Page 169 of Deceived Wrath

“Why?”

“Because they turn into Uncle Ronan.”

Scout glances over his shoulder at Ronan, who is wearing his usual scowl, and quickly clings to me.

“We should let them sleep.”

I swallow a laugh. I swear this kid never fails to bring a smile to my face, even when I’m in the middle of a living nightmare.

Just then, Kieran appears from down the hall.

He’s changed out of his sweatpants into a black shirt and pants, though his slightly curled hair is messier than usual. “How far away is Brennan?”

Ronan looks at his watch. “Should be here any minute, but we shouldn’t wait.”

Riley approaches me. “Hey, Scout. How would you like to help me make some hot chocolate?”

Scout’s eyes light up. “With marshmallows and whipped cream?”

I don’t want to let Scout go, but the sooner I meet with my brothers to discuss our next move, the sooner this nightmare will be over.

So, I set him down, and he quickly takes Riley’s outstretched hand.

“I’ve even made some chocolate chip cookies too.”

“They’re my favorite.”

“You’re in luck, Scout,” Ciara chimes in. “Aunty Riley makes the best chocolate chip cookies.”

Despite the girls’ cheerful tones, I can see how exhausted they both look.

Ciara fights a yawn as Riley subtly tries to rub at her eyes. She’s not even two weeks postpartum, and she’s absorbing the fallout of my mess without complaint.

Kieran nudges me. “Stop.”

I turn to look at him. “Stop what?”

“Thinking of ways to deal with this on your own.”

Before I can respond, Ronan cuts in, already moving as he stalks past me. “Cormac, let’s go.”

I hesitate as Scout disappears from my sight with Riley and Ciara, my body screaming at me to follow.

“He’s safe,” Fiona murmurs beside me, her voice steady, though I know she’s anything but.

“I’ll be back soon,” I promise, though I don’t know who I’m really saying it for.

I turn and follow my brothers down the hall and into Kieran’s office.

The door closes behind us with a soft click, shutting out the sound of Scout’s laughter.

Kieran doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. He takes a seat behind the desk and slides a folder toward me.

“We were able to ID one of the men in the car. Vasil Smirnov.”

I freeze. “As in…son of Adrian Smirnov?”

“Correct.”