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I stare at Carmy. “And where the fuck were you?”
“Me?” He shrugs. “I was in the car, buddy.”
I blink. “And you just…let herdo this?”
“I make a point of not getting between scary goth girls with improvised weapons in their hands and the target of their angst. You should try it. You’ll live longer.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and glare at the “i like to fuck teenagers” scratched into the side of the SUV.
“She went back inside the house afterward, if you’re looking to make a thing out of it.”
If by “a thing” he means throttling her with my bare hands while fucking the living shit out of her , then…
I frown.
Whoa, you gotta chill out with that, friend.
“There’s some duct tape in the glove compartment,” I mutter to Carmy. “Feel like making yourself useful?”
I wince when the roll of tape comes flying over the roof and smacks me in the shoulder.
“Sorry, man,” Carmy grins. “I’m the crown prince. I don’t make myself useful to anyone. ’Sides, it’syourcar.”
I flip him off as I tear a piece of tape from the roll and slap it over the worst of the words scratched into the car.
“They know why it is you’re marrying the kid?”
I shake my head. “Figured there wasn’t much need to show all the cards.”
“Probably smart. They could use it as leverage and try and get more out of the deal.” When he clears his throat, I look up to see him finishing his smoke and stomping it out on the gravely driveway. “They, uh…they still hate you for what happened to that girl?”
“Her name was Layla,” I growl quietly. “And they most certainly do.”
“You know, a simple conversation would clear that up?—”
“I gave my word, Carmy,” I murmur.
“I know, buddy.” He walks around the front of the car and claps me on the shoulder. “I’m just saying, I think it would help, given that you’re about to marry into a family that fucking hates you.”
“It probably would.”
We both get in the duct-taped Range Rover and I rev the engine.
“Alistair and Gabriel are all bark, to be honest,” Carmy frowns, glancing out the window up at the house as I start to pull away. “But that one chick…she’s gonna be a problem.”
“Sure is.”
More than you fucking know…
3
TEMPEST
“So… What’s he like?”
Maeve sits cross-legged in the reading chair by the window in her room, a big blanket wrapped around her like a cloak. A sketchpad and a drawing pencil lie in her lap as she gives me a wry smile.
One of the consequences of her and my dad having the same father is that she looksso muchlike my dad sometimes: same green eyes and dark hair, same nose, same cheekbones, same slightly elfin chin.
