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I damn well should have.
Staring at the screen, I struggle to rip my eyes away from her burnt-caramel hair and the perpetual scowl that hides all that rare emotion. “She’s got a good hook, too,” I say, unsought pride coasting through my tone.
Clay pauses the recording. “Are you quite finished?” He leans further into his wing-back chair, serious as always, and I wonder how long Bronson and I can continue to engage before he loses his shit entirely.
Finished… that’s a contronym, Xander.
Completed or destroyed.
Keeping my eyes on the paused frame, I say, “You’d like her, Bron. She’s smart and raw as fuck.”
“Let’s get her round here, eh?” Bron nods at me, knowingly taunting Clay with our evasion. No man, not a single police officer or politician, ignores Clay Butcher. But— We’re his little brothers. This is good for the old boy. “Feed her a steak or two, work those spaghetti arms a bit, then—”
Clay clears his throat, and we both chuckle before returning our attention with feigned innocence to our dark, stoic older brother.
And if Clay Butcher ever rolled his eyes, he’d be doing it now, but he’s not that kind of man. He’s a boss. So, he’s brooding in his disapproval of our perceivedinsolence.
He smooths his charcoal tie down his black shirt and goes on as though we never ignored him. “Her father is under investigation for fraud. Decades worth. Why is a Butcher on the news threatening members of the city for Kaya Lovit?”
I grin wide. “You know me. I saw a damsel in distress and just couldn’t help myself.”
He clasps his hands together on the desk between us and states, “I don’t see a damsel.”
No, you wouldn’t.
Something bothers me about that, a niggle of irritation tightening my mouth as I say, “Well,Ido.”
He hums. “Perhaps you’d like to know that Kaya was the arsonist. The fires burning all season were because she decided shopping wasn’t stimulating enough this month.”
What?
I hear his words, but they didn’t make sense. It’s bullshit. His informant is a liar.
“Kaya wouldn’t do that,” I defend her stiffly, although Clay wouldn’t lie, and men wouldn’t dare lie to him, or they’d be eyeballing the bottom of Storm River, which can only mean… it’s true.
“She did. She was blackmailed, to be fair. But she did it. Do with that information what you will, but I thought you should know before you decide to put a Butcher in the media again for the likes of Kaya Lovit and her father.”
Bronson chuckles deeply, displeasure towards Clay’s tone playing with his madness. “Ah, but beautiful brother, look how handsome he is on camera,” he says, softening the conversational tone as is his usual stance.
He hides how much he cares deep within an armour of tarnished ink and clinical madness brought about by years of servitude to theCosa Nostra—and to us. He doesn’t talk about his madness, but we know. We see it.
I stand to leave. “Anything else?”
Bronson stays still in his seat, probably awaiting a private audience with Clay to tell him to back offlittleXander.
“No.” Clay pauses, blue eyes focusing on me, the fact he’s being a controlling arse like a ghost moving through them. “Thank you for taking care of the Grayson matter,” he offers.
A slow grin moves across my lips. That moment of reluctance to his mannerisms is undoubtedly a result of having Fawn in his life. His fiancé is a gentle, compassionate girl, and up until her presence in his calculated, unemotional world, he was stone-cold and narrow-minded. I see him, well, I see him trying to be better for her.
I salute my oldest brother as I sing, “Sure thing, bro.”
Bronson says, “He’ll leave Anderson’s daughter alone, then? I’d hate to have to pay him a visit.”
“I have collateral. A photo of him pissing himself.” I smirk, and Bronson grins with green flames set ablaze in his blue eyes, liking the sound of that. “He’s got a broken nose.”
Clay nods. “Very well. You can go train.”
I toss the information about Kaya and the fire in my mind as I leave his office and stride to the Jeep. Shovelling down a banana and downing a few painkillers as I drive, I head straight to my sanctuary, to my gym.
