Chapter 11
ELEVEN
LIAM
“Goodness, Liam,” Gran remarks, looking me over as I join her in the sitting room. “Where did you get that scarf?”
I touch the silk scarf I’ve wound around my neck despite the pleasant weather — despite being inside — and wince.
I hadn’t had much of a choice but to wear it, not when the evidence of Ryker’s brutality had been stamped into my skin.
I’d tried makeup, but that hadn’t done anything but make it more obvious, and it hadn’t exactly been like I could call Maggie to get her help.
She’d been furious when I’d bailed on her last night—again—and I don’t think her temper is going to cool for a few days.
And letting Gran see it? Forget it. She’s open-minded and all, but there’s no way she’d accept that her sweet baby grandson would’ve let himself be choked into oblivion on purpose.
“A friend gave it to me,” I lie, flopping onto the couch opposite her.
I hadn’t had too many choices in places I could get a scarf delivered to me at a moment’s notice, and I’d had to settle for what I’d gotten. The thing is dark green with pale leaves on it, and the only reason it doesn’t clash with my outfit is because I’m only wearing a white shirt and black jeans.
“Well, your friend could stand to get better taste.” She scoffs, taking a sip of what’s either bourbon or tea. At this afternoon hour, it could be either, all consumed from the same pretty, fragile cup. “It isn’t that cold inside. You can take it off. I won’t tell.”
“I couldn’t possibly,” I tell her.
Really.
I could not possibly risk it.
Gran would lose her mind.
I should’ve made an excuse so I didn’t have to come over, but the idea of skipping out on her is more than I can handle. Besides, her guilt trips are epic.
I’m never going to be ready to lose her, but hearing her complain that I’d regret not having gone if she died the next day always lights a fire under my ass.
“Hmm.” The noncommittal sound has me squirming in a way few other things could.
My balls still ache from the spanking I’d taken, and that’s nothing in comparison to how they’d felt two nights ago.
“Don’t ‘hmm’ me,” I grumble. “The scarf is fine. It’s fashionable.”
She scoffs at me and sets her cup down on the coffee table between us. “If you think that’s fashionable, I have a bridge to sell you.”
“Really? Which bridge?” I ask brightly. “I’ve always wanted to own one. It could be called ‘Liam’s Crossing’ or something.”
Gran shakes her head, but I can see the amusement in her expression. “Of course. We could always adopt a side of the highway, but then you’d be responsible for keeping it clean…”
I shudder. “No, thank you.”
“You’d get a sign with your name on it,” Gran replies, her eyes sparkling with wicked amusement. “Everyone would know it was yours.”
“Hard pass,” I reply.
I guess I could hire a crew to keep it clean for me, though, and it would be fun knowing that something was named after me.
“Okay, maybe,” I amend. “There are people who do that sort of thing, right?”
“There are people who do everything,” she says. “But it would do you good to do some community service.”
I eye her. She has to be fucking with me. If she thinks I’m going to get on the side of a highway and pick up trash, she really is starting to get old and senile. “I go to charity events all the time!” I complain. I’m starting to feel like a broken record.
“You do,” she says. “And I dearly hope you won’t attend the next one wearing that scarf.”
“I’ll get a better scarf,” I promise her.
“You could also go without one at all,” she points out, her voice dry. “Really, Liam.”
“I think it suits my aesthetic,” I say, twirling the end of it.
Gran shakes her head, but she smiles. “Speaking of parties. My beloved Mitzki is turning thirteen soon. I’ve been debating hosting a bar mitzvah for him.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “A bar mitzvah. For your cat.”
Yeah, it sounds like something she’d do, out of sheer boredom, if nothing else.
“He’s a dear member of my family, and he’s of age,” she says primly. “I believe he meowed in assent when I asked him if he’d like it.”
“Oh my god,” I say, burying my face in my hands. I take a breath, then sit up straight again. “Gran, he’s not even circumcised!”
Gran stares at me, and we burst out laughing at the same time.
“Oh dear. Can you imagine? Rabbi, would you circumcise my cat?” Gran chuckles to herself. “No, no, we’ll make an exception for Mitzki. I was talking to a caterer and getting cat-themed food. Lox, of course. Maybe sushi. Tuna sandwiches.”
While we’re talking, the very subject of our conversation strolls in, head and tail held high.
He’s a big black-and-white tuxedo cat who loves being cuddled and spoiled.
Mitzki makes a detour over to me, rubbing his head against my legs, before going over to Gran and jumping on the couch next to her.
“Would you like that, Mitzki? A whole party just for you. With new cat toys and so many treats!” Gran leans down to kiss Mitzki’s forehead. He purrs and rubs his face against her chin.
“Mom would have a fit,” I say.
“You really don’t need to try so hard to talk me into doing it,” Gran says. “Honestly, Liam. I was already convinced.”
I snicker. Yeah, I can only imagine how my mother would feel if Gran threw a bar mitzvah for Mitzki. She’d be mortified.
All the more reason for me to encourage her to do it.
“You know what?” I say. “Do it. I’ll be the first one there. I’ll even help set up.”
“I’d rather the decor look classy and not like a first grader with the attention span of a goldfish set it up,” she says dryly.
I clutch my chest. “My heart!” I say. “I’m totally capable of decorating.”
“Is your decorating as good as your fashion sense?” she counters.
“You are savage today,” I tell her, but I’m grinning.
She’s opening her mouth to speak when the doorbell rings.
“You invited someone else over, too?” I ask. “I’m hurt that my company isn’t enough, Gran.”
Gran huffs. “How do you know I haven’t decided to set you up with a nice Jewish boy?”
My heart skips a beat.
I don’t want a “nice” Jewish boy.
I don’t want a “nice” anything.
I want Ryker.
“You wouldn’t,” I say. “That’s Mom’s department. Except she’s not even that picky. If you only knew the kind of loser she keeps putting in front of me.” I have the sudden urge to tell her that I have met someone, but it’s not like Ryker is my boyfriend.
Besides, even if he was, he’s not the type to take home to meet the parents. Or the grandparents, in my case. I’d never subject him to my mother or father.
I hear footsteps, and one of Gran’s staff approaches the doorway with an apologetic, strained smile on his face.
“Mrs. Cohen?” he says. “There’s an… Agent Stratford and an Agent Redding here. They’re asking to speak to Liam.”
“Agents?” Gran asks, her brow creasing. “What sort of agents?”
“FBI?” he asks more than says. “Should I ask them to come back later?”
Agents.
FBI.
Well, fuck.
Maybe I should’ve been more worried after all.
Gran looks at me. “Do you know why FBI agents would want to speak to you?” she asks me.
I shake my head. “No.”
I can’t exactly tell her that I got sloppy with a murder. She supports me through a lot, but somehow, I don’t think murder would make the list of things I could get away with.
Probably.
She’d never believe I was capable of it, anyway.
“I’ll get rid of them,” Gran says. She heads to the door—Mitzki following her—while I sit and wait.
I can hear her speaking to somebody, but the voices are muffled.
I twiddle my thumbs. I check my phone for new messages.
I should probably find out what they’re after. Maybe it’s not even for me. Maybe Dad is embezzling funds, and they want proof of that.
I go out into the hall and closer to the front entrance.
“And I’ve told you, without a warrant, nobody is stepping into my house,” Gran says fiercely.
One of the people on the other side of the door says, “Ma’am, your grandson is a witness. We just need to ask him a few questions so we can—”
“My grandson knows nothing,” Gran snaps. “Remove yourselves from my property or I’m calling your supervisors and lodging a formal complaint.”
She shuts the door on them with a loud huff.
When she turns around, she spots me lurking and scowls.
“What did they want?” I ask.
“They say you might have seen something involving that dead boy. The one related to the senator.” Gran bites her lip. “But you wouldn’t have gone to a place like that, right, bubeleh?”
“A place like what?” I ask, feigning bewilderment.
“Some run-down nightclub. I haven’t really been keeping up.
” Gran looks down at her hands, and I realize she’s holding a business card.
“The agents want you to contact them. Nothing good can come of getting involved. At best, they waste your time. At worst, they try to pin it on you because they don’t like gay men. ”
I go to her and take one of her hands in mine. “Don’t worry, Gran. I won’t say a word without a lawyer present,” I promise her. “I know how they work.”
I’m not getting caught.
I might’ve been stupid in committing that particular crime, but I’m not stupid when it comes to this part. All I have to do is slip up and say the wrong thing, and they’ll pounce. Then they’ll crow about what an idiot I was, and that thought sends cold anger through me.
They don’t get to call me an idiot.
Only Ryker does, and even then, I’m going to prove him wrong.
I’m going to prove I can learn.
“I’m sorry they came here, Gran,” I tell her. I’m glad they did, though, because now I have a heads-up that they found something that ties Reid Bertrand to me. That means I have time to adjust to the idea instead of being blindsided and accidentally giving something away.
Gran kisses my hand, then motions toward the butler standing nearby. “I think Liam and I both need a drink. We’ll head to the library. Do get me a martini, and… what will you be having, dear?”
“Something strong,” I tell him.