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“I figured.”
I glared at him. “What the hell?”
“It makes sense. Explains why you’re so hell bent on taking all this from her. Although I didn’t peg you for being matricidal.”
I squeezed his fingers. “She never recognized me. She never stepped up, never said a word, never did a goddamn thing. All those years she could’ve been my mom, and instead she was a stranger by choice. Did you know I wrote to her once when I was nineteen? I told her I knew she was my mom, and I asked if she wanted to meet. Do you know what she said?”
“I’m guessing it wasn’t nice.”
“She said nothing. No response. I wrote again, and I got back a simple letter. It said, no, thank you. That was it. Three words on a white card. From then on, I hated her.”
“God, Erin. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“That’s why I’m doing all this. She’s my mother and she couldn’t act like it. She didn’t care about me enough to so much as write me a letter. So now she’s dead, and I’m going to take what’s rightfully mine.”
He smiled and his eyelids fluttered. “Damn right you are. We’ll do it together.”
I kissed him. He smiled, and his eyes stayed shut.
He fell back asleep. I checked his pulse and it was strong. Once he was out, I slipped my hand away, and snuck into the main room.
Palmira was gone. I was alone.
My mother was Maeve. It was strange to think about. Maeve the Oligarch had an affair with my father—the same Maeve that Redmond’s father had been rejected by. All these stupid men, lusting after the same woman, and she didn’t seem to want anything to do with any of them. She fucked my father enough to have me, but that was it.
I was given to him to raise and she washed her hands of me.
It ate at my soul. My mother didn’t want me. She never did.
But now I had the chance to take her empire for my own, and I wasn’t going to pass it up.
Chapter 23
Erin
The scans at the clinic went well. The doctor didn’t think he’d need surgery. “You got lucky,” he said, staring at Redmond’s chart.
“I don’t feel lucky.” Redmond sat in bed back at the hotel room. It’d been three days since the shooting and he was back on his feet, but he moved slowly and was still in considerable pain. Palmira hung around him like a doting mother. It was almost adorable, if she weren’t so frustrating.
I hadn’t left his side for more than ten minutes. I hadn’t spoken with my people, hadn’t so much as thought of Cosima. Chika and James could run their side of things without my help.
“Believe me, an inch to the left and you’d have a punctured lung. Keep resting and in a few weeks, you’ll heal.” The doctor shook his head and shoved the chart back into his bag. “Really, Redmond, try not to get shot anymore, all right?”
“I’ll do my best.” Redmond grinned at him and the doctor left, shaking his head.
“Do you need anything?” Palmira leaned over Redmond, favoring the arm that hadn’t been nearly blown off.
“I’m fine.” He scowled at her. He didn’t enjoy all the mothering and attention. All he wanted was to get out of bed and go kill the bastards that did this to him, but there was no way in hell I’d let him do much more than walk around the room and fume over his limitations.
Palmira followed the doctor out and I shut the bedroom door behind them. The spot beside Redmond was a me-shaped indent on the mattress and I crawled back in beside him.
I slept next to him now. There was no discussion, no drawn-out hand-wringing. He got injured and I felt partially responsible, and I couldn’t bring myself to abandon him. I curled up next to his body and felt his warmth radiate from his skin as he smiled down at me with that cocky smirk of his, but behind the confidence, I saw a glimmer of pain.
“You’re struggling today,” I said, putting my hand on his chest.
“It’s better than yesterday and the day before,” he murmured, touching my hand with his. “I’m not as bad as you think. I’ve been hurt worse.”
“I really doubt that. The doctor said—”
He waved me off. “I’m sick of hearing about what the doctor thinks.” He leaned over and kissed me. The gesture was so simple and thoughtless, and it sent a strange chill down my spine.
When did we get like this? Kissing should’ve been strange and uncomfortable. We weren’t really together. And yet it felt utterly natural to be in bed with him, to touch his body, to feel his lips pressed against my own.
How did all this happen?
I felt like I was spiraling, and I didn’t want it to stop.
