Chapter II

Taking the back alleys, she stumbled and struggled to keep with his long strides. Her head throbbed and her arm burned; each eyelash felt like a pound and it took everything to keep her eyes open.

He wrapped an arm around her, holding her up. Her eyes had begun to glaze over and her grip on his shoulder went limp. He scooped her up into his arms and continued, whispering, "Stay with me."

Connor's apartment complex was shit, crumbling and moldy. The third flight of stairs, he felt her entire body relax. He came up to a door, the paint peeling off, and kicked it. Keep alive, just a bit longer, he thought. Connor, dammit, come get the fucking door. He kicked it twice more and heard the sound of a bolt being twisted. Conner was bare-chested and disheveled and reeked of alcohol, straight Jim Bean, but the moment he saw them, he sobered.

Murphy pushed aside and laid her down on the ratted mattress. Her face was pale and beads of sweat clung to her forehead and upper lip. Murphy ran his fingers threw her curls and tugged gently. He held her hand and brought it to his lips.

Blood had dried into the cracks of her lips, there was still faded shiner from a bar scrap several days before the wedding. Despite her state, her face was relaxed and angelic. Her last conscious thought and her head sunk into the mattress, I love this smell, rustic and cologne, just like old times.

Murphy looked up at Connor, who had a pot of water boiling and was tearing up clean shirts for new bandages. He enlaced his fingers into her hair and pulled tightly.

Two years earlier..

"Now?"

"Murph, calm the fuck down," Connor snapped, his eyes never leaving the house. Every light was on and there had been a combination of screaming and gunshots for a good fifteen minutes.

"We gonna spend the entire fucking night out here? Duce is waiting." Murphy asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He dug into his pockets to find his pack of Marlboros. He was about to light it when Connor slapped his leg, making him drop the cigarette. "Why did you--"

"Shut up!"

The front door burst open and two people half stumbled, half ran out. Behind them, the house exploded, with such a force it threw the boys back, and in moments was engulfed in flames. "You dumb fucking cunt!" The man screamed at the girl. He pulled a revolver out of the waist of his jeans and aimed it her. "I'm going to fucking kill you!"

She collapsed and he reached down and grabbed her by the collar of her shirt and yanked her back up. She struggled to stay upright but her leg gave way. "Stand the fuck up!" He screamed at her.

Her body shook from repressing sobs, "I can't!"

Murphy flinched but Conner grabbed his shoulder, "Don't even think about playing hero."

He had her on her knees now, the barrel of the gun pressed between her eyes. The fire roared behind them, ash covering everything like first snow's fall. "Look at the house," he said threw clenched teeth.

She stared straight ahead, her eyes widen when she caught sight of two men crouched down. "Fuck, she spotted us." Connor hit the dirt, pulling Murphy with him.

The man didn't notice her sudden interest and cracked the barrel across her face, splitting open her bottom lip. She looked down at the ground; the blood dripped off of her chin and formed a small puddle in the dirt. Her ankle throbbed and she leaned the other way to take off some pressure. She looked over at her their home, her and Eddie's. Inside his corpse was burning, three bullets in his brain. She could hear the howls and screams of their German Shepherd.

"I want that to be your last sight before I kill you. " He cocked the revolver.

She closed her eyes and tried to imagine Eddie, alive, in front of their home, completely intact, with her puppy, who wouldn't be burning, digging up their flowers. She wouldn't let him win.

Murphy was on his feet and barreled into the man's side. They both went down and he smashed his fist into the gunmen's face. The girl let out a yell and scrambled backwards. The gunmen jumped up and tackled Murphy to the ground, pinning him. He smashed his head against Murphy's nose and there was a loud pop. Connor cursed under his breath and ran to aid his brother. He kicked the man in his side; he groaned and rolled off. Connor grabbed the gun and smashed it into the man's face, again and again till the man stopped twitching. "Murph, you alright?"

"My fucking nose!" He cried out.

"Get the girl, we gotta go."

Murphy dragged her to her feet and she nearly collapsed again, "What's wrong?"

"My ankle."

"Put your arm around me," he said as he slipped his around her waist. "Can you walk with me?"

She nodded.

They moved to the car where the Duce was waiting, engine running. Connor jumped in shot gun and Murphy threw himself and the girl in the back. She yelped again. "Oh, shit, your ankle!" He twisted himself around. "I'm sorry."

"That's okay," she whispered, pulling herself up and leaning up against the car door. She closed her eyes and exhaled deeply.

He took off her foot into his hands and pulled it into his lap. She flinched. "I'm seeing if it is broken," he said, his fingers pressing slightly on her ankle. "Just sprained," he informed her. He took a second look. Her eyes were green with flecks of gold and brown, intent but warm; her face was round and fair, long black curls framed her face. Lovely. "What's your name?"

"Brodie. Keese."

"Murphy MacManus."

Connor looked back at the Murphy eye locked and chuckled to himself. It said smitten all over his face.