Chapter 21
HAYES
“What are you doing?” I ask, holding on to the door frame. I don’t dare enter Maeve’s office without an invite. Not after these last few weeks.
She ignores me, tugging on a frame over the cold fireplace. She stumbles, sharp boots slipping on the mantle.
“I hate this painting,” she mumbles, righting herself to pull again. I can’t help but smile—the frame is easily twice her height. When she slips once more, she slams into the fireplace and I wince.
“Damn.” I tsk. I grab the frame from her hands, untangling it as she fights with me. “Seriously, knock it off. You’re going to break something.”
She curses me out, shoving the frame into my hands. Stepping away, she moves to her chair and I place the frame down, the edges cracking.
I shift, uncomfortably. The room is heavy, quiet, like a ghost haunts us.
It’s never been like this between us—Maeve and I. As the person who gave me my life back, it’s been easy, friendly. Now, it’s overshadowed by too many lies and half-truths.
“Redecorating, still?” I ask, shoving my hands into my jeans. Maeve shrugs.
“I hate this room.”
I understand. This room was the seat of her father’s power—it’s where he gave her to Michael and sealed her fate. It’s a reminder of a time when her power was gone and she wants to erase those memories.
“I like the color,” I say, gesturing to the stark walls. Ferguson had this room done-up like a hunting lodge with thick brown paneling and dark green wallpaper full of forest animals. Now, everything is painted in a deep aubergine. “Very Maeve.”
Without warning, she grabs a discarded picture and slams her heel into it. Glass rains down like freshly snow and she tosses it aside. “How about now?”
I hum. “Actually, yeah. Broken glass, full of sharp pointy things? Completely you. Props to the interior designer.”
She doesn’t crack at my joke. Okay. We’re still mad.
Not that I blame her. Everything is fucked.
“What did you want?” Her tone is cold—professional. Not a fan, honestly.
Maeve has been at my back since I joined this clan. We’ve fought together—bled together. And because I’m dating her sister, I get the cold shoulder?
Running a hand through my hair, I bite my tongue. It’s not that simple. Not for us.
“We need to talk.”
She raises an eyebrow, reclining in her desk chair. “Do we, now?”
“We do.” I hate the boundary between us. “About Collins. Where we stand. We can’t just keep tiptoeing around the matter.”
“Very mature of you,” she says snidely. “Tell me, where was this maturity when you were fucking my sister behind my back?”
Point to her. Pretty shitty thing to find out on a random weekday.
My mind flashes to Collins, legs spread, soaking her sheets.
Her perfect pussy, those glorious lips. Just last night I saw the part of Collins that I knew was always there—her mess, her filth, and wanted to devour it whole.
She trusted me enough to show me—and that was better than her screaming my name as her orgasm took her away.
Barely. But still.
I lick my lips. I can still taste her. Feel her.
Maeve glowers at me, as if reading my mind. I won’t feel guilty for finally having the woman I love. I didn’t set out to hurt my friend, but I won’t apologize for it either.
“Did you even think of telling me?” she asks. “Or was it always going to be hidden?”
“I didn’t hide—”
“I trusted you,” she hisses, “to put the clan first. To have my back. What else have you been hiding from me?”
I glare. That’s fucking unfair. I’ve never lied to Maeve before. The first night I joined, I told her who I was—what I was to the Bruno family. And she still kept me on her team.
“I don’t lie to you.”
“But you did.” Her fingers lace over her belly and I see the glint of metal on her hip. She’s too close to a knife and I gulp. Maeve with a blade is a deadly combination. “They’re off-limits, Hayes. All of them.”
Her siblings. She put the order in place once she took command. Her final ‘fuck you’ to her father that forbade anyone from touching, talking, being alone with any of her siblings—even Briar, wherever the fuck he is.
“And what, Maeve? You’re going to kill me for touching your sister?”
Her fingers twitch. “Maybe I need to send a message.” I watch her knife warily.
“And what if I love her? In love with her? Then what?”
She stills, jaw tight. I’m under no illusions that Maeve held off on sending Collins to the Bruno compound because she cared about us together. If she wanted to, she would marry Collins off to whomever would benefit her the most.
My only Hail Mary was that it’s Roman. They’ve fought their whole lives, scrimmages in the streets, failed coups in the early days of her father’s quest for territory. She would never give him the satisfaction of having something of hers—family, blood, power. She’s holding out for spite alone.
She swallows. “Do you love her? Truly?”
Helplessly, I fall into the chair before her, hanging my head, awaiting her judgement. “I do.”
“When?”
Memories flash before my eyes. Of Collins, young with braces and looking at me when I saved her from her bullies.
Collins, when she graduated from college.
I hung out in the shadows with Maeve, watching from afar while Sloane hugged her and Ferguson posed for pictures.
Of Collins, throwing her stuffed animals at me when I tried to enter her room without permission.
Of her unbridled laugh, the one she lets loose when no one is around—except me. Or the way her eyes flash silver, like lightning breaking over dark clouds, when she’s angry.
All those small moments building in my chest and I rub my breastbone.
“I’m not sure,” I murmur. “I fell for her wit. Her charms. Her rage. But I’ve never not loved Collins, Maeve. It’s as easy, as natural, as breathing.”
“Breathing,” she repeats, thoughts gone. Then she blinks, clearing her throat. “You still went against an order. There are consequences for such things.”
“I’m ready for whatever judgement you pass.” Please don’t kick me out. “But Maeve, I’ve never betrayed you. Never lied to you. You’ve been my only family for so long—I would never willingly hurt you.”
She seems to mull this over, sighing. “I’ll come up with a punishment. After the Games. Don’t get comfortable.”
“But Hayes,” she begins, pinching her brows. “Some common decency would have been nice. Collins has gone through things—” she cuts off. “Things you don’t know.”
“I think I know her pretty well, boss.” I wink, messing with my hair. “Everything has always been to her level of comfort.”
I’d jump head first into a shallow puddle if it meant doing what Collins wanted. I’d swim out into a tsunami and drown with a smile on my face. I go at her pace—I don’t think Maeve knows Collins pace is akin to a raging riptide and all you can do is go along with the current.
“Still—”
“What did you want me to do?” I hum. “Ask your permission? I’d lose both ears for simply implying.”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t deny it. She might love me like a brother, but her protectiveness over Collins comes first. As it should.
“You should have still asked my permission.”
“And die?” I scoff. “No thanks.”
Her lips quiver. Just a little blip. The ice is thawing and she’s starting to warm up to me.
“But you’re right. I should have been a big boy and talked to you about what was happening.” About my emotions. About Collins' plan. We’re too far into this to backtrack, but I wish I could change a few things.”
“Yes, you should have,” she agrees. It’s a subtle dig and it hits the mark. “How long has this been going on?”
Time for the cover story.
“Three years.”
“And you proposed, when?”
“Last month. At her favorite museum.”
“The Isabella Gardner.” She nods as if accepting it. “She wears your mother’s ring.”
I hold her stare. Maeve knows what that means—what I told her about my mother all those years ago. Only the woman I’d give my life, my dying breath for, would wear that ring.
“Alright,” she whispers. “But I’m watching you. One wrong thing, she wants out, I’ll end it for her.”
Saluting her, I smirk. “Aye, Captain.” Then, once I lean back, I throw her a devious smile. “Want to know the first time we slept together?”
She makes a face like she’s holding down her breakfast with a death grip. “No, thank you.”
Kicking my feet on to her desk, much to her annoyance, I comment, “I don’t remember Alessio getting the same talk. Why does he get special treatment?”
“Why do you think I have so many clauses in the contract?” She shrugs. “I needed a way to make sure Sloane stayed safe with him too.”
“Does that mean you’ll take it easy on me in the games?” I wink, grinning at her, shoulders lighter than they’ve been for some time.
She rolls her eyes, the usually hidden playfulness rearing its head. “No. I might make it harder for you. See if you’re up to task.”
Pain in the ass.
Killian strolls into the office, casual in a pair of jeans and band shirt, that damned golden chain hanging around his neck.It’s a simple token of his relationship with Maeve. If it irritates me, I can’t imagine how she feels.
“Roman got Julian this morning,” he says cheerily. “In five neat little packages.”
“Let me guess,” I begin, looking at Maeve. “All red bows?”
She smirks coldly. “An eye for an eye.”
“And how does the prince feel about it?” the reaper asks, smirk firmly in place. I don’t let it get to me. “Watching his best friend murder his half-brother? Any thoughts?”
Maeve’s eyes fall to me and I mull it over. A good person would mourn the loss of a life—normal people might cry for a sibling dying. But Julian was a ruthless dog who deserved far worse than what Maeve gave him.
“You went easy,” I retort. “The old Maeve would have cut off all his fingers, then his tongue before slicing his throat. Getting soft?”
A ghost of a smile curls across her face. “Fuck off.”
”Oh, great. The besties have made up. Boston beware.”
“Did you need something?” She glares at the reaper and I hide a smile. “Or are you in here to piss me off?”
“Both, actually.” He smirks at her, and she bites her inner cheek to keep from strangling him. “The first trial. We need to decide what it is and when. The sooner this happens, the sooner you’ll get a second.”
“And the sooner Roman gets his ass handed to him,” I quip.
Maeve sighs. “Agreed.” Before she can continue, the front door crashes open and we’re all on our feet, guns pulled. Killian and I both jump in front of Maeve, blocking her as we dash into the hallway.
Surrounded by the two guards stationed at the front is Collins, teeth chattering, green eyes wide in fear. Her cute button nose is bright red from the cold and tears.
Everything happens without thought. I drop my gun, scoop her into my arms and bury her face into my chest. She’s shaking—violently, her body convulsing and I hold tighter. I try to absorb her pain and let my warmth sink into her bones.
It’s second nature to soothe her fears, to be her rock in the storm. I want to protect her—I want her safe.
Whatever happened was enough to screw with my unflappable fiancée and I’m ready to tear heads from necks at the slight.
“What did you do?” Maeve punches the closest guard in the mouth like a vengeful spirit. Killian appears by her shoulder, glaring at the other man as if they’re the culprits. I don’t release Collins, one hand rubbing her back, while the other draws soft circles on her hip.
If I didn’t feel the same rage, I’d laugh at their twin looks of stark fury.
There’s movement before Maeve raises her gun, safety off, digging it into the closest guard’s temple.
“Princess.” He grabs her wrist, holding her back. “We can’t afford to alienate our people right now.”
Unfortunately, the prick is right. Between the Games, Bruno and the Board’s involvement, we need all the men we can get. Maeve blowing a few bullet holes into their brains won’t help morale.
“He didn’t do anything,” Collins whispers, eyes watery.
“What happened?” I ask, lips to her forehead. She’s cool to the touch. “Talk to me.”
She struggles to compose herself. “Roman. It was Roman. He came to the hospital to see me.
Killian and Maeve freeze and my gut churns with black rage. Roman came after my wife? He came after what belongs to me?
I try to stand, anger pushing me to react but Maeve’s hand on my shoulder halts me. I’ve yet to let go of Collins. I’ll never fucking let her go now.
“What did he do?”
Collins swallows and clings to me, nails piercing my chest. I barely feel it.
My blood rushes in my head and the urge—no, the need, to make him suffer burns through me.
The only thing that keeps me grounded is the feel of Collins in my hands.
Her soft skin. Her delicate scent. The rightness of her next to me.
“He claimed I was his.” She sniffles and my heart breaks. “Forced me into a closet. Saw the ring.” She glances at me, holding my gaze. “He’s mad I have it. He said it belongs in his family’s safe. Why would he say that?”
Internally, I flinch. Fuck.
I open my mouth to explain as she pulls back and promptly curves inward.
I don’t need to ask—I know the signs of a battered body. The aches and bruises that hide under clothing. I lift her shirt and see the marks.
“He touched you.” It’s not a question. She nods silently and Maeve inhales. “Anywhere else?”
“My head.” She pats the top of her skull. “And my wrist.”
“Killian,” Maeve barks, causing Collins to jump but I remain steadfast. I have to, otherwise, I unleash everything.
“I’m with you,” he replies, slipping a knife into his palm. The urge to follow is strong. I want to make Roman suffer—I want to destroy everything that matters to him for even thinking to harm my wife.
Before she goes, Maeve kneels briefly, tucking a strand behind Collins’ ear. It’s a tender act and completely foreign for the woman. “Take care of her.”
They stalk through the doors as the guards avoid eye contact. I want to follow. I want to grab my gun and blow three bullets into Roman’s skull. One for Collins. One for me. And one for my mother.
But Collins needs me more. She’s injured, marred from my brother’s tantrum and she needs safety. I can be that for her—I always will be.
Gathering her into my arms, I hold her close to my chest. She protests lightly and I shake my head, hoping she can feel my sincerity in this little bit of comfort.
“I’ve got you, Collins. I won’t let anything else happen to you.”
I can’t make the same promise for Roman.