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“Hell!” Tim’s voice echoed above her with his characteristic mocking frustration. “Only a Mackay could cause this kind of commotion and still fucking live through it. ”
“Hey. ” Dawg’s protest was a rasping growl. “I think I resemble that remark. ”
“Resent, Dawg,” Rowdy repeated the response he’d been repeating for years. “You’re supposed to resent that remark. ”
“I’ll resent it when it stops happening. ” Dawg sighed.
Lifting her head from Jed’s shoulder, Piper looked around, her eyes widening.
The large mirror over the dresser was shattered and lying in bits and sharp pieces in front of the oak dresser. The window across the room was missing a wide section and spiderwebbed with long cracks.
The flat-screen television was missing its screen and hung lopsided now, its pieces littering the floor. The chair was upended, along with the bedside table, lamp, and clock. Amid all of it, unconscious or dead—she didn’t care which—the broad form of the man who had attacked her in New York lay sprawled, still and silent.
“I know this one. ” Tim kicked at a limp, thick leg, his expression reflective. “Marcel Genoa. He’s one of Rudy Genoa’s fists, and Marlena’s cousin. ”
“I thought we had that organization taken care of, Timothy?” The question rumbled from Jed’s throat, the irritation in his voice heavy.
A stranger’s voice intruded into the conversation then. “It’s according to your definition of ‘taken care of,’ Agent Booker. ”
Piper’s head jerked up as Jed rose to his feet immediately, lifting her along with him to his side. But no one was moving to defend themselves.
“Mr. Samson?” Swallowing tightly, she moved her gaze from Rhylan Samson, Guido Samson’s son, to the men filling the room around her.
Rhylan stepped into the room, his thumbs hooking into the pockets of his jeans, lean, muscular shoulders shifting beneath the dark gray silk shirt he wore.
“Marcel was a bit of a wild card who we were unaware was lurking in the dark,” Rhylan said, moving one hand to close the door behind him before lifting the other to prop both on his tapered, muscular hips.
Staring down at Marcel Genoa, he shook his head wearily. “We’ve been looking for him since the attack on Ms. Mackay. ”
“You could have informed us,” Timothy snapped, his gaze swinging to Piper. “It’s not as though she was forthcoming with the information. ”
Piper refused to flush.
“Perhaps, Tim, if I’d been allowed an opinion or a choice in the past year where my security was concerned, then maybe I would have been forthcoming with the information. ”
“She’s not going to stop blaming us,” Dawg muttered behind her. “Let it go, Tim. ”
Letting it go was the best choice her male family members could have made.
Rhylan chuckled at the response, his gaze moving to Jed’s. “Good luck, Agent Booker. You may need it if you continue dealing with Mackays. ”
“I rather doubt it. ” The confidence in Jed’s voice had Rhylan inclining his head with a grin.
“What’s going on, Rhylan?” Tim asked.
“Why the hell do all of you seem to know this man far better than a few days’ stay would warrant?” Piper asked. Wasn’t it just like Dawg and their cousins, along with Tim, to know it all while leaving everyone else in the dark?
She was fucking sick of being left in the dark.
“Piper. There’s information you can’t have, and there will be times your questions will not be answered. ”
Tim lifted his gaze to Jed as Piper felt her chest tighten in pain. She was the one who had carried the bruises, who could have died. Who deserved this information more than she? “Take her to her mother; she’s waiting in the hall. We’ll figure this out—”
“No. ”
Piper had never been so happy to hear that rough, growling refusal come from Jed’s throat as she stared back at Tim in recrimination.
Tim grimaced, his face appearing more lined, his expression more concerned than ever.
