Chapter 24 #2
“I’m not in the habit of eating food that’s been drugged,” I bite out, recalling the first few meals that had me feeling woozy and sick for several hours. Drugs and my body never meld well.
The bitch smirks.
“And I’m not in the habit of abiding by anything other than docility in my property.” The smile she gives me is all Stepford and plastic. Or it is all Botox? Can’t be sure. No matter. If her intention is to warn me, it doesn’t work. It does, however, creep me out.
“It’s cute you think I’m your property,” I sneer. “I didn’t realize a bag of bones could own property.”
Sheila’s smile falls flat.
“You’re a pathetic little bitch.” Her hands tighten on the arms of her chair hard enough to turn her knuckles white. “Just like your mother.”
I take a threatening step toward her, eyes hard and teeth bared. “Don’t talk about my mother, you fucking—”
“I see we’re all getting along then,” a deep rumbling voice interrupts. It is tinged with an Irish accent that melts seamlessly with his Boston drawl. “Sit down, Avaleigh. Stop being dramatic.”
The ease of familiarity with which he commands me leaves me uneasy. We have never met, but here he is, acting as if he has known me my entire life.
Scoffing, I do as he says, but only so I don’t hit a bitch like a Whack-a-Mole at the county fair. Sheila smirks triumphantly, as if she has won something. The only thing she won is me not shoving a fork into her carotid and watching her bleed out on her ridiculously priced rug.
“And you are?” My gaze follows the man as he makes his way to his seat across the table from me on my grandmother’s right side.
He gives me a disarming smile. “I’m your grandfather, of course.”
“Yeah,” I snort. How stupid does this man think I am? “If you’re Seamus McDonough, then I’m Hilary Clinton. You’re either a twin or a really close doppelg?nger.”
His eyes shift to Sheila. “I told you she is perceptive.”
Sheila huffs a mirthless laugh. “But easily conned.”
What the fuck are these two nutcases on about?
“I admit, though,” my evil grandmother keeps on, “I was truly touched when word reached me that you were concerned about my safety. Those small fear responses are always so helpful in gaining access to one’s emotions and using it against them.”
Well, suck a duck.
Karma really is a bitch.
“You played me.” I scoff in disbelief. “You knew I was going to be at the gala, didn’t you?”
“And you played your part so spectacularly well, little Ava.”
“What part?” I ask. “You didn’t gain anything that night.”
“Didn’t I?” She cocks her head to the side and smiles. “You did the one thing I needed the most, and that was to reveal the mole in my operation. Two, actually. And you did it so well.”
Seamus’s look-alike nods and smiles at her words. “Not only that, Avaleigh,” he tells me, “But you helped us to eliminate some of our loose ends along the way.”
“Dr. Martin.” My grandmother rolls her eyes. “That horrible offspring of Cartwright’s.”
“He was particularly foul, wasn’t he?” the man agrees. “Nasty for business.”
“And of course, your carelessness and urge for vengeance allowed us to easily access the Dashkov building.”
“God rest their souls.” Seamus’s doppelg?nger shakes his head in mock solemnity before calling for the waitstaff to bring out food and drinks.
My stomach growls as the room fills with fragrant spices and sizzling hot plates as the waitstaff rush in from the kitchens holding trays of decadent goodness.
My body has been starved of nutrients for the last three days, and it takes every ounce of control I have not to grab the spiced apple roast and dig in like the Grinch at a Christmas feast.
“Do eat, dear,” my grandmother urges me. “I promise I didn’t drug any of it this time. We are all sharing from the same dishes, after all.”
The old crone is right. There is no reason not to eat. If she wanted to drug me, she would have had them deliver an individual plate instead of allowing me to serve myself from the same dishes as them.
“As long as you cooperate, there will be no reason to drug you.” It is a warning, and it isn’t subtle. Behave or back to woozy land I will go.
I load up my plate with the roast, potatoes, green beans, and a few other vegetables I can reach before sitting back in my chair and slowly beginning to make a dent in my food.
Several quiet minutes pass, and I hate to say that it isn’t an uncomfortable silence. It isn’t cozy either, but at least they aren’t hurling death threats at me. They probably have that saved for dessert.
“So.” Yep, I am not going to let the silence go on forever. It is beginning to grate on me. “What’s your actual name? You know, the one you were born with.”
The man sitting across from me, the enigma I haven’t been able to place on the chessboard, beams at me.
“I’ll tell you if you tell me how you figured out I wasn’t Seamus,” he compromises.
I could do that.
“The Seattle police took photos of my mother’s dorm room after she disappeared,” I tell him. “One of the photos easily seen is of her, Seamus, and Cruella here on the day of her graduation, which was also the day you were seen meeting with Dante Romano’s father here in Washington.”
“Clever girl,” he praises me. “A keen eye for detail.”
Sheila snorts. “Stop pandering to her, Remus. It’s below you.”
Remus.
It isn’t a name I recognize.
“Whether you like it or not, she is our granddaughter, dear,” he chides her gently.
Sheila harrumphs indelicately.
“And soon she won’t be our problem any longer.”
That certainly has my attention.
“There you go again.” Remus sighs. “Giving away the plot.”
Before I have a chance to ask what the hell either one of them is talking about, the doorbell rings.
“It would appear our guests have finally arrived.” My grandmother lets out a pleased smile. I look over at her.
“Who did you invite?” I hiss. “Voldemort?”
All right, so I am deflecting. Using humor to counteract the raging heartbeat that thrums beneath my ribcage.
There is only one man I can think of that they would have walking through those pocket doors.
I have escaped him—twice—and I will be damned if I let him take me again.
Because if he does, there won’t be any escaping.
While the two of them are focused on awaiting their guest, I slowly slide the heavy silver knife off the table and grip it tightly in my hand. Christian or not, I won’t let anyone take me. Not without a fight.
“Ah, here is the pair of the hour,” Remus exclaims brightly as he stands and walks around the table to greet his guest. “Welcome.”
I turn in my seat and nearly drop the knife in my hand at the sight of their guests standing before me.
Damn, it feels good to be right.