Page 66 of Deceived Wrath

I nod at her before making my way down the hall, dodging the towers of boxes with various baby equipment inside. I manage to get to the door unharmed, but as I open it expecting to find my brothers lounging around drinking whiskey, I almost fall headfirst down a flight of stairs instead.

“What the fuck?” I reach for the doorframe to steady myself.

Trust Kieran to put his office in the basement.

At the bottom of the stairs, I find a similar-looking reinforced door with biometric locks to the one at the penthouse.

This is just great. I can’t even get inside, and knowing Kieran, the place will be soundproof, so I can’t even knock.

For a beat, I consider leaving, but then I think of the fallout and reluctantly pull out my phone and open up the latest group chat Brennan created, Guns n’ Giggles.

I scroll through the archive, groaning at the hundreds of unread messages, and quickly type out,Someone want to let me in?

A few seconds later, the door mechanism starts to click, and then it opens to reveal a scowling Kieran.

We haven’t spoken since I fucked up the meeting time with the Stratford Group.

“Hey.” From his expression, I can tell he hasn’t forgotten.

“Ever thought about installing a doorbell?”

He huffs a laugh before stepping aside to let me in.

Brennan throws both his hands up in the air from his spot behind the bar. “Cormac’s here! The whole gang is back together.”

Ronan chuckles from his spot on one of the black Chesterfields. “You make us sound like we’re in some cheesy boy band.”

“No, but we should be. Ciara and Riley could be our groupies.”

“So, Kieran, I see you’ve traded one bunker for another.” I take a look around the basement.

It’s been transformed into something between an office and a vault. On one side is a hand-carved walnut bar with copper lights hanging overhead. Rows upon rows of expensive liquor are displayed on backlit shelves on the wall behind it, which Brennan seems to be helping himself to. The other side of the basement houses all of the modern stuff, handguns and rifles and boxes of neatly labeled ammunition.

This room embodies Kieran completely. He doesn’t build things for comfort. He builds them for control.

“The deal was Riley gets to do whatever she wants with the rest of the house as long as I get the basement.”

Brennan smirks. “That’s not creepy at all.”

“Apparently, my choice of decor isn’t aesthetic.”

“Can’t imagine why.” I look around at the shelves of antique weapons. I distinctly remember when Kieran first started thiscollection. Our father was the one who gifted him his very first pair of dueling pistols when he was ten years old. I could never imagine giving Scout such a gift, but then again, I’m raising him to be a kid, not a weapon.

“Do you want a drink?” Kieran offers.

“Thanks.”

He heads behind the bar, snatching the bottle of liquor out of Brennan’s hand and putting it back on the shelf before picking up another.

“Don’t buy it if you don’t intend to drink it.” Brennan walks around the bar and plops down onto the couch beside Ronan.

“Oh, I have every intention of drinking it, just not with you.”

“Rude.”

“Play nicely,” Ronan warns.

Brennan shrugs. “Or what, you’ll put us in time-out?”