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No one, save for a few trusted members of my father’s organization, knew who I was. Housekeepers and cooks thought I was the daughter of my father’s favorite bodyguard, Cormac, and I was seen as a sort-of goddaughter to Cillian. It allowed us a semi-relationship in public without suspicion of our true relation. My hair was redder back then, a brighter copper that matched Cormac’s, and I’d grown up reaching for him in public, the scarred face still feeling like home when I saw him.
The cover story allowed me to be close to my father when needed, without allowing too many outsiders to know my heritage. It was harder to hide as I got older, when I was still living in his house, as my hair darkened to match my father’s auburn locks, but at that point I’d learned how to hide. From my peers, especially.
As far as they were concerned, my father worked as the CEO of a private shipping company, working long hours and traveling often, which left him unable to attend most school events. When parent attendance was required, Cormac flawlessly played the part of the doting-yet-distant father. Our cover story explained away the money I had and provided a face for my mysterious father so people wouldn’t look too deeply into my background. But it didn’t explain why I never attended birthday parties or sleepovers that the occasional peer would extend toward me despite my track record of refusing.
The worst part was that my isolation had been self-imposed. My father often insisted on attempting to socialize me, recognizing my loneliness and trying his best to ease it in any way he could. He sent me to birthday parties as a child, Cormac serving dual duty as my fake father and my bodyguard. But that only lasted a few years.
Once I was old enough to realize what my father did, how dangerous it would be to tell others the things I’d witnessed at home, how I’d have to lie about most aspects of my life to keep both myself and others safe, I stopped accepting invitations. Cormac didn’t have to play the role of my father too often as I got older, and considering it seemed safer to keep me hidden, he rarely mentioned having a daughter. The people who knew me as Cormac’s daughter were those who had been in business with my father for over twenty years. Which explained why Alex and Dev had been so surprised to hear mention of me, since they were newer to this type of work.
So, really, this was the first time I’d spent time around a family save for my own for an extended period. At least since I was about eight years old. More importantly, it was the first time I’d spent time around people who knew who I was. Who my father was, what he did. It created a strange combination of relief and anxiety, both mixing in my stomach until I felt nauseous.
Dev didn’t help with my nerves, either. I felt so flustered around him. I could only attribute it to the fact that, despite having only met him this morning, he was the most familiar person around. He was the person who’d saved my life, and I felt more comfortable when he was within arm’s reach. But at the same time, he looked at me with such intensity that I sometimes had to turn away just to catch my breath.
I wasn’t used to anyone looking at me, save for my father, Cormac’s family, and my bodyguards, who were basically family at this point. I spent my life making sure I was hidden away, invisible, and most people were all too willing to overlook me. That was how I wanted it, how I needed it to keep the modicum of freedom my father allowed, given I maintained my anonymity and kept my bodyguards close.
But knowing Dev had been following me for months, that he recognized who I was and hadn’t used it against me yet, made me feel naked, too out in the open. I would’ve avoided him if he wasn’t also the most familiar and least intimidating person in the room.
Ames, the one with brown, wavy hair and piercings littering her ears, seemed nice enough, though she gave off a punk, cool-girl vibe even in her waffle-batter-splattered sweatshirt and leggings. Wren was worse, adorable and talkative and sweet and everything that intimidated the hell out of someone who had spent their life trying to disappear. Bex, the tall one, didn’t just have the height but the scowl that allowed everyone to sense how dangerous she could be. Despite her kind demeanor toward me, I knew if she attempted a glare in my direction I’d likely end up backing out of the room, assassins be damned.
But the scariest one by far was Alex. He didn’t just ooze power, he commanded it, even sitting casually in the living room as he brushed his fingers through Ames’s hair, occasionally tugging on her ear just to make her smile in his direction. His eyes held the cold, unfeeling stare that I knew allowed men to justify almost anything. The look of someone who ran by his own moral code. It reminded me so much of my father that I instantly believed Dev’s tales of their affiliation with Dad solely by looking into Alex’s eyes.
Hearing Dev call him “Xan” also helped to click the final puzzle pieces together. I’d heard about Xander and his team over the years from my father. The surveillance team he had helped to put on the map, discovered years ago when Alex was in his early twenties. The work he’d done helped my father grow his business with less bloodshed, relying on blackmail to intimidate others and security to protect his own people. Matching a face to the name I’d heard my dad utter with respect and some levelof trepidation, as if Alex could pose a threat to him if he wanted, didn’t help my fear of the man.
But even if he scared me, I was glad to have someone like that on my side. If I’d learned anything throughout my life among criminals, it was that you couldn’t fight these types of men with kindness and good intentions. You needed someone willing to break the rules most of society lived by, someone like Alex. Like Dev.
I stuck next to Dev through brunch, sitting awkwardly while I watched the rest of his friends interact, joking and talking over each other while they ate. I stayed glued to his side while the rest of them lounged on the couches, talking their way through a movie I was fairly certain they only put on to make me feel more comfortable. I didn’t protest, eager for a span where I wasn’t expected to communicate with anyone. They’d been kind enough to leave me at the edge of the conversation so far, never asking any personal or hard-hitting questions save for “would you like more waffles?”
Considering I hadn’t had friends in years, my social skills weren’t quite up to par. I hadn’t really interacted with many people beyond my family or my bodyguards, all of whom grew up in or worked within my father’s business. So when Dev was called from my side the first time since we entered the house, I reverted back to my favorite pastime: becoming invisible.
I stepped out of the living room, moving behind the large kitchen island to give myself the feeling of distance even if the open-concept floor plan meant I could still see everyone. I turned my body to the side, looking out the large doors that led to a pool that was covered for the winter.
Usually, that was enough. Casting your eyes away from other people, slouching a bit, removing yourself from friendly interactions. I usually wore baggier clothes, but I’d been forced to change because of the blood on my sweater, and Ames’scropped band t-shirt and leggings showed off more of my body than I was used to.
I blamed the clothes for why my usual camouflage didn’t work. I watched as Ames broke off her conversation with Bex, the tall, frightening blonde, and headed toward me.
“Alex and Dev filled me in on your morning. Are you doing okay?”
I shrugged, appreciating the question, but unsure how to answer it. For most people, stumbling across a dead body, much less watching a murder, would send them spiraling. But I wasn't like most people, thanks to my family.
I’d seen my first dead body at five years old. My father wasn’t in charge then, instead serving as the right-hand man under my late grandfather. As the heir, he’d lived in the compound, which meant I grew up in the giant estate. I’d snuck out after bedtime, tiptoeing across the house to pilfer leftover brownies our cook had made for dinner. I heard voices coming from the backyard - though the acres of lawn surrounding my childhood home could hardly be described as simply a backyard - and peeked between the curtains to see what all the commotion was about.
Then I’d watched as they dragged a man across the grass, shoes poking out from the plastic they’d wrapped him in. I’d since learned to not go looking for the source of any mysterious noises around the house. I’d become pretty good at shutting everything out, save for those rare times that it all overwhelmed me so much that I had to run from my bodyguards for just a moment of air.
Was that ‘doing okay’? Was ‘doing okay’ being more unnerved by being around such a tight-knit group of friends than watching a murder? Than the idea of someone coming after me? I wasn’t really sure the answer Ames wanted or expected, so I went with the truth. “It’s not my first dead body.”
I shrugged, stiff as I waited for her reaction. Would she find me strange, how easily I took the death of a human being, regardless of how intent he was on killing me? Would she hate how I might’ve put her and her friends in danger?
Ames looked at me for a second, eyes narrowed as she took me in, until she suddenly barked out a laugh. She wrapped an arm around my shoulders as she tugged me closer, uncaring that I stood a couple inches taller than her and had to stoop slightly to reach her side.
“I think we’re going to be friends,” she whispered conspiratorially, the statement catching me off guard. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a friend and had no idea how to respond to her statement, even if I hoped it was true.
I was saved from responding when Alex called across the room, a small smile curving his lips as he caught eyes with his fiancée, “Sweetheart, can you come here a second?”
Ames left me with a soft smile and another squeeze around the shoulders, her friendly attitude making my throat tighten. Alex pulled her easily onto his lap, kissing her temple and then her lips, before telling her whatever he called her over for. They were too far for me to hear anything they said, but I knew it was about me long before Ames’s eyes flickered in my direction.
“Hey, Red,” Dev’s friendly smile almost had me smiling back, but I quickly tamped it down, disliking how desperate I felt for him at my side after only knowing him a handful of hours.He saved your life, I attempted to reason with myself.It makes sense you’d feel attached. Plus, he kind-of kidnapped you, so that’s like Stockholm Syndrome, right?Inner me nodded, pleased that I had a good reason to feel this way, even if that reason was a psychological disorder.
“Hey. What’s the plan?” At least, I assumed that’s what he, Alex, and Bex had been talking about for the past fifteen minutes.
