Chapter 7
WAR
S ince Killian and J moved out, the massive house feels deserted.
I’m good with my own company, and I like being able to blare death metal through the killer sound system whenever I feel like it.
But J and I got along well as housemates, and now that he’s gone, Ashling Patrick has lost her excuse for coming by.
I should view that as a good thing but don’t.
The girl is dead wrong for me on every level, but when she crawled into bed wearing my t-shirt and stared up at me with her gold hair fanned around her head like a halo, she said something I can’t get out of my head.
She’d been talking about guys she knows, when she mumbled, “Of all of them, you’re the worst. So why do I like you the most?”
If true, it’s an excellent question. Another one would be, why did I get so much satisfaction from hearing it?
All I said in return was, “You’re drunk. Go to sleep.”
Which she promptly did .
Why do I like you the most? Probably drunken nonsense that I should let go. But I can’t.
When the knocking starts, I open the door for Killian and J.
We’ve got to prep for a Crue op, which is a good distraction.
I may head out to a Boston sex dungeon when we finish.
A rough fuck with a girl who’s desperate to please me would top off the night and give me a break from the shit that’s plaguing my mind.
Which includes the girl of course. But also the revenge plot that brought me to Massachusetts in the first place.
Nothing is what I expected, but I haven’t ruled out the ultimate act of vengeance. Or that I’ll use the girl as a pawn when the time comes.
Of all of them, you’re the worst. She has no idea how right she is.
The under-cabinet LED strips make the kitchen feel like a shadowbox until I flick on the pendant lights over the island. The other two sit, and Killian opens his laptop to show us login timestamps from some computer geeks we’re spying on.
Killian continues to discuss computer shit, which is not my area, but my eyes scan the on-screen pattern.
My brain may not speak binary as well as Kill’s or J’s, but it’s great with maps.
I can glance at a schematic for a few seconds and tell you exactly how Crue soldiers should be arranged to come in hot and wipe out an enemy force.
Sliding a bowl of spicy shrimp and lime ceviche in front of me, I go to town.
I added hunks of fresh pineapple to it, which shouldn’t work, but the tart sweetness lights up my tongue.
For a second, I contemplate a sun-drenched vacation with Ashling Patrick lying on a wooden lounge chair in a black bikini.
Be serious , I think sardonically. Me and her on a tropical beach?
Never happen. Too many obstacles. Plus, laid back and rum-soaked is not my scene.
I’ve got too much drive. And too much damage.
I chew, letting the acid heat burn the inside of my cheek. I wash the fresh fish down with Guinness, glancing out at the setting sun. I wait for nightfall each day. Dangerous things move best under cover of darkness. And I’m one of them.
Hunching over the screen, J’s not moving his body at all except to clench and unclench his jaw.
His hair’s grown out enough to flop over his left eye, but he doesn’t bother to push it away.
Any longer and the hair will move into borderline ridiculous territory.
My hair’s long, too, but I don’t let it flop around like I’m one lipstick swipe away from putting on a drag show.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, then stops.
I check the screen, finding I’ve got a notification from my spyware, telling me Ashling is leaving campus again. The girl is a rolling stone ninety-percent of the time.
J’s phone rings, and when he lifts it, I see the girl’s face. Speaking of the devil’s prey.
“Hey, Ash. I’m working. Can I call you back?” he says.
The usual brightness in her voice isn’t there. “Sure. Got time for one question?”
“Yeah.”
Her tone is serious, which is not one we hear a lot from her. “Do you have password-cracking software handy here at GU?”
I freeze. Not outwardly—years of practice—but the skin on my neck tightens, and I set the bottle down with enough force for the tapping sound to draw J’s gaze.
What’s she up to?
“I do, yeah.” His Irish accent sounds more pronounced when he talks to family, even when it’s the American branch.
“Great. I’ll get with you about a time for some hacking and cracking.”
“You mean tonight when you come to dinner?”
“No, not around Sawyer. And about dinner, I may be late. Start without me.”
J leans back to rest against the tall chair’s frame. “Right. Why’s that?”
I’m glad he asks. This girl courts trouble like it’s trimmed in gold she can use to buy unicorns .
“I thought you were working?” she says.
“I am, yeah, but I’ll hear what you’ve got going before I ring off. Quick rundown.”
Killian pushes away from the counter and heads to the head.
“I’m going to a club meeting for The Watch,” she says. “Heard of it?”
J frowns. “No.”
“A female campus safety group. You’ve probably seen the posters advertising its meetings. Teal and yellow logo? Eyes open. Voices Loud. ” Ash’s level voice is sober and resolute. Completely unlike her. “Meeting doesn’t start till six-thirty, so I’ll stop in at Bruno’s for a drink first.”
Bruno’s? Bad idea. Like most that she has when it comes to roaming the campus alone.
Bruno’s is where the Beta House frat guys, including Bergmann, like to hang out. Has she conveniently forgotten that? Along with the fact that we just got into an altercation with those assholes?
“You’re joining a women’s safety group?” J continues, completely skipping the bigger issue. “Why’s that?”
“Solidarity with the sisterhood,” she quips, returning to a cheery tone. “Anyway, that’s the night’s plan. You want text updates on what I’m drinking and the adequacy of the pour?”
“No.”
“Right, no need. I’ll give you the full rundown when I get to your place. Expect the foam measurement on the Guinness to be in ounces. I’m American, after all.”
“Go ‘way.” Ending the call, he glances at the screen for several beats. “Not for a second do I believe that girl is joining a safety group in solidarity.” He exhales with a shake of his head, sending strands of blond hair over one blue eye that’s exactly like the cousin’s he’s just been talking with.
“You let that hair get any longer, you can join her in the girl group. ”
He runs a hand through his hair and smirks. “My looks causing you some confusion over your sexuality?”
“Yeah, right.” My gaze flicks to his phone. I’m suddenly anxious to finish the meeting so I can head to Bruno’s. I may even crash dinner at J’s place if the girl seems likely to get drunk and talkative again. In that case, I want to get her alone to interrogate her before she passes out.
“Killian,” I yell. “Let’s finish this shit. I’ve got things to do.”
And by things, I mean stalking.