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belamy20
Bang!
The Gallagher back door flew open. Shane slipped in first, Lip and Fiona right on his heels. But the second they stepped into the living room, all three of them froze in the doorway.
Frank was lounging on the couch like he owned the place, looking way too pleased with himself.
Carl and Debbie sat beside him, faces lit up with excitement as they listened to whatever bullshit he was spinning.
And Karen was there too. She sat in the single armchair, looking pale. A white gauze bandage was taped to her forehead, already seeping some dark red blood. Her blonde hair was a messy tangle around her face, making her look both fragile and wrecked.
"Well, well, well," Frank drawled the moment he saw them, his voice dripping with fake authority. He eyed the three of them still in their full riding gear and helmets. "Look who finally showed up. Chicago's midnight heroes. Have fun out there? If it wasn't for me—"
"What the fuck did you do?"
Shane didn't have the patience for Frank's mouth. His eyes were locked on the bandage on Karen's forehead.
Fucking Frank. No question — Karen's injury had his fingerprints all over it.
Shane lunged forward, grabbed Frank by the collar with his left hand, and yanked him clean off the couch.
"Hey! Hey! Let go, you little psycho!" Frank's feet dangled as he flailed.
"Karen's fine! It looks worse than it is! Mild concussion at worst!"
That answer only confirmed Shane's suspicion.
Bang!
Shane's right fist smashed straight into Frank's face.
"Ow! Shit!"
Frank's lip split and started bleeding, but he didn't dare fight back. He knew exactly how heavy Shane's hands were.
He covered his head and started begging. "Fuck! Fuck! Let go! You ungrateful little shit! If it wasn't for me—"
"Shane, it wasn't him." Karen's voice cut through.
Shane's second punch froze mid-air.
He turned to look at her.
"Then what the hell happened? Who did this?"
"I did it to myself," Karen said quietly, pressing her lips together.
"You did it to yourself? How the fuck do you crash into something hard enough to look like that?"
Fiona stepped closer, pulling off her gloves and helmet. She frowned at the bloody gauze on Karen's forehead, then glanced at Frank wheezing on the couch and Carl's flushed, excited little face.
"Carl," Lip went straight for the family's biggest loudmouth. "What the hell happened? Why is Frank here? And what's up with Karen?"
Carl finally got his moment to shine. He jumped up off the floor. "Frank and Karen came too! They had another car! Frank used my military binoculars to watch you guys! Then they saw the cops chasing your car! So Karen slammed the gas and crashed right into that big electric box thing! That's why everything went dark! It sounded so badass!"
He waved his arms wildly, making explosion noises.
The other team. Karen was the one who rammed the transformer.
So the sudden blackout wasn't a coincidence — it was Karen.
Shane's gaze dropped back to the bandage on her forehead.
From Carl's story, he could picture it perfectly: the crumpled hood, shattered glass, Karen's head smashing into the steering wheel.
A wave of pure dread hit him, quickly followed by a sharp ache in his chest.
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
All the high-speed driving, the standoffs, even torching the car — none of it had shaken him.
But seeing someone get hurt because of him, because of his mess… that hit different.
Shane walked over to Karen and pulled her into a tight hug.
"You're fucking crazy, Karen," he murmured, looking down at her.
Karen let out a small sound against his chest but wrapped her arms around his waist.
She tilted her head up.
In Shane's eyes — usually calm, sometimes teasing or hungry — she saw something brand new tonight:
Real pain. Fear. The raw panic of almost losing something important.
Shane's brows were knotted tight as he stared at the wound on her forehead.
Yes. That was the look.
Inside Karen's head, it felt like fireworks and screaming cheers at the same time.
Not the burning lust when he saw her naked. Not the half-assed praise for her little schemes. Not the tired tolerance when she caused trouble.
This was the look that said she mattered. That she was something he couldn't afford to lose.
She had finally won the prize she'd been chasing.
The cut on her forehead throbbed, but in the face of this overwhelming satisfaction, the pain almost felt sweet.
She squeezed his waist tighter. "Easy… my head still hurts."
Shane buried his face in her blonde hair, completely ignoring Frank's dramatic wheezing on the couch.
He punched him. So what? Since when did he need a reason to hit Frank? It was practically a daily routine.
Frank sat on the couch rubbing his bruised neck and face, but he didn't dare hit back.
Compared to almost losing his "back door" privileges, taking a punch didn't seem so bad.
He coughed twice and immediately puffed out his chest again. "Hmph! Now you know who to thank, right? If it wasn't for my years of experience, you three would be chewing dry sandwiches in a holding cell right now!"
He kept going, straightening up proudly. "Back in my day, I've seen every kind of situation—"
"What about the car?" Lip cut him off.
"Where's your car?"
"We blew it up!" Carl answered again, bouncing with excitement.
"Frank said there were fingerprints and Karen's blood in it, so they couldn't leave it! Then they blew it up!"
Frank grinned, flashing teeth still streaked with blood. "What else were we supposed to do? Wait for the cops to trace the plates and DNA straight to us? What kind of idiot do you take Frank Gallagher for?"
He conveniently left out the fact that he was terrified of his own prints being matched, painting himself as the selfless hero.
The living room fell into a short, strange silence.
Two teams. Different methods. Same result.
A weird kind of understanding settled over the Gallaghers.
After a moment, Shane finally let go of Karen, but kept holding her hand.
He pretended to fish around in his riding jacket, then pulled out a quarter. He flicked it with his thumb.
Clink.
The coin rolled across the floor and stopped at Frank's feet.
"There's your payment. Now get the fuck out of my sight. Before I change my mind and stuff you inside that transformer box you wrecked."
If Frank had been the one who actually crashed the car, Shane might've respected him a little. But seeing Frank unharmed and trying to hog all the credit made Shane want him gone immediately.
"Wait, wait, wait! Shane, hold on!"
Frank scrambled forward on his knees, but one cold look from Shane pinned him in place.
It wasn't that he was too scared to move — he remembered that exact icy stare right before Shane tased him last time. That look meant business.
"Alright, alright, I admit it," Frank raised both hands. "I should've been the one driving. My bad. But I still have value! Just hear me out before you kick me to the curb!"
He took a deep breath and launched into full salesman mode, talking fast:
"You're gonna need permits for the store, right? Health Department, Fire Department, zoning, signage licenses — those suit-wearing bloodsuckers love fucking people over on paperwork. Who to bribe, which office to hit, which bars their favorite guys drink at on weekends… I know them better than their own wives! I can cut Fiona and Lip's legwork in half and save you at least two weeks!"
Seeing Shane didn't immediately shut him down, Frank kept going.
"And that report on your breakfast van? I'd bet my last dollar it was Big-Mouth Ray and those jealous old vendors. I know exactly which bars they get shitfaced at, what days their wives hit the supermarket, and which back door at his brother-in-law's shitty garage is never locked. You want payback? I can give you their full weekly schedule. Free of charge!"
Frank finally looked at Fiona and Lip, then back at Shane.
He wasn't sure how much the rest of the family had changed, but Shane was different now — stronger, more calculated.
Frank had figured it out: emotional manipulation and "fatherly love" were completely bankrupt with this kid.
The only way to stay was to prove he could be useful.
"I'm not asking for a whole room or a real bed, Shane," Frank's voice dropped, trying to sound humble.
"Just give me a spot on the carpet. I'll sleep right here in the corner of the living room." He pointed at his usual drunk spot.
"You guys are opening a store. There'll be tons of annoying errands — running around, gathering intel, dealing with difficult city workers. I can handle all that dirty work for you. What do you say?"
Shane stared down at Frank. From the corner of his eye he caught Debbie's hopeful little look.
Frank wasn't completely full of shit.
Just dealing with the impound lot yesterday proved how many hoops you had to jump through in America, especially with government offices. A street-smart, decades-deep hustler like Frank who knew every backdoor and dirty trick could actually be more useful than a real lawyer sometimes.
Shane decided to let Frank stay for now. He'd squeeze every bit of value out of the old man's connections first. Once Fiona got the hang of the process, or when "Big Brother-in-Law" Jimmy finally showed up, he could ship Frank off to Canada and get some peace and quiet again.
Frank stared hard at Shane's face, waiting.