Chapter 2 #2
Poulton Springs is where the Emerson heir has built his newest mansion, and not without drama.
After inadvertently making himself an enemy of the Irish mafia, the na?ve idiot had entangled himself with the Russian Bratva, who offered him protection.
He not only put himself in danger, but Quinn too, who’d been working at the estate at the time.
Fortunately, Quinn was more than capable of looking after herself, and with our help, the Russian problem was neutralized.
“What the hell has Barrett been up to now?” I ask.
Mace clears his throat. “He got married.”
My eyes narrow on him. Mace has been the one monitoring activity between Barrett and Vasili Barkov.
Although the Russians no longer have a physical presence around Poulton Springs, they’re still in communication with Barrett.
We know this because, even though their message encryption is impenetrable, the Russian’s have no protection against information given freely.
Our informant, Ray Forsyth, is part of Barrett’s inner circle, and fortunately for us, his loyalties are divided. He owes us a life debt, if only because we chose not to kill him.
“Was Ray right?” I ask. “Has Vasili set Barrett up with his niece?”
Katarina Barkov is the late Ilya Barkov’s half-sister, and I don’t much like the idea of her family being connected to ours, even if it is through our weakest familial tie.
I accept it’s not great news, but as I glance around the denuded study, I don’t understand why my brothers have taken such extreme measures.
“He didn’t marry a Bratva princess,” Mace says before I can feel any kind of relief. “And this information didn’t come from Ray.”
“It came from Tandy,” Reid says. “She worked with Quinn at the mansion. As did the housekeeper, Clara Kelly.” His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. “That’s who Barrett married.”
I know immediately who they’re talking about, and my confusion only grows. “Ethan Kelly’s widow?” Ethan was the security guard who died after being trapped in a factory fire on the site where Barrett built his mansion. “She still thinks Barrett had nothing to do with the fire?”
“Quinn’s been trying to get in touch with her for months to set her straight,” explains Reid. “But Clara sees Quinn as the enemy now that she’s with us. She still blames us for what happened.”
It’s a story that Barrett wove, using our links with the McConkeys as proof of our guilt.
The Irish mafia had been using the factory to conceal one of their distribution hubs until Barrett bought the site, which led to their dispute.
Barrett thought striking a match would resolve the issue, and a man had died because of his stupidity.
I swallow down another slug of whiskey. “Fuck.” I can’t believe Barrett had the gall to pursue the woman he’d made a widow.
“Barrett went out of his way to take care of her after she lost her husband,” Hunter explains, resting his elbows on his knees, possibly to stop them bouncing.
“She’d been almost destitute when he offered her the housekeeping job, and when the Russians took over the estate, he relocated her to his house in Connecticut for her own safety. ”
“He played the fucking hero.” Mace says it like it’s an insult, which it is – to true heroes.
“And she was the beautiful heroine in distress,” Reid adds. “Barrett’s been targeting her for a while.”
I can’t help but feel sorry for Clara. It won’t be long before she realizes there’s no substance behind the public persona Barrett has cultivated thanks to his shareholdings in the US media. “I take it this hasn’t been made public yet.”
Hunter unscrews the cap of the whiskey bottle then tightens it again. From his taut expression, he’s desperate to take a swig, but crisis or not, I’d go for his throat if he touched my whiskey. I have a limited supply, and it’s irreplaceable.
“Coward that he is,” Hunter says, “he’s been holding off telling Vasili that an arranged marriage is now off the table.”
“But he was more than happy to tell me,” Reid adds.
“You saw him?”
“After Tandy told us about the wedding, Quinn and I paid a visit to the mansion. We were hoping to get Clara to come to the gate, but it was Barrett who appeared, and he confirmed the news.”
“He wanted you to know,” Hunter tells me.
The room falls silent. My brothers are spoon-feeding me the information for a reason. I just can’t figure out what has them so on edge. I drain the last of the whiskey.
“Why does this feel personal?” I ask, keeping my gaze fixed on Hunter. He knows me best.
His chest expands as he takes a breath. “I’m so sorry, Ash,” he says on a sigh. “We didn’t know who she was until yesterday.”
Which means she’s someone important. Someone important to me.
Time slows.
There’s only one woman who stole my stone heart, and it’s the same one who took a sledgehammer to it. But her name wasn’t Clara Kelly.
It was Belle Simmons.
Her full name was Clarabelle Louise Simmons.
“No.”
I go to shake my head, but the muscles in my neck have seized up. Tension cords my arms and the paper cup crumples in my tightening fist.
When Hunter goes to say something, I point a finger at him. My hand trembles with rage. “Don’t fucking say it,” I grind out. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
Hunter’s the only one who knows what that woman truly meant to me. And he’s the only one who keeps his head up to bear witness to my desolation. “It’s Belle.”
The roar tears from my throat before I have a chance to tamp down my anger. I jump to my feet and swipe my arm across the table, sending papers and folders flying. “I’m going to kill him!”
Belle could be with Barrett right now.
In his arms.
In his bed.
I lean over my desk, bracing my weight on my hands as I fight the red mist that’s swirling at the edges of my vision. I’m aware of Hunter rising from his chair. He sets down another paper cup in front of me so he can pour me a drink. The red label on the bottle mocks me.
“More,” I growl when he thinks he’s finished pouring.
As my brother tips more whiskey into the cup, my hand shoots out for the bottle. I snatch it from his grasp, spin around and smash it against the wall behind me. Splinters of broken glass fly into the air, and a tiny shard slices at my cheek. I flick it away with the back of my hand.
“I told you we should have used a plastic bottle,” Mace mutters.
“Not the time, Mace,” Reid hisses, saving me the trouble of answering our brother.
“Ash,” Hunter says, drawing my attention back to him. He hands me the paper cup that miraculously still has whiskey in it. “Sit down. We’re not done.”
I shift my gaze to the locked door. Now I understand. My first thought is to head straight to Poulton Springs, but then what? I sink back heavily into my chair.
After almost six years, I thought I’d got Belle out of my system.
Maddie had once accused me of having a void in my chest where a heart should be, and I was happy to agree with her.
But it looks like we were both wrong because beating hard against my ribcage is the ghost of the vessel that once held all the love I had to give.
When I’d returned to Eastham Grove after Dad’s funeral, I’d found a note from Belle telling me not to go looking for her.
I’d ignored the instruction, but it took a while to track her down to a small town in eastern Illinois, if only because I’d done it without the help of Mace and his tech wizardry.
I didn’t want him knowing about my obsession with a woman who’d already rejected me.
And I certainly didn’t want Hunter finding out.
He’d told me enough times that I was better off without Belle.
I wanted to believe that too, but I only truly accepted it a year later when I discovered she’d already moved on and married a local. That was supposed to be where I drew a line under the past. For my own sanity.
My breath comes out in heavy pants. “You’re sure it’s her?” I ask, clinging to the last vestiges of hope. “Ethan Kelly was a security guard, right? But Belle married a firefighter.”
Mace flicks through the contents of one of the folders I’d swept off my desk.
He places a printout of a CCTV image in front of me.
The picture is grainy but clear enough. Belle’s tall frame is more curvaceous than it was when she was mine to hold, but if it’s possible, she’s more beautiful than ever.
My hands tingle at the memory of running my fingers through her long blond hair.
“Does Barrett know who she is to me?” I ask, without taking my eyes from Belle’s face.
“Given that he made a point of telling me to let you know,” Reid reminds me, “then yes, it’s safe to assume he knows.”
The air is heavy with the smell of whiskey, heavy enough to drown in as I stare at the siren beckoning me back towards the rocks. “How do we fix this?”
It’s only when I’m met with stony silence that I look up. I cock my head to Hunter, but he refuses to answer.
“Barrett’s using Belle to get to me,” I say, spelling it out.
“She can’t have entered this marriage willingly.
She’s either been coerced or manipulated.
” I pause for a response, but get nothing from him.
“You’ve had a whole day to process this, Hunter.
I’m relying on you to think up a plan that doesn’t involve murder and kidnap, because that’s where my head is right now.
So, tell me, brother. How the fuck do we fix this?
” It comes out more as a plea than I’d like. This has to be fixable.
“Ash…” he begins, but his voice trails off.
“We haven’t told you the worst of it yet,” Mace says with a wince.
I almost laugh. “What could be worse than finding out that the love of your life is married to a heartless bastard like Barrett Emerson?”
Reid’s brow creases in pain, and even Mace shifts in his seat at my confession. If they hadn’t worked out already how important Belle was and is to me, they have now.
Hunter deflates on an exhale. “What do you know about Clara?”