“Us, huh?”
He gives me a look. “Did you think I was joking when I said, ‘This is it’?” He looks to the ceiling, rubbing my arm, keeping me close. “We’re inevitable, Princess. Just you and me.”
Something warm explodes in my chest, and I nuzzle into his side. “Fine. Then you owe me a new shirt.”
He laughs. “Whatever I have is yours. Including clothes. Besides, my shirts will look better on you.”
6
MAEVE
PRESENT DAY
During my childhood, I’ve witnessed unspeakable horrors.
I’ve seen men flayed open, left to rot in the basement of my home. I’ve seen puddles of blood run between my sneakers from gunshot wounds. I’ve thrown bodies into the harbor, never to be seen again—or sent into the fires of the Berkshires, where only their souls and ashes now rest.
I’ve seen the ugly to the good, and I’ve become far worse. Just to survive this Hell.
Leveling a cold look at my guests, I turn to the taller of the two.Doyle Byrne. The youngest sitting Board member, he’s part of the group that backed our entry into America when my father was a hard-ass teen looking for an escape. His peppered locks are combed over his head, matching the gray suit and wool jacket over his broad shoulders. He’s maybe fifty? I don’t know. I don’t fuckingcare.
His dull green eyes scan the office—myoffice. I’ve taken a chainsaw to my father’s memory—painting and redecorating, sonot an inch of his presence remains. Gone are the hunting lodge vibes; I’ve hacked away and repainted so it looks like a goth girl’s wet dream with eggplant-colored walls covered in golden masks and large canvases of meadows in the late fall.
With all the changes, my father’s ghost still haunts me.
What good is having a girl as an heir?
Doyle sighs deeply. It’s so inconvenient for him, apparently.
My nails dig into my thigh, the jeans and band shirt I jumped into when they showed up, a bit too personal for such an important meeting.Oh well.Tilting my head, wet hair soaks the collar of my shirt, and I sit, regarding him and Murray James in silence.
There’s nothing special about Murray. He’s a fat pain in the ass with thin, burnt copper locks and beady little eyes like a finch. He’s the messenger, and he delivers correspondence through all the clans throughout the states. We have branches everywhere—Irish in Chicago, and, through marriage, a few Frenchmen in New Orleans.
Technically, that makes him untouchable. I wonder if they’d get mad if I cut off his fingers?
Killian stands behind me, against the cold fireplace, a presence that refuses to leave me. I don’t look at him—even though my lips tingle from his kiss.
Lock it down.
Hayes shifts at my side. He’s a hulking mass of a bruiser, and his brown leather jacket cracks in the quietness. We wait. I’ve learned men fill the void when women are silent, and my reserve puts them both on edge. Maybe it’s cocky to assume, but I know how I affect people. I won’t need to do a thing until they break.
Doyle rolls his shoulders and pulls on his cuffs. There’s a pause. He crosses his leg at the knee. His fingers move, and his cheek twitches as he tries to bite it.
“Ace,” he purrs. I have to fight the smile off my face.That didn’t take long.
He glances at my second, then at Killian. “Boys.”
My jaw clenches as I exhale slowly. His disrespect is astounding—and in my fucking house.
“Doyle. Murray.” My eyes cut to the envoy, and I sneer.
“We’re sorry about the late visit—” Murray begins, and I snort.
“No, you’re not.”
Doyle smirks. “No, we’re not.”
“Then to what do I owe this immense displeasure?” My eyes bounce between them. “Did Hale send you?” Hale is the unofficial head of the Board—and no one can do shit without his approval.
