Chapter 8
COLLINS
“Do not sign that.”
Storming into Maeve’s office, Killian reclines on the couch to the side, and my oldest sister looks through a stack of papers. I have a sick feeling that they are my contract, by one Roman Bruno, just as he promised.
“Collins,” Maeve greets, glancing up to me, then back to her desk. She’s been like this for months, ever since she took over for Pops.
I don’t know the stress she’s under to handle the clan, the business, the illegal activities, but it’s taking a toll on her. Her cheeks are sunken, and her hair is lackluster. It’s why I’m constantly making sure our chef brings her food.
We might not get along, but I still worry about her. She rarely eats.
She doesn’t leave her office, unless it’s to handle business. Looking around, I don’t understand why. This office looks like it’s in the middle of a large renovation but with no supplies. It’s creepy.
Killian smirks from his corner, a ghoul haunting the room. He’s always been mischievous, starting fights with Maeve since we were kids. There was a time when Maeve stabbed Killian over a cupcake because he challenged her to who could eat it faster.
But to me and my younger siblings, Killian is the protective older brother. The one who played with us, or chased us through the house. Who read us Korean mythology books during thunderstorms.
But when he hit eighteen, Killian was no longer a sibling, but a trained assassin who Pops sent him on regular missions. For the last few years, he hasn’t been at the mansion. He only returned when Pops died, almost a year ago, and has been rarely seen since.
“Colli,” Killian drawls, a book on his lap. “Should I be here for this sister disagreement?”
We both give him a look. Right. Like he’d miss this.
“No,” I respond, turning toward Maeve, eyebrows raised. “Because I’m not marrying Roman.”
Leaning back, my sister regards me, eyes cold. She’s always so cold. Sloane rarely got along with Maeve—they were too opposite. Sloane runs hot—Maeve, frigid. I played peacemaker between them.
Pops wanted that. To be the good daughter, the demure daughter.
I gave Maeve enough time to look over the proposal. It’s been days. I’ve been sulking around the house, waiting for her to bring it up to me and instead, silence. That’s not new.
She’s always quiet, hiding in her shadowed corner, letting the darkness of our world coat her. But the world will not have me—I’ve already sacrificed too much. I refuse to let her control my life the way she did to Sloane. I refuse to be used and molded, like I was with Pops.
“So, you heard,” she says, judging me.
“Are you going to do it?”
Maeve is silent, face devoid of emotion. Robotic. Because God forbid, she shows me an ounce of warmth instead of the face of our Captain.
Sloane has it in her head that Maeve and I are close. We’re far from it.
After Mom died, Pops retreated. He hired a nanny to keep us going—but shortly after meeting her, she disappeared. From that moment on, Maeve did everything for us. Dinners at night, tucking us into bed, or making sure we got to school.
I wanted to be just like her. So, I bandaged Briar’s scraped knees and held Sloane’s hand when she threw a tantrum.
Until I got sick. When I expected hugs, or declarations of love, Maeve remained aloof. Emotionless. It forced me to realize that maybe she didn’t care about us—but only protected us, because we were the clan. That’s all she cared about anyway.
“It’s an interesting proposal.” She taps the page. “There’s a lot in here that would benefit the clan.”
“He runs girls,” I snap, planting my hands on the desk. “You don’t see how those women look. They’re nothing more than pits of empty skin suits, beaten and abused until there isn’t any light left in their eyes. They’re just ghosts, Maeve.”
“I know,” she says, voice dry. She grips the edge of her desk.
“No, you don’t—”
“I do,” she snaps, knuckles turning white. “The question is, how do you?”
Swallowing, I pull back my retort. Hayes hasn’t told her—I know it. Otherwise, I’d be locked away for even daring to associate with her enemy.
Why hasn’t he blown my cover yet? He can’t possibly like watching me dance?
My body warms at the thought.
“They come into the ER on my night shifts. I’ve patched them up more times than I can count.”
She tilts her head, scanning me for a lie. “Do you report them? A resident, soon-to-be physician takes an oath to protect their patients. That includes turning in suspected abusers.”
Fisting my small hands into the desk, I glare at my older sister, temper roaring in my ears like the crack of a storm.
I know why she’s doing this and she isn’t subtle.
“I try to report them. They’re smart. The guards never bring them and the women never make a claim. Without that, I can’t do shit.”
“Don’t you have people you can tell?” There’s a ghost of a smile and it’s another dig.
I grind my teeth. “There isn’t anyone other than the cops I can call. Not without a formal claim.”
“That’s bullshit.” She scoffs. “There’s always another way.”
I can’t help it, I flinch.
My entire life I played Pops’ games. He wanted a calm, sweet daughter—one he could mold into his ideal woman. Sloane was too wild, too head strong to be it. Maeve was his heir and off-limits. But me? Out of all his children, he could make me into his perfect daughter—his favorite.
It did me no favors to do it. But it kept me alive.
And Maeve knows what I’ve done for this role. And she hates me for it.
She hates what I did—what I endured to survive. Everything I did, and didn’t fight against. I’m not even sure how she found out.
“You don’t want to get into bed with Bruno,” I murmur, voice tiny, switching gears. “You would never want that on your hands, Maeve.”
“You don’t know what’s on my hands.” She scoffs. “You don’t know what I’ve endured to make this clan what it is.”
Killian saddles up next to me, a steady presence in the rising tide of Maeve’s anger.
“No.” I sigh. “No, I don’t know.” She has her secrets and I have mine.
“How could you?” She stands, looking from the reaper, then to me. “Not all of us let others take the fall, while we sat on a tainted pedestal.”
Another flinch. She’s proving her point.
“Right.” I snort, temper flaring to combat the swirl of sorrow in my gut.
I ignore how my hands shake, how hard my heart hurts at her casual dismissal.
“Because you’re the picture of the perfect sister?
You’ve never protected us. You sold Sloane off to Lex for an alliance and now, you’re thinking of doing the same to me. Just for this fucked up family.”
She glares, eyes going black. “Everything I’ve done is to protect you.”
“And if you decide—”
“And if I decide,” she cuts me off and my jaw cracks, throat tight with tears as she continues, “to use you as a bargaining chip, then I will. If I want to auction you off to the highest bidder, I will. You are a daughter of the clan and only what I need you to be as your Captain.”
My heart pounds in my chest, breathing rapid and erratic. Everything feels tight and my throat closes in on itself. Coughing, the beginning signs of a panic attack rise inside my chest and I try to inhale. But my lungs stall, and my breath catches.
I’m trapped—suffocating under her control. Just like I was with Pops. Just like I was at school. At the hospital, I was stuck to all those wires. Trapped…
“Maeve,” Killian interrupts, drawing her attention away and I grip his forearm, nails cutting him deep. I need something solid as I exhale, wrestling my mind and my panic under flimsy control. “Not the time, Princess.”
She wrestles with herself, jaw working as if to say more, but her mouth snaps shut.
Whatever she wanted to say is lost to the silence and I exhale shakily, again.
Slowing, that tightness in my chest, in my throat lessens, and Killian gives me one sure nod.
He’s coaching me without words. I inhale and blow out a breath in the silence.
At least I have one friend here.
Finally, she licks her lips, controlling her ire. “Regardless, it’s my choice to make.”
“Your choice? This is my life you’re talking about.” I cough. “I’ve already been given my decree. Pops already said—”
“Pops is dead,” she snaps. “And with him, his decrees.”
“So, you’re just going to change what he instituted?” My eyes water but I fight back the tears. I can’t let my anxiety get to me again. “I sacrificed for this, Maeve. I fought to get this decree. This is my life. You can’t give me to that monster.”
“We’re all pawns, kid,” she says, shrugging and whatever hope I have, breaks. She’d sell me off because to her, her family is nothing. The only thing that matters is the clan.
Why did I expect something else?
Blinking back tears, I elbow Killian. “Talk to her, Killian. You know as well as I do, aligning with Bruno will hurt the clan more than help us.”
He shrugs, sliding his hands into his pockets. He seems relaxed, but he’s staring Maeve down, eyes unreadable. “It’s Maeve’s show, Coli. Her rule. What she says, goes.”
My heart constricts and I fight through the terror. “Traitor.”
“Although,” he muses, shrugging, and I hold my breath, “the only way she wouldn’t force you into this arrangement is if you were with someone else. Someone you cared about. Maybe even someone she cared about.” His dark eyes peer down at me. “Anyone like that in your life, Colli?”
He winks, and my throat tightens again. What is he getting at?
I’m not with anyone. I can barely look at myself in the mirror and I have quickies in the library when I can’t handle the pressure to be perfect anymore. I certainly don’t have anyone in my life that my sister likes—cares about enough, that it would stop this kind of merging.
Who would want to be saddled with a woman who can’t produce a family—who likes dark things and is weird?
“No.”
Killian’s eyes narrow, annoyed. “Maybe you didn’t hear me.” He taps his chin. “Maybe engaged?”
“Engaged.” I test the word out, lips pouting. It tastes like bitter dreams and hurtful promises. “Like as in getting married.”
I don’t want to be married. I’m here to stop that. How is this helpful?
Killian pinches his brow. “Engaged to someone that might be terribly hurt from you leaving.” He jerks his chin at Maeve. “Someone that maybe your sister might be fond of.”
The only person she’s fond of is Hayes—
Everything clicks. Hayes. Maeve would never take me away from him. She loves him like a brother—he’s my shot out of this.
Sitting back, clasping her hands over her middle, Maeve looks at me, eyes cold. “Engaged? I would know if Collins is engaged.”
“You know a lot, Princess.” Killian smirks. “But not everything.”
She doesn’t like that. “Well? Are you?”
Licking my lips, I look to Killian for reassurance. Because this might actually kill me.
Hayes will just have to deal.
“I’m engaged.” I stumble over my words. “With Hayes. Hayes and I are engaged.”
We hold our breaths as she blinks slowly, face devoid of emotions. Not a flinch of recognition.
“My friend, Hayes?”
My shoulders hike closer to my ears as Killian snickers. The bastard is enjoying this.
“One in the same.”
She stands abruptly and Killian shakes with laughter. “Excuse me.” She stalks from the room and the man at my side whistles.
“Oh, this is going to be good.”
My stomach drops as nausea rises up my throat.
What did I just do?