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“Is that your final answer?”
“Fuck yes.”
Her sharp chin lifted. “I’ll tear this area apart brick by brick if I have to.”
“Good fucking luck.”
“Fine. Maybe someone in town will point me in the right direction.”
No. The thought was instinctive, a panic unlike anything he’d felt in years. He couldn’t let her walk away. Every inch of him itched to block her exit, but he remained rooted in place and fought to maintain his ice-cold tone.
The woman had no idea what she’d just gotten herself into. He puffed out his chest in an effort to look intimidating. “What makes you think I’d let you leave?”
“Unless you plan on locking me up in your basement, I’d say I have a pretty good chance.”
“There’s no basement in this house.”
She scrunched her freckled nose. “By the looks of it, you’ve made the entire house the basement.”
The laughter that erupted from deep in his gut caught him off guard. He hadn’t laughed in fuck knew how long. His ribs and jaw hurt from disuse. This voluptuous creature with nerves of steel was dangerous.
His mirth died as he met her gaze. “You want to find your brother? You’re going to have to do it fast. Because when I find him, I’m going to kill him.”
Chapter 4
Oliver waited for the woman’s reaction. Outrage. Shock. Fear.
Instead, she rolled her eyes. “If I had a dollar for every time someone wanted to kill Kyle, I’d be retired in Lake Como by now.”
Not the response he’d expected. Why wasn’t she scared of him? The woman was either incredibly brave or unbelievably jet-lagged.
“I’m going to assume,” she continued, “that you know more about his whereabouts than me since you’re in Ireland, and I heard that’s where he might be. Why don’t you tell me what you know, let me go talk to him, and then you can punch him in the face or something. That actually might make you feel better. I’ve seen people do it before, and they claim it helped.”
“Punching your brother in the face?”
“Yes. Women adore his rugged bone structure, but his nose has been broken more times than I can count by men he’s screwed over.”
Confused by her calm, matter-of-fact tone, words failed him. Like a mute, he stared and blinked. Finally, he gathered enough of his wits to growl something. “I don’t want to punch him.”
“Trust me, it’s way easier than murdering him. It’ll save you prison time and some hefty legal fees. And your knuckles will heal in no time at all. Now, do you have an exact location or a general vicinity? Cross streets would help, but aren’t necessary. And please tell me he’s within walking distance and that’s why you’re all the way out here. I really don’t want to get in another cab, and something tells me you won’t let me borrow your car.”
“How many people has your brother screwed over?”
“More than a few. Sadly, it’s a pattern for him. I’ve heard all the threats. Nothing you say will surprise me. We might as well save both ourselves some time.”
Amusement shimmered like champagne bubbles. The feeling had become so foreign, for a second he thought it was nausea. Time to get her out of his house and away from him.
The redhead’s presence would only eat into his single-minded focus. As soon as he managed to leave the house, he’d hunt down Kyle Yarrow. He couldn’t be charmed by the bastard’s sister.
Addison bore little resemblance to her brother. Red hair where his was blond, a pert little nose where his was aquiline. Only the eyes looked similar—the shape more than the color. Kyle’s were more blue than green.
Broken on that blood-soaked pavement, at first he didn’t feel anything at all. Then the pain exploded. A fireball of agony so strong he couldn’t even cry out. He remembered Yarrow rolling him over, alcohol on the fucker’s breath as he crouched closer. Those eyes flooding with panic, then remorse. Then darkness.
Oliver had gone viral after the accident. Having famous brothers threw you into the spotlight even if you didn’t want to be there. The youngest Icefall brother’s life destroyed in a hit-and-run. Made blind. Made ugly. The internet had lapped it up. He couldn’t go outside his Los Angeles home without being photographed like a celebrity for the last three years. While Yarrow was free to go on with his hedonistic life.
He’d been ready to let it go, to move on. And then the call came.
The call that made stopping Kyle Yarrow a matter of principle.
