Chapter 31
Kellin
I needed to shower as soon as I returned to my room to remove Maeve’s sweet scent from my body. I can’t focus with her jasmine and vanilla fragrance all over me.
What do I say to Finn? How can I redeem myself?
Rory’s text from this morning informing me that Finn’s on a warpath was a rude awakening.
Finn found out. What a laugh. Rory fucking told him. He’s been threatening as much for days.
I guess I don’t blame him. We’re all fighting to find and secure our place within the Kings. But he couldn’t give me one more day of peace?
Of research. Tactical research.
Fuck.
In his texts, Rory also asked if I knew what Maeve did in the penthouse the handful of times she visited over the past week.
I had no idea she was slinking off to the top floor. I had to pretend otherwise, of course, but I haven’t exactly been diligent in checking my video feeds.
I heave a heavy sigh and knead the back of my neck.
Real smooth in the car, asking about the penthouse. I sounded like a jealous boyfriend. Pathetic.
Another problem for another time.
Rory also asked, again, if I’m positive Maeve isn’t involved in the family business. And as much as I want to say yes, how can I when she keeps sneaking up to that suite?
Which likely means that Maeve’s more involved than I originally believed. Declan probably has her running the errands that Brody can’t get done.
And if she’s part of the family business, then she’s an enemy to the New York Kings. To Finn. To me.
Rory assumes she’s manipulating me.
I wouldn’t blame her. I deserve as much.
I’ve lied to her, drugged her, scoured through her books.
Rory also believes she’s deliberately keeping me from digging for Doyle. The Kings tech monkey went so far as to suggest that my uncle managed to fool me, so it’s not that difficult to imagine Maeve Gallagher could too.
I wanted to reach through the phone and rip his head from his neck for that comment. The prick.
Thomas Brennan fooled everyone, Shane and Finn Gallagher included.
I knew I never liked Rory.
My phone rings as I’m toweling off. Finn for the second time in twenty minutes.
Now or never.
“Hey—”
He cuts me off. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
I wince. That’s not a happy tone.
I don’t pretend to misunderstand. “It’s not like that. We talked about this.”
“You getting your head stuck so far up Declan’s daughter’s ass that you can’t see straight? Did we talk about that?”
“Getting close was a part of the mission. Seduction was a very real possibility.”
“And how’s that working out so far? Do you know Doyle’s whereabouts? Do you have anything solid we can use against Declan?”
“I know where he is. He’s here, at the hotel. Declan’s men are all over this place like shit on a shoe. If I can just get—”
“That little pencil dick is privy to our books. Our entire enterprise. My father is dead, and I’m trying to hold things together. Meanwhile, you and your hard-on are following Maeve Gallagher around LA like you’re a teenage boy and she’s Margot fucking Robbie.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “It’s not—”
“I’ve seen the footage, Kellin. You weren’t even on the property last night.” His dramatic pause knots my stomach. “I have a team at the ready to replace you.”
No. “Finn, all due respect, I’m doing my job the best way I know, however messy it appears on camera. I’m very close to getting access to Doyle.” Lie. “And I have a plan that includes taking down Declan.” An even bigger lie. “Give me forty-eight hours. I won’t let you down.”
“You have twenty-four.”
He hangs up.
Fuck, fuck, shit, fuck.
All I’ve wanted since leaving the vice grip of my natural-born family was to use my strengths, barbaric or not, to contribute to something bigger than me.
This is my chance to prove my worth to Finn. To the Kings.
I have to deliver.
Not even all the way dried off, I shove my legs into briefs and pants. Then I yank a starched Oxford off a hanger like it owes me money and button it up in a huff. No tie today.
Finn will send another team if I don’t follow through, and I doubt they’ll be half as nice to “Declan’s daughter” as I’ve been.
I slip on the tailored jacket that goes with the pants, grab my keys, and with both determination and a fair amount of recklessness pumping through my veins, I’m off.
I need this energy to up my game.
As I rev the G-Wagen I rented from the airport to life, my GPS tracker pings.
What sweet timing.
Declan Gallagher’s at the docks.
During the drive, I attempt to conjure up ideas about how this assignment won’t explode in my face. Won’t hurt Maeve.
I knew I was delaying the inevitable. I tried to convince myself our growing bond was all part of my recon. The hike, the sunset, Chateau Marmont.
Learning about her mother.
Fucking her against the wall of our room. Twice.
Yeah, all part of the plan.
I’m such a dumbass.
But this ends now. After today, there’s no way this thing we share will survive.
I pull into the docks, still no plan in sight. I do spy Declan’s S-class Benz and realize one thing.
I don’t believe Maeve is the key to delivering Doyle or intel on the Port Kings. Not anymore.
But I know who is.
I hop out of the Wagen and slam the door. I don’t give a fuck who hears me.
As I round an open garage-door entrance into a shady industrial building, one of his armed muscle approaches me.
Except for the part where I pretend to adjust the tie I didn’t bother putting on, I manage to play it cool.
I stop five feet shy of him, his .38-cal aimed at my groin. I want to tell this idiot that while shooting off my dick could result in a very unpleasant wound, the injury likely won’t be fatal.
It must be this guy’s first day. The Port Kings shoot to kill, and he’s aiming way too low.
“Kellin Jameson. I have a meeting with Declan.”
He scratches his neck tattoo with a meaty paw. “Declan didn’t say nothing about no meeting. Who are you again?”
“Here’s my card.” I stride toward him, pretend to slip my hand inside the breast pocket—just going for the business card—and backhand the motherfucker across the face.
Stupid son of a bitch deserves the hit. Who the hell carries business cards anymore?
His head snaps to the side, and I kick the gun from his hand. I drive my attack home with a left hook that rolls his eyes to the back of his skull.
His lip cracks open as he drops at my feet unconscious, splattering blood on my brushed-leather Pradas.
I hear a voice—“What the hell?”—as I grab the .38 off the concrete floor and straighten. When I do, I meet Declan Gallagher in the flesh. With long, aggressive strides, he heads right for me.
Two more men flank him, two steps behind and late to the party.
They see me pivot with the gun and draw theirs in response.
“I believe this is yours.” I offer Declan the weapon. To kill me, all he has to do is curl his finger around the trigger and squeeze.
His expression is a sight to behold. I can’t imagine many people have willingly handed over a gun to this man, especially not after knocking out his detail the way I just did.
His goons lower their weapons but keep them out.
Good boys. No need to be overly eager. As far as you know, I’m an unarmed man now. And you can see what happened to the last guy.
Declan Gallagher is broader than I am, and the years haven’t been particularly kind to him.
His face tells the story of more battles lost than won.
Scars by an eyebrow, on his cheek, and just a general leather-like characteristic to his skin that screams sun-damaged and tired.
He’s carrying a lot of loss in those dark devil eyes that would otherwise, no doubt, be empty of all emotion.
Maeve described the man to a T.
Even though I’m half his age and ten times as fit, I don’t want to put my prowess to the test. Men like Declan can end someone by other means. Experience and cunning. Shane taught me that.
He accepts the gun and pockets it just as I knew he would. Then he stalks over to his downed man and shoves him with a foot.
Nothing.
He spins back toward me, a cruel smile on his face. “And just who the fuck are you?”
He’s impressed, or amused, by my audacity. I can work with that.
“I’m Kellin Jameson with Zenith Investment Group. That’s what I was telling your man here before he pulled a gun on me. I was informed that you’d be here by one of your men at the hotel.”
His eyes narrow. “You’ve been prowling around the Cypress. Sniffing around my daughter.”
“I have. Getting to know the hotel and the woman who runs it. Color me impressed.” I casually shove my hands into my pockets. Just two guys talking business. “We see the Cypress as an ideal investment opportunity. My company is interested in…discussing its future.”
“Who says it’s for sale?”
“Everything’s for sale.”
When Declan cracks a second smile, more menacing than the first, I know I’ve got him.
Finn didn’t send me for nothing.
I straighten to my full height. “Zenith acquires properties globally. We’ve been around for two decades, and our net worth is currently valued at three and a half billion.
We invest in order to develop and manage.
We don’t just focus on the money. We possess international expertise in terms of operations, and we primarily concentrate on tourist destinations, along with properties that we believe will have longevity.
We want to build history, not just wealth.
Brand matters, and the Cypress is off to a strong start. ”
“My daughter knows how to smile and fold a napkin, if that’s what you mean. It’s a nice little place she’s cultivated, given her limited abilities.”
What the hell? Limited abilities? Are we talking about the same woman? Does he truly not recognize Maeve for the gem she is?
“I agree.” I struggle not to grit my teeth as I play along. “We see a big future for the hotel. Here’s my card if you and Maeve would like to talk further.” I reach into my breast pocket to retrieve my nonexistent card.
He stops me short.
“We don’t need to roll Maeve into this little chat. I’m the one in charge. Of course, you know this already, or you wouldn’t be here in front of me with blood on your boots.”
I knew adding Maeve’s name to the conversation would prompt him to jump like a tigerfish after a swallow.
The way he disgraced and belittled his own daughter probably pisses me off more than it should.
As much as I want to punch that stupid smirk off his face, this asshat just told me all I need to understand about how he views Maeve’s involvement in his enterprise.
Which is to say, she has no role. Zero. A boss would never talk about one of their right hands like that.
Electric relief surges through me. She’s not involved. Not in any real way.
And all I want to do is defend her to this sad excuse for a man she calls a father.
Considering all the lying and other shit I’ve pulled, I don’t have a leg to stand on. I certainly don’t have the right to harbor this much anger for the sexist pig in front of me.
But, fuck, Maeve is sharp as hell, and her father is selling her—and women in general—short.
Doesn’t the man have any loyalty? Does he really not understand how impressive his daughter is?
He should be so lucky to have someone like Maeve at the helm of the family business.
I’m relieved she doesn’t hold that position.
If she did, though, maybe her success would lead Declan to worry less about his second-rate Gallagher status and drop the feud.
Too bad for him, he’s wasting the family potential.
“Follow me, Kellin, back to my office.” Declan whirls around and heads deep into the building, his men on his heels.
Twenty-three hours and counting on Finn’s deadline.