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I sat motionless on the couch, trying not to explode.
How could he do this again? Who was going to be lost this time? I knew he wanted revenge for his wife and child, but to start this up again after all these years… it was a mistake. Surely he wasn’t stupid enough to-
The intercom buzzed, making me flinch. Brianna’s pacing never stopped though.
I got up to answer it, checking my cellphone for the time. It was late, who could be stopping by now?
“I need to see Brianna. Now,” a voice demanded. I automatically knew who it was. Bree’s Italian beast.
I glanced over her and she shook her head viciously.
“It’s two am, are you insane?” I snapped. If she didn’t want to see him, then he could fuck off.
“Listen,” he growled, his voice getting louder as he got closer to the intercom. “If I don’t see her down here in two minutes, I’m going to start a fucking war like this city has never seen before.”
Bit late for that one, asshole.
I looked over at Bree again, and she’d finally stopped pacing.
“Alright,” she mouthed, turning towards her room.
“Alright, hold your horses,” I told him. Bree reappeared wearing her dressing gown and slippers, then slipped out the door.
What now?
I was tempted to lean out of the window and try and eavesdrop, but I didn’t want to intrude. Instead, I dropped onto the couch, switching the TV on just for something to do. Moments later I turned it off again.
What if he was hurting her?
What if he kidnapped her?
No, he wouldn’t do that, would he? He liked her, I’d seen it. He looked at her differently.
Shit.
It didn’t really matter how much he liked her, if we were going to war with them, they were just going to get caught in the middle. Bree would be the collateral.
This was bad… someone needed to talk some fucking sense into Cullen, but as I thought it, I shied away from it.
The only person who could do such a thing was Aidan, and he was too selfish to stick around for more than a few weeks at a time to help his father.
My gut churned as I thought about Aidan O’Callaghan - which was something I usually worked very hard not to do. I’d forced him out of my head and my heart, and successfully kept my distance from him for ten years.
I wasn’t about to go to him for help now.
I chewed anxiously on my nails until I heard footsteps on the stairs, and then there she was in the doorway. Her face was flushed, her hair all messed up.
Had he done something to her?
“Are you okay?” I yelled, leaping up.
“Yeah,” she started, then the tears started welling in her eyes. “No.”
“Did he hurt you?” If he had, I would kill him myself.
“No, he wouldn’t.” She shook her head. She had such faith in him, and I suddenly realized, her misplaced strands were not from fighting with him. It was from kissing him. Her lips were swollen, her eyes wild.
This was too much.
