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I had felt an immediate connection with her. The moment she landed that punch, I was a goner. I just hadn’t known it yet. That feeling of obsession, though, was dangerous. Bailey Jameson wasn’t just any woman; she was a reporter and the daughter of the man who had been spilling the blood of my men for years.
She was Eve in the garden, coaxing us to take a bite of the forbidden fruit.
We couldn’t afford to be Adam.
“We need to do what’s best for the family,” I told him. “She isn’t it, Seamus. Keeping her would bring a war we can’t afford.”
“We’re already at war, Kiernan,” Seamus roared, his face red with anger. “Crowe is gunning for us, and that isn’t going to change.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” I roared back, eyes narrowed at my twin. “You think I don’t want her? Because I do. More than I have ever wanted anything. But she can’t be ours, Seamus. She’s a reporter and his daughter. Do you honestly think that she’s going to forgive us after what we do to him? Ruining his career, maybe. But we both know we can’t stop there.”
“You don’t know that…”
“Get your head out of your ass, brother,” I hissed. “The moment we spill his blood is the moment she stops loving us, and you know it. Just let it the fuck go. We’ll use her to get the information we need, and that’s the end of it.”
“And what about the auction?”
“The gala is where it all ends, Seamus,” I told him. “I put another plan together for the auction. We don’t need her to gain entry. Father agreed that we use Dani instead. She’s not as valuable, but Matthias’s man said he would make sure to bid her out.”
“You just changed the plan without consulting me?”
If looks could kill, I would be six feet under.
In all our time ruling together as my father’s right-hand men, we’d never gone behind each other’s backs. We never altered plans without the input of the other. We were born together, and we would rule together.
“I knew you wouldn’t be able to let her go.”
The fist that flew at my face was expected. There was no point in dodging it. I deserved the punch he threw, and I would take it. Blood filled my mouth, the tangy iron all too familiar. This wasn’t my first hit, and it wouldn’t be my last.
“Fuck you, Kiernan,” my brother growled as he stalked from the room without looking back. Then I was left alone, the pain in my heart growing stronger as each second of silence ticked by.
In that moment, I felt the one thing I had never felt in my entire life.
Alone.
24
There it stood.
Home.
There was a sliver of discontent as I pulled my car up to the security shed that stood in front of the gleaming metal gate that led to the place I’d called home since I was three years old. There’d always been an unease that lingered in my core when I drove through those gates. I’d always chalked it up to simple jealousy. Knowing that the moment I stepped inside, I was no longer Bailey Jameson, star reporter, but Bailey Jameson, unwanted daughter and mistake.
Rolling down the window, I showed my face to Grant, the regular daytime security guard my father employed.
“Welcome back, Miss Jameson.” Grant tipped his head at me as he pressed a small button on the high-tech panel inside the shed. “I already radioed ahead to let your family know you’ve arrived. They’ve been worried.” He shot me a disproving look.
“Wipe that look from your face,” I sneered at him. Grant had always been cordial to me, but he was my father’s lackey. A spy who documented my comings and goings. His brows buried in his hairline, and his eyes went wide at my sudden hostility toward him. It wasn’t often that I portrayed much beyond the docile and meek daughter my father had tried to raise me to be.
In this house, everyone wore a mask.
Not bothering to waste any more time, I drove through the open gates. Gravel crunched beneath my tires as I pulled into the opulent circular driveway. I let my car idle in front of the grand steps that led up to the porch, waving off the porter as I pulled my suitcase from the back seat. The story I had planned on telling them ran through my head a dozen times, again and again. My family needed to believe that I had been holed up in a hotel in Portland to heal my broken heart.
Pfft.
Broken, my ass.
My fingers played nervously with the hem of my long sleeve blouse, fiddling with the small communication device they had sewn into the lining. It wouldn’t be able to be detected, the frequency too low for my father’s anti-listening devices to pick up. Somehow, despite my reticence about my father being some criminal mastermind, having it made me feel safer.
