Page 5 of Freeing Denver

Denver addresses the rest of the table. “I know this transition won’t be easy. Finn meant a lot to all of us, and even if you didn’t always agree with him, you did respect him. I won’t be making waves or changes or trying to cement my place here. I want to keep things running smoothly until Ronan takes over, that’s all. Some of you don’t know me, but rest assured I will do what needs to be done to ensure the continued success of this family. I may not be a McEwan in name, but Finn was close with my father and my mother. I won’t fail him or his memory.”

Massimo says, “And then what? Ronan returns and you go back to the West Coast and pretend you didn’t run the single most powerful family on this side of the country? Do you think you can step back so easily?”

I don’t look at Denver, despite the prickle of anticipation that crawls across my skin. I pick up my drink as if the question bores me, when it’s the single most interesting thing I’ve heard all night.

“The only interest I have is to be at my husband’s side back home,” she says with total confidence. “I don’t belong here.”

It’s an effort to remain expressionless, even as the conversation moves on, because I have the distinct impression that the last sentence was aimed at me.

Part One

SHE’S MY EMPIRE.

Chapter 1

Denver

Why walk away when you can dive in headfirst instead?

I was almost out. Almost free of this endless fucking merry-go-round of death. Colt and I had a plan. That night is fuzzy, but I remember that. Him holding me, whispering promises against my lips.

A few years, and we’d be out. Maybe even faster than that, given that Alistair was ready to take over the Harland family. Once my businesses were sold, things would be easier. Freedom was so fucking close.

And now …

I’m the head of the McEwan family—a powerful family I have no business running.

My arm aches as I place the last glass in the dishwasher, and I squeeze my hand into a fist. The pain makes it hard to move around most days, but it was getting somewhat manageable. Today, though, I’ve pushed my limit, and I ache. I ache so bad I want to cry, but I can’t. There’s no time, and it isn’t a safe enough space for me here. Not anymore.

Tears tickle my lashes as I grip the kitchen counter and close my eyes.

I can’t fucking do it.

I could run one half of the Luxe empire because Ranger backed me until he didn’t. People here expect me to know what I’m doing, but I don’t have a fucking clue. Alistair dislikes me and would sooner see me fail than offer a word of encouragement. Everyone else assumes that I was born into this role and can do it with ease.

And Colt isn’t here to hold my fucking hand.

I’ve never felt more alone.

The sound of claws lazily tapping across the kitchen floor makes me turn. Wesson’s tail wags as I crouch and wrap my arms around him.

“Can you do it for me?” I mumble into his fur. “I bet you’d make a great mafia leader.”

A heavy sigh is his only response.

Footsteps approach. Ones I already know belong to Alistair. He walks everywhere with purpose, like every destination has the answers to his questions, and he has to get there before anybody else does.

I stand as he appears in the doorway. He glances up from his phone and has the look he always has when he sees me: annoyance that I live here.

He’s still in the suit he wore to the meeting, but the gunmetal gray tie is loose. His silver hair is swept back, similar-colored beard neatly trimmed as always, honey eyes always filled with frustration that teeters on the edge of rage. A rage he seems to stockpile for me.

“I thought you’d be asleep,” he says, keeping his voice relatively low. We’re back at the safe house we’ve been using as home since the last place was destroyed, and Helena is only upstairs. I doubt she’d hear us; she has her television on late intothe night. For company, I suppose, now that Finn is gone. My chest aches at the reminder.

“I’m going up soon,” I say. “How do you think it went?”

“As expected.”

He doesn’t bother to tell me what he expected, and I don’t bother asking. Alistair has a habit of expecting honesty dumps while only sprinkling some of his own truths in return. He doesn’t trust me, and that isn’t me being paranoid. He tells me almost every day. But I’m too tired to fight him right now. My head hurts, my ribs are in pieces, and even if I were physically fit, my worry over Colt and Ronan eats away at whatever strength I have left.