Fuming about my fuck up, I jerk my chin. “He’s not receptive to anything right now.”
“I think, on this, he’ll want to be privy. It changes things.”
“It changes nothing,” I snap. “Everything will go to plan.” Because if it doesn’t, I won’t be able to control the shit festering inside me much longer. “Nothing changes,” I reiterate, hearing the difference in my tone, which sounds every bit like an order—something Tyler doesn’t take kindly to after following so many militantly over the years. There’s a warning in his posture even as he summons the patience to press in on me for what’s behind my resignation.
“Dom—”
“Remember when you came back from your only overseas trip,” I twist my blunt tight, “and you didn’t want to talk about it?” I don’t bother looking up as I seal it closed. “Same scenario.”
“That bad?”
“Worse,” I swallow, wiping my desk free from debris. “These aren’t acts of war.”
“Jesus, man, I get it. But on this, we can’t—”
“We fucking have to. Not a word, Tyler, to either of them. Sean can’t handle the mind fuck, and my brother’s too far gone in the game he’s playing overseas. If we tell him, his mind will be here, and it can’t be. Not right now.” I let my statement linger for emphasis, and he doesn’t miss it. “It’s up to us. Trust me on this.”
Tyler takes a full minute to mull it over but finally agrees. “All right. For now.”
My answering glare echoes my request.
“Don’t,” he jerks his chin. “Don’t question me.”
“Then don’t make me.”
“Have I ever?” he barks, letting his arms fall to his sides. “Let’s concentrate on the situation at hand. I don’t think you should meet her, but I’m betting you’ll go against my advice.”
“What’s she like?”
“From what I’ve gathered in my two-second assessment, curious, innocent, observant, and to keep it one hundred, way too fucking beautiful.”
A low-lying fury starts to prickle in my veins as I run through a list of scenarios, namely Sean’s current agenda to mix our business with his pleasure.
“I’m not the one you need to warn on the last part.”
“Goddamnit, Sean,” Tyler groans, “I get that this came out of left field, but we have no contingency plan for this . . . Jesus. All right,” he exhales audibly, “I’ll do some additional recon on Roman to see what his motive might be for bribing his daughter back into his life. It doesn’t make sense other than a last attempt at a relationship with her, right?”
“She just graduated,” I relay thoughtfully, “Roman was there.”
“At her graduation?”
“I didn’t read into it. Maybe I should have,” I admit.
“Well, it wasn’t in my fucking newsletter,” he snaps, exasperated. “Dom, you should have—”
“I don’t need to be reminded of what my job entails,” I grit out. “I’m aware of the cost of fucking any part of this up, but we’re covered. I’ll make sure of it.”
“And this situation?”
“I’ll think on it.”
“Sure you don’t want to put in another call to France?”
And risk my brother’s life as he plays a dangerous round of roulette with a French thug sporting a God complex?
Fuck no. I earned and deserve the position I’m in. It’s my call, and we both know it. He reads my decision.
“Choice is yours. I’ll go feel her out.” I give him a slow nod before he disappears, the promise of a future argument apparent in the tight snap of my door behind him.
Standing, I light my blunt before walking over to the blinds. Lifting one, I spot her lingering at our fence, her back to me, outlined and illuminated by the sinking sun. Pulling from my blunt, I watch her take in her surroundings, scanning the mountain ridge just as Tyler approaches her. When she turns to him, I drop the blinds in lieu of getting my first real look at her.
There’s no point. I can’t and won’t appreciate the beauty of any complication that threatens our agenda. We’ve worked too hard and waited too long for the days, weeks, and months to come. Our plans aren’t changing for any reason or anyone, especially Roman Horner’s teenage daughter.
Despite what some say, not all birds are attracted to shiny, spinning things.
After smoking the whole blunt to calm my shit to the point I can face my fuckup, I mimic a progress report under the bird who’s been on Cecelia’s detail for years on the off-chance Tobias checks in. Reasoning with myself that it’s the only way to keep my brother’s focus where it needs to be, I shake off the accompanying unease as I hit send. Pushing away from my desk, I stalk downstairs and am caught halfway by Jeremy making his way up with one of his regular girls in tow.
“Sean’s room, motherfucker,” I warn as he flashes a buzzed smile while sweeping his conquest past me. Spotting me as they brush by, I ignore her drawn-out stare and any others I attract as I cross the living room toward the sliding glass door.
In the next instant, I’m surrounded by bass and mixed smells of smoke wafting through a once-familiar crowd—people I grew up with, who now feel more like strangers to me. Mixed greetings die on their collective tongues with one glance in my direction, and I’m thankful for it. It should bother me that I instill that hesitance, but I prefer it.
When I first arrived home from MIT, I found myself in the position to defend my place amongst some of the inked due to my four-year absence, despite my summers spent at home. That lasted a matter of days because I made it so. It had nothing to do with flexing but an obstacle in the way of getting to what’s important, which brings me back to the matter at hand—my current hindrance. Scanning the yard, with a few twists of heads and moving bodies, I catch sight of the interloper standing next to Sean, their posture intimate.
As if she feels my summons, she turns her head, and our eyes collide. The second it happens, an odd premonition runs through me as a whisper snakes its way into my psyche. Shaking it off, I stalk toward her and enter her personal space, refusing to mince intent with useless words. Sean’s attempt at interception does shit to dissuade me from making my point, and before uttering a word, she already knows her place with me.
Our sparring begins and ends with a brief back and forth in which I make it a point to embarrass her. It’s only when I make it crystal that she’s not only uninvited but unwanted that she drunkenly acquiesces. “Whatever, I’ll go.”
Turning to head back inside, she grips my forearm to stop me. Her invasive touch feels like a burn as I resist the urge to rip my arm away while whipping my head in her direction. Defiant dark blue eyes—matching those of my enemy—clash with mine while she downs the rest of her bottle before dropping it at my feet. “Oops.”
It’s then that my mission runs with clarity through my veins as we continue to stare off. As it happens, a slight remorse brews because she’s completely unaware of the threat she poses.