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Boyd
“You know,” Kieran says as I hop out of the moving truck I rented, pulling a pair of leather gloves on. “If you wanted to apologize for fucking my sister behind my back, you didn’t need to go to such theatrical measures. A simple sorry would probably work.”
Ignoring him, I unlock the truck door and slide it upward, revealing the two bodies, bound and gagged, laying on the truck floor. He glances inside, raising his eyebrows, then gives me a nod.
“Angelo Bianchi and Francisco Moretti.” He whistles, putting his hands on his hips. “What the fuck have you gotten yourself into, Kelly?”
With a grunt, I pull Angelo’s body from the truck first, letting him drop to the ground with a thud, reveling in the crack that sounds when his face connects with the ground. I should feel bad about picking him up, but frankly, I’m running out of time to track down Romeo and LeeAnn, if my intel is any indication.
An offshore account in the Cayman Islands popped up around one in the morning last night, with the account holder’s name being an alias Romeo used back when he was peddling kids. If he’s planning on fleeing, then odds are LeeAnn is too, and once they’re off the grid and out of the country, my resources dwindle significantly.
It’s not like I can leave Riley to scour the earth for them. So, I need to catch them before they leave the state. The fact that they haven’t already tells me there’s something keeping them here, I just haven’t figured out what.
The SUV that followed Riley home didn’t have a license plate and was abandoned by the time we tracked it down, but I still think it’s safe to assume it was one of the two trying to finish their job. Possibly why they’re still around in the first place.
I’m hoping I can lure them to me somehow and act then.
Kieran drags Francisco’s larger body out over the tailgate, letting gravity take over once he’s halfway out of the truck. My best friend nods at the bodies, then looks at me.
“This is still a very Fiona-style apology, you know.”
I roll my eyes, bending and gripping beneath Angelo’s armpits, hauling him up and starting toward the house. “If you’re fishing for information, you’re in the wrong pond, Ivers.”
“It’s just, back in May, I asked if you were fucking my sister, and you said no.” He mimics my movements with Francisco, and I shove open the front door, glancing around the inside of the gray stone house. The inside is completely protected with tarp, and I raise a questioning brow once we’ve gotten both bodies inside. He notices the look on my face and smirks, shaking his head. “Easy cleanup, and easy to replace before the construction workers come back.”
Nodding, I walk over to the sawhorse where his bag of tools sits, digging around until I find a pair of pliers and a cat-o’-nine-tails, running my thumb over one of its metal claws.
“Anyway,” Kieran says as I return, rolling Francisco’s body because he likes to see people when they scream. “You said you weren’t fucking her, and yet what I walked in on at my mother’s funeral seemed a lot like a post-fuck argument. Am I wrong?”
“No,” I grit out, wishing he’d drop it.
“So, what the fuck? You lied?”
Dropping to my knees, I set the tools on the floor and adjust the gag around Angelo’s mouth. “Yeah, Kieran, I lied, because I was falling in love with your sister and couldn’t shake the feeling that she didn’t feel the same. That I wasn’t good enough for her to love. And surprise, I was right, because she dumped me not long after.”
Tearing through Francisco’s shirt, Kieran purses his lips, and I exhale, annoyance slithering down my spine—why does everyone feel entitled to knowledge about my relationship? Why the fuck can’t I grieve in peace?
“We don’t do feelings,” I say, gesturing to the men in front of us. “This is our thing. How we bond. Not with me spilling my guts and hoping you don’t kill me for being into your much younger sister.”
He rolls his eyes, yanking the gag from around Francisco’s mouth and holding open the man’s jaw; he’s unconscious now, but when he wakes, the pain from the tooth extraction will be all he thinks about.
“Whatever, I told you I didn’t care about that. Sounds like you were insecure and so you kept her a secret.” He watches while I position the pliers in my hand, and shrugs. “For what it’s worth, Fiona doesn’t waste time on people she doesn’t love. So, I think you’re wrong about her.”
Hooking the metal tool around a back molar, I mutter a “gee thanks,” and he laughs. “I also think you’re a dick, but that’s nothing new.”
And that’s the last of our conversation.
* * *
As I stare through the glass window of Opulence, a string of violent thoughts plague me, the effort to keep from waltzing in and making a scene almost overwhelming.
Fiona’s inside, sipping water at a booth in the back corner of the restaurant, on a fucking date.
She’s been harassing me for weeks, begging for forgiveness, and yet here she is going out with someone else. Someone who is definitely not me.
Not that I even want it to be me. I don’t think.
But it’s the fucking principle.
