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Bliss swallowed as though trying to push back the sobs she refused to allow free. “Can your heart break”—she breathed in raggedly—“at fifteen?”
If it could break at three, then it could break at fifteen.
“I think it can break at any age. Who broke your heart, honey?” Because she’d kill them painfully. Make them beg to die.
Bliss turned away and Angel felt her heart sink to her stomach, where it lay like a heavy weight filled with dread, when her sister pulled two pictures from those spread out over the table.
Viktor and Rastor Davinov. “That’s . . .” A sob nearly broke free from the teenager. “That’s Bran’s brother.” She pointed to Viktor Davinov. “And that’s his uncle.” She pointed at Rastor. Tears fell harder from her eyes and a shudder raced through her body. “Bran’s the guy at the marina,” she clarified, though Angel knew who Bran was. “The one I told you about.”
Angel nodded, remained calm, kept the killing rage that began to burn inside her carefully contained.
“When he smiled, Angel, I felt it in my heart,” Bliss whispered. “Why would I do that? Just for him? Why, when he wants to hurt me?”
Angel had to admit it didn’t sound like the young man she’d followed that day along with his friends to their favorite fishing hole.
“We’re not sure Bran’s even a part of this.” She pushed the long, silky black curls from her sister’s face. “We don’t assume, we get proof. Remember that, Bliss. We don’t get angry . . .”
“We get even.” Those Mackay green eyes flashed in pure vengeance.
“No, baby, we get smart,” she said gently, desperate to ease her sister’s pain. “I’ll fix this, Bliss. I promise.”
And her baby sister tried to smile as though to ease Angel’s worry for her.
“Now you sound like a Mackay,” Bliss whispered.
That sad little smile that shaped her sister’s lips was killing Angel.
“Close proximity to Duke. It’s contagious.” She brushed Bliss’s hair back again, those silent tears breaking her heart.
“And no cure . . .” Those little half sobs in her voice sliced at Angel’s soul.
Catching her attention from the hall entrance Duke quickly indicated that Natches and Chaya were coming in. Good thing he’d warned her. The back door slammed open and Angel barely had time to get out of Natches’s way.
“Daddy . . .” Bliss cried out, sobbing the second Natches picked her up in his arms as though she were still five and strode quickly to the living room, where he sat on the couch with her.
Chaya settled in beside them facing her daughter, her arm around Bliss, her head on Natches’s shoulder as he bent his head over his daughter and rocked her gently as she sobbed.
Angel stepped to the doorway and found her throat tight, her chest aching at the sight. Bliss was where she needed to be, and the thankfulness Angel felt that her baby sister would never know the life Angel had filled her. But there was that demon spark of envy as well.
She’d never known that. A father’s love, his caring. She hadn’t known what it felt like to sense a measure of security, or something right in her life, until Duke. But still, it wasn’t the same as a parent’s love. Of being fifteen and brokenhearted and having a father hold her.
She turned away from the sight of them and moved to the refrigerator for the ingredients for breakfast. She was aware of Duke and Ethan there, armed with coffee, their voices low as they stood near the back door talking.
She doubted much of the food would be eaten, but she needed fuel, and she knew Duke and Ethan did as well. If there was information to be gained on why the Davinov family was in Somerset, then Tracker would find it, and he’d contact Duke as soon as he had it.
She wasn’t waiting on Tracker, though. She knew the boy, Brannigan. She’d made certain to check him out when she’d seen how strong Bliss had taken an interest in him.
At twenty-one, he was too old to be hanging around a fifteen-year-old kid. It hadn’t taken Angel long to learn that Bran was staying at Lucas Mayes’s place. Lucas Mayes was a retired Navy SEAL and was now Zoey’s landlord. Angel was sure she could find Bran there and ask him about the others she’d seen at the fishing hole.
He would often stop at the marina for gas and drinks, always with his fishing gear in tow. And when he was there, he never flirted with the cute girl behind the register. He was patient and polite with Bliss, but then paid for whatever he purchased and left quickly.
Bliss talked to him nervously, excitedly, but too shy to flirt. A greeting, a comment about the weather or what he’d caught that day. It had been interesting watching Bliss try to hide her attraction to the boy.
Brannigan seemed like a good boy, but as Angel peeled and cut potatoes, fried bacon, and put on biscuits, information, relationships, and resemblances flowed through her mind. She was
pouring the eggs into a hot skillet to scramble when Bran’s maturing features finally slid into focus with a kid she’d seen long ago.
Nickolai, Grecia Davinov’s youngest son.
