of the place, it almost felt safe. As strange as that seemed. There were no windows either, as though the whole place was trying to shield me from a world I couldn't remember walking away from.

I didn't recognise it—definitely not one of the safehouses I'd holed up in before. There was the biting scent of antiseptic that lingered in the air, cutting through the heavy dampness. The faint trace of a cheap, minty air freshener trying and failing to mask it.

I lifted my head, groaning as I shifted on the mattress. It was a shit bed, stiff under my back, but better than the pavement of some alley. Slowly, the memories came flooding back—Roxy and Charlie, the gunfire, blood pouring from my stomach. A job gone south. Way south.

I dragged my hand down my face, feeling the rough stubble that had grown in. How long had I been out? Days maybe? My tongue felt like sandpaper. I needed water. I needed answers. But first, I needed to get my bearings.

I thought hard as I glanced down and peeled back the edge of the bandages, just enough to get a look. Trying to remember how I got here as I examined my wound. It was closed, better than whatever Roxy had done before. Stitched tight and clean. Whoever patched me up this time knew what they were doing, but I wasn't in a hospital... I let the bandage fall back into place and let out a slow breath. I wasn't dead. Not yet.

It was with the thought of the hospital that more bits and pieces came back to me. Being moved from that crappy dive Charlie had us hiding in. Waking up to find someone over me—someone I didn't know trying to fix me up. The guy who had history with Charlie, if I hadn't dreamt up their whole conversation in my delirium. 

The sound of footsteps echoed outside the room and a second later, the door creaked open. That's when Roxy stepped in. Her face was softer than I remembered. Less hard-edged than the girl who'd dragged me from that alley. Behind her, Charlie lingered, his eyes flicking from me to the floor. I couldn't tell if he was relieved to see me alive or more anxious than he was before.

"You're awake," Roxy said, her voice quieter than usual. She moved toward me, sitting on the edge of the bed like she'd been waiting for this moment, watching over me while I slept.

"How long?" I croaked, my voice hoarse.

"Two days," she replied, folding her arms across her chest. "You've been out cold. Thought you were gonna die on us a few times."

I let out a breath, feeling the weight of those two days settle into my bones. It explained the tightness in my body, the stiffness. Not to mention the grumble in my stomach. But I was still alive. That counted for something.

"You should be thanking Sam," Charlie muttered from the doorway. "He's the one who kept you breathing."

I glanced at him, then back to Roxy. "Sam?"

"The doctor," she explained. "Not exactly official, but he knows his way around a wound."

I grunted in acknowledgment. "Where is he?"

"He's... sorting some things out. Supplies mostly, but he's seeing someone else right now. We've been lying low here," Roxy answered, her voice careful, like she wasn't sure how much to say.

So they hadn't given up on me yet. Not even gone running to the police to turn me in. Maybe they were smarter than I was giving them credit for. I mean, they'd kept me alive this long, hadn't they? And lying low was good, it wasn't like there was much of choice for any of us. If the boys knew where I was... if they thought I'd fucked up the job on purpose, I wouldn't just have a bullet hole in my gut to worry about.

When I shifted and made an admittedly poor attempt to sit up, the pain in my abdomen flared again, as loud as it was before and sharp enough to remind me I wasn't out of the woods yet. Without a second to spare, Roxy reached out to steady me with a hand on my arm, a light touch that helped ease me through the pain. And for a second, although I didn't want to admit it, I felt a flicker of something I hadn't felt in a long time. Care. Real, genuine care.

"Easy," she said. "You're still healing. Sam's got you on antibiotics and enough painkillers to knock out a horse."

I gave a small nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. The concern in her eyes was unnerving, but... it felt good. Like someone actually gave a shit whether I lived or died.

"We need to talk," I said, my voice still rough but stronger now. "The people I'm mixed up with... they'll come looking for me. And they won't stop until they find me."

Roxy's gaze sharpened. "Who? Who are they?"

"The Emerald Guard," I said quietly, watching as her face darkened at the name.

Charlie, who had settled against the far wall with his arms crossed over his chest, burst out in laughter at the name. It started as a snort, then grew into a full-blown fit that shook his lanky frame.

I tensed, feeling a spark of irritation twist in my chest. His laughter wasn't malicious, but it hit me the wrong way—like he was laughing at something that wasn't just a name, but the life I'd been neck-deep in for years. Still, I couldn't help but notice how his bright, ringing laugh changed the atmosphere, softening the edges of the shit stain of a situation we were stuck in. Something about the sound was almost... contagious, even if it was at my expense.

"The Emerald Guard?" he gasped between chuckles, wiping a tear from his eye. "What are you, some kind of medieval knight? Do you ride around on horses waving green flags, protecting the Holy Grail?"

Roxy shot him a glare, but even the corner of her mouth twitched. I sighed, wincing as the movement tugged at my bandaged abdomen.

"Real funny," I muttered, narrowing my eyes at him. "But if you knew what they're like... what they're capable of, you wouldn't be laughing."

Charlie, still grinning like an idiot, raised his hands in mock surrender. "Sorry, mate, but... come on! It's like something out of a bad gangster movie. What's next, the Leprechaun Mafia? Oh my God, is that what you guys are?"

I let him have his moment, waiting for the laughter to subside. But the tension in the room thickened again when Roxy spoke, rebuking him for his outburst, "Charlie, shut up." She turned back to me. "What are we dealing with?"

I moved slightly in search of a more comfortable position, but the pain only returned to me with every small twist of my body. "They're a crew. Irish lads, mostly, but they're not just a gang. They're... organised. Dangerous too. Smuggling, racketeering, extortion, you name it. Whatever it takes to make money. And they'll do whatever it takes to keep control."

Charlie, still catching his breath, finally sobered up. "So, not exactly the Knights of the Round Table, then?"

"No," I said, my tone hard. "Not even close. We've got a strong foothold in London, but our ties run deep back home. If word gets out that I'm off the map, they'll assume one thing: I've gone rogue, or someone's trying to shut me up. Either way, they won't leave loose ends."

Finally, Charlie seemed to understand how serious things were and swore under his breath. "So what the fuck are we supposed to do?"

"I need to reach someone. A contact. He's not in London—Crawley, I think. Out of the way. But he can smooth things over, buy us some time. If I can get word to him, we might have a chance."

Roxy tilted her head, studying me. "And if we don't?"

"If we don't," I said, meeting her gaze, "we're all dead."

The silence that followed was thick, but it was the truth. There was no way around it. No running from it. We were in deep, and the only way out was through.

"I'll get you the number," I added after a beat. "But first... I could really use something to eat. I'm fucking starving."