Chapter 20
Rhys
Isit in Shane’s office, a half-million-dollar trailer parked on the new UN construction site, while Trace gives a detailed report of the bloodbath in my flat. I was not looking forward to this.
“Fuck,” Shane mutters and starts typing into his laptop.
I debate telling them how that kill also drafted me into a Friendsgiving potluck by a girl who talks to a plant she calls Basil, but I decide against it at the last minute.
“I’m having a hard time believing Zervas didn’t sic that dog on Rhys,” Trace says.
“There is no reason he’d do that.” Shane doesn’t look up from his laptop. “We’re family.”
“You are his family, Shane,” Trace counters. “Not Rhys and me.”
Shane’s eyes pop up, and he stares at Trace, then me. “Have either of you crossed him in any way?”
“No,” I answer, tired of being quiet. “He contacted me.”
Shane leans back in his chair. “Word on the street is, a powerful security broker named Elias Black is creating an army with a ring of soldiers.”
Black… Ares mentioned black to his assistant. But he could have meant anything, or anyone.
“Soldiers for what?” Trace asks.
“Anything. Hits. Heists. Drug couriers.” Shane rubs his temple, looking stressed. “He won’t bend the knee to anyone. Wants to stay independent.”
Christ. Murderers for hire with no soul.
Trace’s eyes narrow. “Ever hear the name before?”
“No.” Shane’s tone sharpens. “But he’s organized. The blood sample from the guy you killed, Rhys, came back from the lab. I’m running a DNA match now. Nothing is coming up, except…”
A ripple of unease runs down my spine. “Except?”
“The familial strain application I used to find Raina’s father is sharpening.
” Shane prompts the screen behind him paired with his laptop.
“I flagged a hit on an old autopsy. A Mark Sinclair. He died a few years ago here in Manhattan. Suspected terrorist, so they catalogued his DNA. Mark has a brother, David Sinclair. And Ares Zervas has an assistant named Lourdes Sinclair.”
Ms. Sinclair. The assistant.
“Not their sister?” I clarify.
“Nope. Wife. Married to David.”
I get to my feet. “Zervas had me kill his secretary’s husband?”
“I bet he’s sleeping with her,” Trace grumbles.
“If she is his mistress, I wouldn’t put it past him,” Shane says, leaning back in his chair.
I shake my head. “I heard Ares mention to his assistant to contact someone named Black.”
“I bet it’s the same guy,” Trace adds.
“Where is this broker operating out of?” I see dots all over the place on Shane’s screen. “There are a lot of hits on that tower north of here.”
Shaking his head, Shane says, “Not sure yet. Too scattered. Not tight enough.”
The fine hairs on my neck stand up. Trace can tell my blood just started whooshing in the wrong direction.
Before I can speak, my phone buzzes with a text. Then buzzes again. And again. By the fifth vibration, Shane raises an eyebrow.
“You gonna check who that is?” he asks as if it’s something empire-related.
I glance down and see texts from Fallon.
Several.
Long ones.
My screen is a scrolling novella.
“Christ,” I mutter, calling her before she tracks me down and shows up here wearing a Santa hat and her candy cane tights.
Fallon answers immediately, sounding breathless, “Rhys?”
“Are you all right?” My voice turns low and protective.
“Did you read my messages?”
“It’s the size of War and Peace, so no,” I say. “What’s the matter?”
“More thoughts on Friendsgiving. I’m not sure about the apple dish now.”
“Okay.” I close my eyes, head spinning. “I’ll be home in an hour.”
“Good. I have other options. We can vote.”
I stifle a laugh. It will be another four against one vote that I won’t win.
“Do you need anything?” I ask her, the words leaving my lips before I realize everyone can hear them.
Trace’s head snaps up.
“No,” Fallon says, and then gets soft and delicate. “I just need you, Rhys.”
Something in my chest flutters. She means it like she needs water or to hold Basil when she’s stressed. Her trust in me weighs on my conscience. I’m not sure I’m good enough.
“I’ll be home soon,” I murmur and end the call.
“Who the hell was that?” Shane asks sharply.
“No one.” I put my phone away.
Trace goes rigid, his loyalty divided. We work for our cousins who are closer to being blood brothers to us. But Trace is part of my soul.
When I’m doubtful, I only trust him.
His mouth opens to speak, but I step in because this is my mess to report.
“There was a witness when Sinclair broke into my flat,” I tell Shane.
“Who?” my cousin snaps, sounding disappointed that I got sloppy.
“I’m handling it.”
“I have to tell Griffin,” Shane says, balling his hands into fists.
“No. You don’t.” I take a breath. “I can keep her quiet.”
“Her?” Shane leans back. “How are you planning to do that, put your cock in her mouth?”
The volcanic eruption in my veins has me struggling to breathe at first. I take a second to answer, which makes every jaw in the room drop.
“Aye, she’s a woman. She was there, but….” I wipe my brow, hating that I can’t get that visual out of my mind now. “I made a deal with her.”
“What kind of deal?” Trace asks because he’s hearing this for the first time as well.
“She needs a date for some holiday events. I asked her what she wanted to keep our secret. And all she said she wanted was…me.”
“How many times have you banged this bird?” Shane asks.
My fists tighten, and I envision a Quinlan vs. Quinlan war breaking out. “I’ve not banged her. And I have no intention of banging her.” I think…
“She just wants a date for the holidays?” Trace asks, brows furrowed, not convinced.
“Exactly.” I point to him, then my spirits dampen. “You need to know, too, that she’s different.”
“Different how?” Shane asks, but then his phone rings. “Aw, fuck. That’s Ares calling me.”
I pray it’s about something other than last night. For the past three years, Shane has been working closely with the Zervas brothers to keep this construction project running smoothly.
Trace slides next to me. “Define different?”
“She’s a bit…off. She believes I’m already her boyfriend. And I think she talks to her plants.”
“Mum talks to her plants,” Trace says, shrugging. “Remember how she sashayed to that trellis every morning, greeted them, and asked them who was thirsty? All before we got breakfast.”
“Yeah, but I think in her mind the plants talk back to her,” I say, and watch Trace go still.
“She hears voices?” my brother says, sounding concerned.
Fearing a motorcade of Griffin’s eight empire guards will show up and abduct Fallon, I say, “I think she’s got a mental disorder. That’s what all the medication you found for her is about. But I can handle it. I can handle her.”
Saying that makes me sicker than the thought of all those pill bottles on her nightstand. But she told me outright she’s not taking her meds. But I don’t voice that.
I heard some of that shite makes people too chill. She’s lively and vibrant. And if that’s because she’s not on meds, then I prefer her just the way she is.
Trace pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’ll call Cormac. Have him do a medical assessment.”
“No! She’s not broken,” I snap. “She’s just—”
What is she?
Can she handle my life? Does she want a love that’s hard? The type of love where I want a woman to talk to me if she’s stressed or unhappy. Not a damn plant.
Fallon has a beautiful heart, when she’s not scaring the shit out of me by almost falling fifteen stories out of my window right in front of me. She’s warm, kind, and innocent.
Innocent. A thought slices through me: Is she a virgin?
Rage scorches up in my throat. Not because I need her untouched.
I see how trusting and vulnerable she is.
The idea of anyone treating her roughly, carelessly, without her choosing it, makes my vision go red.
Then my thoughts get darker, thinking of someone taking that special gift from her.
Taking what is fucking mine.
Shane returns, eyes grim. “Ares told me his side of what happened. He met your fake girlfriend. He wants to question her. Said he tried that night, but you shuffled her out the door.”
My stomach turns to ice. “Why the fuck is he negotiating with you about my fake girlfriend?”
“Because, cousin,” Shane says, sitting down, “when one Quinlan draws blood in front of a witness, it stops being your own little personal relationship charade. It becomes empire business.”
Trace’s chair moans as he leans forward, eyes flicking toward Shane. “If she’s seen as unstable, the Greeks will want to do something about her.”
“What?” I grind out.
“All he wants right now is to see if she can be trusted,” Shane says. “It was a hit for him. If he thinks she’ll talk, Ares has the right to silence her.”
I push back my chair hard enough to make it screech. “She’s not a snitch.”
“Then she better convince the God of War she’s not a threat,” Shane says. “Because he’s not coming to negotiate. He’s coming to decide.”
The weight of that lands heavily in my chest. “Decide what?”
Shane meets my eyes. “Whether she lives under our protection…or theirs.”
My blood runs cold.
“Then I’ll damn well be there when he questions her,” I say and walk out before anyone tells me I can’t.
I leave my brother to settle down our cousin. Every muscle buzzes, fearing the energy Quinlan Empire can unleash now that they know I’m deeply invested in a witness.