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Maverick:How could you betray us? What kind of son are you?

Maverick:The Valentines want to do a handoff. If we arrange it, they won’t turn their rage on us. On you. On your brothers and sisters.

Maverick:If you don’t stop being selfish, people you love will die.

I’d clutched my phone when I’d read that last one and nearly broken it. People I loved would die if I didn’t turn Scotch over? And what about if Idid? This whole situation had gone off the rails. I couldn’t figure out how to fix it without someone getting hurt.

If it had been just me Darien wanted, I think I’d have done it—let myself be a casualty of revenge.

But Darien didn’t want me.

My father didn’t want me.

Everyone wantedher.

And I’d never let that happen.

“Costello?” Scotch whispered, inching down the stairs. I was stretched out on the living room couch under a blanket I was positive Margie had crocheted. I sat up as Scotch approached; she had a long gray robe wrapped around herself. She’d have looked better—more comfortable—in rose pink.

The room was illuminated by some plug-in night-lights near the stairs. I’d seen the sort before, but there were tons around this home. It was excessive. But it did let me see her clearly as she walked over the white rug toward me. “Hey,” I whispered.

“Are you comfortable?”

I half smiled. “It’s like you forgot I once slept on a motel floor.”

Her eyes darted to the side, her hands deep in the robe pockets. “I didn’t want you to do that, you know.”

“I know.”

My blunt answer made her stare at me. I could see the shapes of her hands under the cloth—tight fists. “If you knew, then ...” Shaking herself so that her blonde hair rolled over her forehead, she refocused on me. “I wanted to ask you something.”

Adjusting on the couch, I reached for her. I didn’t give her a choice; my fingers were quick, muscles coiling to guide her onto the couch, onto me. Scotch’s spine nestled on my chest, her scalp under my chin. “Go on, ask.”

“Like it’s that easy when you do things like this,” she mumbled.

“Like what?” I teased.

“Forget it.” Her body shifted, warm ass stroking me. Intentional or not, it had my lower belly tightening in pleasure. “I just wanted to know ...” Her hesitation was tangible. I was inhaling her scent, dizzy with her heat. I might have answered anything she asked. “What did my uncle say to you?”

My mood cooled. That was what she wanted to know? It didn’t feel like that was what had been on the tip of her tongue. But fine. This was what I was faced with. “He said a few things.”

“Right, and those were?”

I was glad she couldn’t see my face. “It’s best you didn’t know.”

“Costello—”

Catching her chin, I turned her my way, sliding my mouth on hers, trying to suffocate away all my dark thoughts. All my guilt. Scotch was even better than her namesake; she allowed me to quench myself, and she kept refilling herself so I had more to take. There’d be no hangover ... but I was sure, by the end, there would be regret.

I was already drowning in it.

Her hands caught mine, both of us inhaling as we split apart. “What are you doing? What’s wrong?” she asked.

Tensing, I moved to kiss her again; her muscles fought to insist I not. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“You’re lying.”

Crinkling my nose, I looked away. “Can’t you let me? It would be so much easier for us both.”