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Costello was standing in the middle of the room. Except he wasn’t alone.

Maverick Badd was waiting for me.

- CHAPTER TWELVE -

COSTELLO

Maverick had knocked softly, keeping me from suspecting anything was wrong until I’d opened the door. Then it was too late.

He’d looked me in the eye, mouth grim as he said one sentence. “What did you do this time?”

I was fucked.

Wewere fucked.

I was wearing nothing but my boxers, and I was clammy with sweat. The only thing between my father and Scotch was me. The luxurious hotel room was suddenly too tiny, and my brain was rapidly searching for every possible escape. Scotch stood frozen on the bathroom threshold. My father set his death stare on her. Every hair on my body stood straight, and my heart was about to explode from too much adrenaline. It was amazing I was standing so still.

“Costello?” she whispered plaintively.

His sapphire eyes rolled from Scotch back to me. As a kid I used to shrink under his glare—like he could cut through me and see the dark edges of my soul, find all the bad things I’d done and punish me for them. I’d known I could never lie to him. I’d never tried ... until I was nineteen.

Maverick’s lips went flat and bloodless. “Get her out of here,” he hissed. “We need to talk about the family business, understand?”

I clung to that freshly born shred of hope.He doesn’t know who she is.Whatever info my father had, Scotch didn’t fit into it. Not yet. There was still time to save her.

Nodding briskly, I motioned for her to follow me. She hadn’t blinked; she still didn’t as we sidestepped Maverick. I pushed open the door. “Go,” I whispered.

“Costello—”

“You need to leave.” I tried to say it without a hint of the emotion bubbling in me. Words likefleeandescapetumbled in my head, and I prayed she could see them through the shine of my pupils. In desperation I moved my lips soundlessly.

Run.

There was a hint of hesitation as she considered me, a promise of unsaid words. Before she dared to say them, I shut the door in her face.If she stays away from us, she’ll be safe.I should have known that from the start.

I’d been blessed with a do-over, so why wasn’t my heart soaring? Turning around put me face-to-face with my father’s glower.

“Get dressed,” he said, pointing at my slacks.

I hated every second that passed that I didn’t know what he knew. “What happened?” My voice was tight as I hurried to get my clothes on; they smelled like her.

“You know what the hell happened!” He bared his teeth. “Idiot. Did you think I wouldn’t hear that the meeting with the Deep Shots went south? That Darien Valentine wasshot?”

I could taste battery acid at the back of my throat. “Whatever you heard, it’s only rumors. Darien—”

“Is the one who called me,” he snapped.

That damn acid was sizzling a hole in my stomach.Be careful, don’t give away too much.“What did he say?”

His stare went on too long. My father didn’t trust me, and just like when I was young, I could swear he was seeing all my lies where I kept them hidden. “He woke up at the Bucket. He didn’t know how he got there, but he did remember being inourclub, with one ofourgirls, when someone came in and shot him in the ribs. He’s saying we set him up to be assassinated.” I sucked air through my teeth.

“Son.” He approached me, big meaty hands clapping down not in kindness, but to trap me where I was. “Tell me what the fuck happened yesterday. And if you don’t tell me the truth, I’m going to do something that would make your youngest sister so very,veryhappy.”

Yes, Francesca would gleefully dance on my grave. I straightened up under his threat. I’d lied my way into this mess, but it was Darien who was lying now. He was claiming Scotch had shot him? What a pathetic man. Weaving a myth about an attempt to kill him was beyond egotistical.

Controlling my tone so it stayed low and cool, I said, “Darienwasshot. But it was his own fault. He tried to choke one of the dancers; a waitress came to her rescue. Darien threatened them both, pulled his gun, and then the fool shot himself in the struggle.”

Steady as a lighthouse guiding ships home, my father scanned deep into my eyes. Whatever he discovered made him exhale. There was still wine on his breath. “I believe you. Not that it helps.” The knot of pressure in my stomach grew bigger and thornier; I’d swallowed a fucking rosebush. “You’re the damn fool, Costello. Hiding this all from me ... tch. Did you never wonder what the meeting between you and the Deep Shots wasreallyabout?”