Chapter 2
Ash
Present Day
“How was Scotland?” Jake asks as I slide into the passenger seat of the waiting SUV. The smile he gives me is dazzling. And disorienting.
Jet lag has dulled my senses, but not so much that I don’t immediately pick up that something is very wrong. Jake has two modes – dour, and miserable. He’s too fucking chirpy. “What’s wrong with you?”
My brow furrows when I see the tell. Did Jake just flinch?
He releases a sigh through pursed lips as he pulls away from the airport. “Nothing’s wrong with me. I’m just trying to be conversational,” he mumbles. He drums his fingers against the steering wheel, aware that I’m watching his every move. “Haven’t seen you for a month.”
“Scotland was a dream. Amazing scenery, fantastic company. Rory’s finally filed for divorce so it’s the first time in a while he’s been able to relax properly,” I reply, giving a quick rundown of my time away.
“And now that we’re not caught in the crosshairs of two warring crime lords, I can relax too.
” I scrutinize his features. “Unless there’s something I don’t know? ”
Jake rolls his shoulders. “We’re all good.”
“Do you have a spare holster? Should I be armed?” I ask. I’ve managed a whole month without feeling the need to carry a gun, but suddenly I feel underdressed.
“No, you definitely don’t need to be armed,” Jake says.
My jaw tics. “Jake…”
“There’s no immediate threat,” he insists.
“Vasili Barkov may not be too pleased that we killed Ilya, but he’s grown bored of playing the grief-stricken uncle.
Obviously, he’s upset that John McConkey’s reclaimed the territories Ilya had stolen, but that appears to be an issue between the Russians and Irish.
As far as our intelligence goes, we’re not an active target. ”
“Is Vasili staying put in Russia?”
“Seems to be,” Jake says, giving me a side glance. “Honestly, boss. He’s not a problem we need to concern ourselves with at present.”
I scrape my fingernails across my beard and try to loosen the tension in my jaw. “So, what problems do I need to concern myself with?”
Jake shakes his head subtly. “Not for me to say.”
“Fuck,” I mutter.
What the hell have my brothers been up to?
Last time I took a trip out of the country, Hunter got married in secret.
There was a time when I stupidly assumed they would all learn from my mistakes and avoid love like the plague it is, but Hunter was the first to break ranks.
Mace and Reid had followed in quick succession.
Despite my reservations, the women in their lives have proven to be a steadying influence. I’d like to hope they’re not the reason Jake’s edgy, which is why my thoughts turn to someone else. Technically, I have another brother.
Barrett Emerson carries the same cursed blood as the three oldest Griffins thanks to our mother.
When Alice had walked away from the meagre existence dad offered, she’d fallen straight into the arms of billionaire, Charles Emerson.
Barrett was born two years later. He’s the only son my mother ever publicly acknowledged, and even at her funeral last year, my brothers and I were consigned to the back pews of the church.
I’d complain, but if Barrett is the product of Alice’s motherly love, the rest of us had a lucky escape.
Barrett is an entitled prick, and he’s the reason we fell foul of the Russians.
He doesn’t deserve our protection, but given his habit of destroying the lives of innocent bystanders with his ill-conceived plans, we’ve had to step in on occasion.
If he’s been causing more trouble, and my brothers have been keeping it from me, I’m going to lose my shit.
As much as I needed a break from the stresses of the last twelve months, I don’t like being kept in the dark. My brothers know that.
I don’t push Jake any further. He’s right. Whatever I’m about to walk into, he’s not the one who needs to do the explaining.
The sun’s still high when we reach home. The electric gates swing open as we approach, and the two men at the guardhouse nod their welcome as Jake speeds past. He follows the curved driveway and pulls to a halt outside our family home.
The modern, single-story structure is made of glass and steel, and shaped like a giant X.
It was designed specifically so there’d be four wings that provide each brother with some much-needed personal space.
The communal areas are clustered around the center, including the large entrance where I spy Connie waiting for me.
“Are you coming inside?” I ask Jake, not taking my eyes off our housekeeper and the too-wide smile she beams in my direction.
“No, but I’ll be over at the garage block if you need me.”
“Will I need you?”
He gives another of his sighs. “I hope so,” he says cryptically.
Not giving myself time to dwell on his comment, I jump out of the car and find myself wrapped in Connie’s arms. She’s the self-appointed matriarch of our clan, and despite her small frame, her hug is vice-like.
“Am I going to need a drink for this?” I ask.
She looks up at me with watery eyes. “I don’t know what you mean…” she tries.
“Yeah, right,” I say, almost managing a smile. Connie doesn’t involve herself in our business, but she watches from the sidelines and referees occasionally. She’s told nothing, and knows everything.
“I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready.”
My jaw locks and anger simmers as I untangle myself from Connie’s arms. I pride myself on being able to control my emotions, but anger has become my default mood in recent years.
My dad was always so easy-going, and I should blame Alice for this particular personality trait, but maybe this has nothing to do with genetics, and everything to do with circumstance.
Because fuck me, my life has a habit of turning to shit.
Ironically, I’d made a vow while I was away in Scotland to do better.
Our family has expanded to not only include Maddie and Lily, who are married to Hunter and Mace, but also Reid’s future wife, Quinn, who’s carrying the next generation, I had hoped to settle into a more relaxed and stress-free way of life on my return.
I’d been foolish enough to think that all our battles had been fought and won.
Only yesterday, I’d bought a Fair-isle baby blanket to give to Quinn…
Ice pumps through my veins. I can barely get the question out. “Is everyone OK? The baby…?”
“Mother and baby are fine. Everyone’s fine,” Connie says quickly. She rubs my arm. “And so are you. Now, go. Your brothers are waiting for you in your study.”
The house is unnervingly quiet as I step into the foyer. Taking slow, deep breaths, I turn down the corridor. The door to my study has been left ajar.
The oak-paneled room is at odds with the modernity of the rest of the house, and deliberately so. It’s the place where I retreat whenever I need to take time out and think. Countless problems have been solved in this room, and I wonder what new challenge I’m about to face.
Mace and Reid stand next to the conference table to the right of the door. The wood is the same deep, golden oak as the rest of the furniture, and it shines in the sunlight streaming through the windows.
There’s a click behind me, and I turn to find Hunter locking the door. Locking. The. Fucking. Door. He simply shrugs as he pockets the key.
“Ash, sit down,” he says by way of a greeting, nodding towards my desk.
I could argue. I should argue, but if I’m about to erupt – and from their pale expressions, that’s exactly what my brothers are expecting – it might be better for all involved if there’s a heavy piece of furniture between me and their mortal bodies.
It’s only when I’m seated that I take my eyes off Hunter. That’s when I realize the desk is clear of everything except a few stacks of papers. There’s no laptop, no computer screen, no glass paperweight. There isn’t even a stapler.
Slowly, I survey the rest of the room. The paintings are missing from the walls, and there are no photo frames amongst the books on the bookshelves.
My crystal decanter and glasses are missing from the sideboard.
In fact, the only thing I can see that’s breakable, is the bottle of whiskey in Hunter’s hand.
Although we have a number of distilleries and produce our own label, this whiskey predates any we’ve produced ourselves.
I had the label designed myself. It’s red with three gold letters embossed in the middle of a diamond.
ASH. No one but me is allowed to drink it.
Hunter notices me staring and comes over to pour me a drink. He sets a paper cup in front of me.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I growl.
Hunter pours a generous measure. “You’re going to need this.”
“I worked that out for myself,” I say, knocking back the whiskey. Its flavor profile is like nothing I could ever produce, nor would I try.
As I set down the empty cup and wait for a refill, Mace and Reid drag three conference chairs over so they’re lined up in front of me.
All three of my brothers are in suit pants and white button-down shirts, open at the collar. Hunter and Mace have their cuffs turned up, ready for action, whatever that might mean. Reid’s cufflinks glint in the sunshine. He’s less prepared. He’s never seen me truly lose it.
They all take their seats.
“This is a hell of a way to build up the tension,” I say, eyeing each of them in turn. “So, who fucked up?”
Hunter tightens the cap on the whiskey bottle after pouring a fresh measure. “I think you did, Ash.”
“Quinn and I got back from the log cabin yesterday, the one close to Poulton Springs,” Reid says, surprising me by being the first to speak. Despite his recent baptism of fire, he’s still new to our business. “But before we left, she wanted to pay a visit to her friends.”
I rest back in my chair, not quite relaxing, but willing to accept that this is, as I suspected, a Barrett problem.