Page 22 of Empire State Enemies

“If I didn’t have to attend this thing, I’d be just fine,” I grumble, fumbling with the buttons on my shirt.

We’re expected at this massive charity gala at our flagship hotel downtown. Kissing ass is not how I want to spend my night, but duty calls. Heads of state, foreign politicians, A-list celebrities, filthy rich tycoons—all crammed into one room. Security’s ironclad, with police escorts, metal detectors, and snipers on the roof.

He gives me that trademark Killian look that peels away the bullshit. “So you gonna tell me what’s going on with you? Anddon’t feed me that ‘nothing’ crap, or I’ll put you in a headlock. I still have it in me.”

“Everything’s fine,” I dismiss gruffly, avoiding his eyes as I wrestle with my bowtie. Saying my issue out loud makes it more real. Like opening a can of worms with no way to shove them back in.

“You’re a shitty liar, Connor. What’s going on?”

I scowl. I need a diversion to throw him off.

There was a time in my twenties when Killian forced me to take an extended break from our business. I was off the rails, partying like a madman and letting it mess with my work. And he was right. It took me months to realize that.

But I can’t tell him this problem until I’ve solved it. As much as he is my brother and we’ve got each other’s backs, he’s a businessman.

He’ll make sure I’m okay but that might mean stepping back. And that ain’t fucking happening.

Might as well make the thief useful. “You want to know what’s pissing me off? I got hustled by some chick at the hotel bar.”

His expression shifts to confusion. “What happened?”

“I was with this knockout brunette in the restroom. Next thing, my new car’s gone. She swiped my keys while I was . . . distracted.”

“The custom 911?”

“That’s the one.”

He pauses, looking like he’s trying to decide whether to laugh or knock some sense into me. “Christ, Connor. This self-destruct streak you’ve been on . . . You hit your midlife crisis early or are you just getting too arrogant for your own damn good?”

“Save the lecture,” I grumble. “I’m already aggravated enough.”

His eyes drift to my open laptop. He lifts it onto his lap, eyebrows rising. “Figured I’d find you neck-deep in some adult entertainment, not . . . What’s this? Searching for ‘eye conditions one blue one brown’?”

“The woman . . . she had one green eye, one brown. Never seen anything like it.”

“Huh. Sounds strange.”

“Quite beautiful,” I mutter before I can stop myself.

I wonder if her kids would inherit those bewitching eyes. I shake the thought away, repulsed by my own wandering thoughts.

Killian reclines, a knowing smirk playing on his lips as he observes my discomfort. “And you felt inclined to research her rare ocular condition because . . . ?”

“Just drop it.” I brush him off, struggling with my cufflinks.

“Seems like she made quite an impression on you.”

“Because she stole my damn car,” I snap, yanking back my laptop, low-key panicking at him glimpsing my other browser tabs.

Those mismatched eyes—green and brown like a patch of untouched wilderness—invades my thoughts again. For some stupid reason, I still have her shawl. And in a moment of even greater stupidity, I looked up the religious medal pinned inside it. St. Joan of Arc, symbolizing bravery and strength. More like the bravery to con guys like me.

Killian raises his hands in mock surrender but that damn smirk never fades. “No need to get testy.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” I mutter, shrugging on my tuxedo jacket.

“Lose the chip on your shoulder, will you? I need you sharp and on point tonight, not sulking and draining our liquor reserves.”

I let out a rough grunt, running my hands through my still-wet hair. “Fine. I’ll play nice with Madison, laugh at his pathetic attempts at humor, and lay it on thick. Whatever it takes.”