1. Tim
1
TIM
THIS IS NOT MY HOME
“ I ’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Boss.” Frank softens his tone, lowering his voice until I’m forced to press my phone closer to my ear. No one likes to deliver anything unpleasant to people in this family.
“Remove him from the club and keep eyes on him for the rest of today,” I order. My voice, unlike Frank’s, is harsh. Unbending. “He’s not using our clubs, which I figure is intentional. That means it’s gonna be more difficult to curb this shit. But you’ve gotta convince Sarge that he’s no longer interested in extending a line of credit.”
“Yes, Boss.”
“Take away his supply. Cut him off and send him home before he makes a mess he won’t be able to clean up.”
Again, he snaps out an unflinching, “Yes, Boss.”
“Good.” I drag the phone from my ear and drop it and my hands into my pockets, while rage courses through my veins, punching with every beat of my heart until my bad mood only grows worse. I lower my gaze and stalk through the massive historical building in the heart of Manhattan. I have somewhere to be. Something particularly important to do. But for as long as my latest phone call echoes in the back of my mind, I walk the other way in search of fresh air.
“Mr. Malone.” A man and his date quicken their steps as we pass in the hall, music playing through every walkway. Every doorway. Every fucking room. The hum of a bass line and the melody of a woman’s sweet voice vibrate every wall.
Because my brother is getting married today, which means my decision to leave New York City more than sixteen years ago counts for naught now that I’m back. Just for a day. Two, at the most. I’m here to witness the nuptials. Protect my brothers. Welcome my new sister into the family. Then I’m putting my ass back on a plane and leaving this godforsaken city in my past.
Though Copeland is becoming less and less peaceful with every call I accept.
“Mr. Malone.” Another face. Another terrified man who dips his chin as we pass, white-knuckling the hand of a woman I suppose is his plus-one to Felix Malone’s wedding.
The second-born son. The noisiest, wildest, craziest of five. Where our father lacked morality and humanity, Felix lacks a filter and volume controls. When I refused to continue the family business, Felix stepped in and said he’d do it. And the only reason I haven’t slit his throat and ended a reign that never should have existed in the first place is because he’s not like my father or the man who came before him.
Felix rules because he must .
A Malone has to have a seat in New York, or the gap left behind will be filled with men just like Timothy the Second. Just like the men currently making noise on the West Coast. And those men still hold grudges against our family. They’ll end a bloodline to make up for the crimes committed before we were born. And though I don’t particularly like the pricks who came before me, that doesn’t mean I’ll accept the eradication of those born alongside me.
My brothers will not die because of what our father did. I won’t allow it.
Thus, Felix’s ascension to leadership was out of protection and necessity, not a hunger for power. An acceptable distinction in my eyes. Tolerable, so long as he keeps the family business on this side of the country, far from the life I live in Copeland City.
“Mr. Malone.” Averted eyes. Pale cheeks. Men in suits and women in gowns hustle in any other direction to avoid a meeting with me. Fuck knows, maybe my rage is clear in my stance. My eyes. My very existence. These people want to stop and talk. To introduce themselves. To socialize with power. But without a direct invitation, and with the presence of violence in my expression, they know better than to try their luck .
Also tolerable, considering my desire not to partake in unnecessary small talk.
“Tim!” Finally, a voice I know, a command that has onlookers gulping. I slowly turn, forcing my lips into a grin. Albeit hidden behind the beard I keep short and trimmed. I finger the phone in my pocket and wait as Minka Mayet strides along the hall in an expensive gold silk dress.
She’s Archer’s wife. The second youngest Malone was the first to marry. And shit, she isn’t even the daughter of some high-flying gangster whose father sold her to a rival family, all to strengthen ties and blah blah blah.
“Where the hell have you been?” She grabs my sleeve and spins on four-inch heels, her bare shoulders showing off a scar on one side, and her dark hair tied so the ends tickle her shoulder blades. “They’re ready to get started, dummy. And you’re out here holding everyone up.”
“Ya know…” I change our grips, peeling her powerful doctor fingers from my suit sleeve and instead loop my arm through hers so we’re walking together . Much better than her ball-and-chain impersonation. “It strikes me as entertaining that no one inside this building is brave enough to look into my eyes. But then there’s you, screeching at me to move faster and dragging me around like I’m not New York royalty.”
“Oh please.” She slows her steps, at least, so we’re moving at a reasonable pace. “You say you want nothing to do with the family business, but you also expect to be treated like the King of New York while you’re here. You can’t have it both ways.”
“I didn’t say I wanted to be treated like anything. I just said I am treated a certain way. But then there’s you, busting my balls and bossing me around.”
“Guess that’s because you don’t scare me.” She glances up from the corner of beautiful brown eyes, the glint in them playful and taunting.
I know why my brother fell in love. It’s easy to see.
“You’re pretty big,” she continues. “Tall. Broad. Annoyingly grumpy when some of us just want to be served coffee in the quiet before work. Your behavior could be considered intimidating. Which is potentially why the people here treat you a certain way.”
“First of all, I run a bar. Not a fuckin’ coffee shop. Nine might be the start of your workday, but it’s the middle of the night for me. Get your caffeine fix someplace else.”
“See?” She reaches out and grabs the heavy wooden door as we come to stop on one side, dragging it open to reveal a whole ass wedding just waiting to begin. “Serve the coffee. Do it quietly. Then neither of us has to talk more than necessary. ”
“You’re lucky there’s a fuckin’ priest standing right beside me,” Felix snaps loudly. “Or I’d tell you exactly what I think about you being the reason I’m not married yet. Asshole.”
“You just swore,” Archer murmurs from his place beside the others. “In front of the priest.”
“Stop avoiding responsibility,” Minka adds, just loud enough for my ears. “They’re waiting for the best man. Can’t start till you arrive.”
“Not the best man. One of them.” I unravel our arms, but I walk by her side all the way to the front of the room, filled only with folks we spend time with on a personal level. There are several hundred bodies, businessmen, and glittering dates inside this building, waiting for the reception. For the meal. Anticipating their chance to kiss Felix’s ass and gift him a toaster… or some shit. But only the truly special get to be in this room. Cato, the baby of the family. Still only eighteen years old. Detective Archer Malone—the first Malone rebel—and his fierce medical examiner wife. Micah, the brother who stayed in New York to protect Felix, and Tiia, the woman he would burn the world for.
Christabelle Cannon, the stunning bride to be.
And then there’s Aubree Emeri. The bane of my fucking existence. The beat of my heart. The world, as I know it.
“Micah’s paired up with Tiia,” Minka whispers slyly. “Me with Archer. Cato prefers his own palm. That makes Aubree yours, handsome. Go stand with her so we can get this wedding started.”
“You’re setting her up for trouble.”
“Am I?” She flicks my hand away and sashays to her husband’s side, smirking when Felix’s green eyes sparkle with temper. And fun. And playfulness. And murder, if anyone dares to delay his wedding for a moment longer. “Go.” She wiggles her fingers, a small gesturing motion until finally, I do what I’ve managed to avoid all day long.
I look into the beautiful, heart aching, world shifting, life altering, bright blue eyes of a woman better than all the rest of us.
Combined.
Aubree Grace Emeri; proof I’m not like my father.
Because fuck, I love her more than I’ve loved anyone else in my life.
She stands at five-feet and five-inches tall, though a pair of heels gives her a little more height, and waits patiently as I slowly, almost grudgingly, make my way closer. She wears gold, too. An official member of the wedding party, though fuck knows, she can’t stand the groom .
She’d drop him in the ocean, secured with a pair of cement shoes, if given half the chance.
Blonde hair, pink highlights, blue eyes, fire-engine-red lips, and a smile that sets my heart on fire every single time she gifts me with one.
“Hey.” She’s equal parts shy and outgoing, depending on the day and weather, I think. Though today, in her stunning dress and professional makeup, it seems she’s choosing the former. Warmth floods her cheeks as I come to a stop on her left.
A mistake, I realize, when I catch sight of the back of her hair and the brooch I gifted her in the summer.
“Nice of you to join us.” Not entirely pleased with my tardiness, she keeps her gaze and words down as Felix and Christabelle turn to their priest to get this show started. I hear the, ‘ thank you all for being here today ’ and the, ‘ celebrating love .’ Lord knows, I’m probably supposed to be paying attention, but it’s Aubree whose existence keeps me enthralled.
Always. Wherever we are. Whoever we’re with. No matter what the consequences.
“Had somewhere better to be?” she drawls.
“No. Took a phone call in the hall and got turned around while I was wandering.” Ignoring the, ‘ we’re gathered here today to… ’ I lean back, placing my weight on my heels, and sneak another glimpse of the hair clip holding her style half up-half down. Just like the last, and first, time she wore it. “I thought I’d never see that thing again.”
“This?” Her hand comes up to finger the gold frame, her bottom lip, plump from good genetics, trapped between her teeth as her fingertips brush the spray of emeralds. It was my gift to her. My declaration of forever, whether she wants it or not.
In my pocket, my phone vibrates with a text that steals a portion of my brainpower. Another portion, dedicated to my brother and his bride. But the vast majority of everything I am focuses on the long, black lashes kissing Aubree’s cheeks when she blinks. The rise and fall of her chest when she breathes. My existence anchors on the protrusion of her collarbones, because she’s both curvy and too thin at the same time.
“Would you have preferred I didn’t wear it?” Vacillating back to shyness, she drops her hand and inadvertently brushes my forearm with her pinkie finger. “I can take it off if it would make you more comfortable.”
“No.” I grab her hand, twining my fingers with hers to lock her in, because immediately, like I knew she would, she attempts to pull the limb free. Then I inch closer until our joined hands sandwich between our bodies and the ball of her shoulder presses to my arm. “It was my gift to you. And we’re at a wedding. It’s appropriate that you would wear it here.”
“Not so appropriate.” Casting her gaze my way, she looks me up and down with what may be the beginnings of a sneer. Though it’s hard to tell, because she’s so irrevocably sunny and bright. Even when she’s pissed, she can barely swipe the kindness from her eyes. “Considering you’ve yet to tell me the story of the Malone emeralds.”
“You know the story.” Distracted when my phone vibrates again, I reach into my pocket and drag the device out to scan the screen.
Two texts from a guy I pay good money to follow things up for me.
‘He’s made a mess, Boss. They want payment before he leaves.’
Then, ‘I paid Sarge on his behalf and settled the debt. But he’s getting noisy. I know you’re busy, so until I hear differently, I’ll stash him away and sober him up.’
“For fuck’s sake.”
I speak during a lull in the wedding vows, drawing focus. Not only Aubree’s displeased side eye, but a raised brow and silent what the fuck from Felix.
“Sorry.” I drop the phone into my pocket and squeeze Aubree’s hand a little tighter. A reinforcement that she’s right here with me. Safe and sound, despite whatever is happening in Copeland. Then I nod at the priest. “You can continue. I’ll be quiet.”
“You’re being rude,” Aubree whispers. Leaning closer, almost plastering her chest to my arm to get closer to my ear. God forbid she interrupts the nuptials of the guy she doesn’t even like. Smirking, she has fun with the fact I’m stuck. Here. In a wedding I can’t escape, mid-vows I can’t speak through, with a woman I’d kill for, though I’d also chew my own arm off to escape her.
Because she deserves so much fucking better than to love a Timothy Malone.
Not the first. Not the second. And despite the cycles being broken, she deserves better than the third, too.
Unfortunately for us both, I love her. She loves me. And we’re both fucking doomed to the fate set into motion almost a hundred years ago.
“Your phone keeps buzzing,” she whispers, “and you want so badly to leave this room. You have a date waiting for you in the hall?”
“You’re my date. I asked you to be my plus one.”
“Actually no, you didn’t. Minka said, ‘ if I have to wear a stupid golden gown in a stupid city I already escaped once, then Emeri’s coming too. As her boss, this is my professional decision. ’” Leaning forward, she catches my peripheries. “You didn’t ask me out, Malone. You accepted orders like the good little soldier you are.”
I grit my teeth and squeeze her hand, though I control the pressure before I crush the bones in her palm. “A soldier?”
She wrinkles her nose, like this is all a fucking game to her. “You aren’t Felix. Means you’re a foot soldier. And since this is the first time I’ve been in this city at the same time as you, I can’t help but notice everyone listens to him . Not you.”
She lies… sort of.
“In Copeland, he’s annoying. But in New York, seems like he’s kind of a big deal. Maybe I gave my heart to the wrong brother.”
“Listen, Linda.” Felix stop-signs the priest and pins us with a glare. Because I guess there’s a limit to Felix’s tolerance, and right now, we’ve stepped on it. “I like you too, Doctor Cutie. And this whole hippie sunshine foofoo thing you have going on is so sweet it makes my teeth ache. But can you stop taunting him for a second and let me declare my love to Christabelle?” He wraps his hand across the side of Christabelle’s neck and drags her in to plant a kiss on the center of her lips. It’s long. Noisy. And wildly inappropriate. But it has his bride flushing red and Cato uncomfortably clearing his throat. Then he brings his focus back to us, smirking and wiping a smudge of red lipstick off the corner of his lips. “Cut the shit. Be quiet. I’m about to say I do , and it would mean a lot to me if I could do it without listening to you two flirt with each other in the background.”
“We’re not flirting.” Undignified, Aubree straightens out and tries again to peel her hand from mine. “I was telling him I want off this ride.”
“Your pants are on fire, Doctor Derrière. Now shush.” He pulls his focus back to Christabelle, flashes a playful grin, then looks at the priest. “Keep going.”
“I wasn’t flirting,” Aubree murmurs. “And I’m done with this.” She flicks her wrist, attempting to escape me. “Let me go.”
“No.”
I think of the texts I’ve fielded today. The phone calls. The fucking mess, waiting for us back in Copeland. Then I tune in to the priest’s, ‘ Do you take this woman to be your… blah blah blah?’ Reinforcing my hold, wrapping her tiny hand in my overlarge palm, and pressing the fused bundle to my heart, I listen to every word spoken and ignore everyone else in the room except me and her .
Because she hates me. But she loves me. She’s sick of my shit. And she’s terrified of being vulnerable again. But hell, I know her heart beats for me just as surely as mine does for her.
I swore I would always keep her safe. So here, today, and forevermore, I honor that promise and do what needs to be done.
Whether she likes it or not.