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Just a nonsense saying, I’d thought at first.
As someone who lived his life by that creed, I’d almost relaxed when she’d uttered those words. Who else did I trust apart from my brothers and sisters-in-law, after all?
But she wasn’t talking about regularbrothers.
About blood.
She was talking about the United fucking Brotherhood.
I rubbed my forehead, not even wincing when I dragged my fingertips over the area that was busted from Maverick’s knuckles. If anything, it just merged with the pain that had taken residence in my skull since Temper had drawn me into aplot.
And I wasn’t talking about a fictional device, either.
This was a good, old-fashionedplot.
We pulled up outside the brownstone before I could start to feel sick again. I was a mischievous man by nature, but the last forty-eight hours had rattled me as little else could.
I’d learned long ago never to fuck with the government and that alphabet agencies required cautionary handling. Last night, I’d set fire to both those rules and hadn’t even bothered to piss on the blaze I’d started.
At this very moment, I could be an enemy of the state and I wouldn’t even know until Homeland Security came knocking on my door.
But worse than all that?
Star was close with someone in a group she’d spoken to me about.
And now I was in cahoots with them.
Cahoots.
Was it any wonder I was nauseated?
I was in the middle of a conspiracy, for fuck’s sake.
Almost falling out of the cab after I paid my fare, I tumbled into Inessa, who, like a house of cards, knocked into her baby sister. Somehow, Eoghan caught both of them and propped them upright.
“Watch where you’re fucking going, Kid!” he sniped before turning to Inessa and demanding, “Did he hurt you?”
Her laughter was soft. “He just surprised me. You’re okay too, aren’t you, Vicky?”
Victoria eyed me. “I’m fine but Conor doesn’t look fine. Are you hungover?”
I found myself at the center of the trio’s attention which, fuck my life, meant… “Is it Saturday?”
Eoghan peered at me. “Jesus, you reallyarehungover.”
“I’m not hungover,” I snapped. “I’ve just lost track of my days.”
Inessa, kindly, informed me, “Yes, Conor, it’s Saturday. Do you remember that Aoife wanted us to come over for lunch today and not dinner?”
I didn’t remember that.
“Why?” I queried, brow puckered.
Eoghan grumbled, “Does it matter? Can we get inside? Inessa’s freezing.”
“I’m not, Eoghan,” she chided.
“You are.”
