Page 54

54

JAMIE

S topping at the koi pond, I glance around to be sure I’m alone.

The Crue bosses bought about seven house lots to build their gated compound. Trick and Anvil share their massive backyard, which has a swimming pool with a rock waterfall, a fairy house, the koi pond, and enough flower beds and landscaping to rival any city park.

I’m on the cobblestone path to the gate that leads to C’s place. Before approaching the gate, I call War.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Hey, mate. I’m at Trick’s and headed to C’s.”

“He asked for a meet?”

“He did, yeah.” Licking my lips, I glance around. I haven’t told War about killing Robert Allendale, but he’ll guess as soon as word that the man’s missing surfaces.

War makes a nonspecific sound of displeasure. “Anvil’s in the Foxgrove house.”

My body goes stiff, and my mind races. “Are you home?”

“Nah, but C and Trick are, right? And Killian and your cousin aren’t there. So that only leaves Anvil as the person who entered the code and went in.”

My head cocks. “I didn’t get an alert.”

“Someone turned off notifications. I’m guessing Trick.”

As I stand in the cold, my blood runs to ice. I’d been feeling pleased that Trick had gone back to normal, joking around with me like we’re the best of friends. “Anvil’s in the house and they don’t want us tipped to that? What do you make of it?” Turning my back to the wind, I stare at Trick’s house where he’s holding court like there’s nothing fucking amiss.

“I assume he’s checking something out. C knows I’m in Boston, and he told me to head to Coynston. I think he’s going to come at us about our trip to the Carolinas.”

“Maybe,” I say slowly, my mind quickly clicking through what Anvil could be looking for in the house. “Right, well, there’s nothing to find in Foxgrove, so he’s wasted a trip.”

“I doubt that.” War’s voice is grim.

“Let’s take this conversation offline, mate.”

War and I know better than to say anything incriminating while talking on our personal phones on Crue property. The feds have been after this Crue for years. While I didn’t spot any surveillance vans on the street outside the house, War and I would never risk talking murder when I’m in Trick and Anvil’s yard.

“No time. You’re heading to C’s now, and I’m telling you, his questions are already ready.”

“Listen, he’s got other reasons for talking to me. That have nothing to do with our last minute vacation to the Carolinas, mate.”

“No?” War’s voice is skeptical. “He called me in from Boston.”

“Maybe to see what you know about other things.” I walk a few more feet toward the gate to C’s. “I need to head there.”

“If you get jammed up about the vacation, don’t cover.”

That brings me up short. He’s telling me if C corners me and I have to admit to killing Brad Allendale, I shouldn’t try to cover up his involvement. “Mate, no way. That’s decided.”

“J,” War says grimly. “If the vacation isn’t what he’s after, good. Don’t mention it. But if it is, and he gets you cornered, do not lie.”

Looking up at the sky, I curse under my breath. If this is a trap, I brought Sawyer right into it. My first instinct is to go back into Trick’s to get her the hell out of Coynston.

But if this really is a trap, that won’t work. Trick will block any move I make. I trust Trick won’t do anything to Sawyer with his family in the house and awake, but later…

“Right, okay.” My frown deepens. “If a confrontation’s coming, I’ll face it. But listen, I need a last favor. A contingency for if I can’t get back to Trick’s. I’m texting Sawyer’s number to you. Lure her out and send her somewhere safe.”

“She’s with you, and you think they wanted it that way?” War’s voice is dead calm. “If that’s true, there’s nowhere safe to send her.”

“I won’t go to C’s unless I know you’ll try to get her out. I’ll go back to Trick’s for her myself.”

“You’re not fast enough. He’ll be waiting for your move, and he’ll drop you.”

Exhaling, I shake my head. “Your word, or I go back.”

“She’s not worth this. You barely fucking know her.” The sharpness of his voice tells me he’s considering it. If he wasn’t, he’d be calm while he refused. When I don’t speak, he finally says, “If I even attempt to do this, you will owe me.”

“I already owe you.”

“Not like you will for this. If you and I both get out of this alive, you will owe me. Anything I ask. No matter what.”

My eyes drift shut as warnings swirl in my head. Then, I think about Sawyer sitting innocently at my cousin’s kitchen counter, where I brought her like a lamb to the slaughter. I can’t leave her to her fate. “Right. Any payment, it’s yours.”

“Fucking suicide mission,” War mutters under his breath just before the call goes dead.

With a slow exhalation, I slide my phone away and walk the rest of the way to the gate.

* * *

SAWYER

Ash offers to set me up in the family room to watch movies or play video games while she plays with her nephews, but the boys are so cute and happy I opt to join her instead.

The boys’ bedroom is huge, and in one corner there is a life-sized teddy bear with his legs on the mattress of a daybed, which has been removed from its frame. On the mattress is what must be a two-foot-tall mound of smaller stuffed animals.

Sean and I, along with a stuffed elephant, search the pile for the dragon escapee. Ash and a babbling Finn, search the closet.

When I ask what the dragon did to end up in jail in the first place, Sean and his little brother show me the treasure chest behind Sean’s boat-framed bed. Inside the chest are a collection of plastic gold doubloons and jewels.

I have a hard time understanding some of the words Finn uses, but apparently seeing my confusion, Sean helpfully interprets, saying the dragon burned the lock with his breath to steal the treasure.

While we’re discussing fire-breathing dragons, there’s a knock on the door. The boys turn as the door opens and their mom appears.

“Guys, look who came over to play.”

The boys race toward her as two little girls enter. One has such pretty, delicate features she looks like a doll. She’s dressed in a black, glittery brocade tunic shirt and leggings, with a sparkly black ribbon around her dark ponytail. Her onyx-and-sapphire antique drop earrings look like they belong in the treasure chest. She’s carrying an e-reader with a black glossy cover that matches her outfit.

Behind her is a girl with lopsided pigtails who’s dressed in a dark t-shirt and leggings. Loose hair at the nape of her neck flutters as she runs in.

The girl with the e-reader hugs Ash and then extends her small hand toward me. A silver-and-sapphire bangle bracelet sways as we shake.

“Hello. I’m Irina Stroviak. That’s my sister Makayla. Are you another cousin of the Patricks?” Despite being as small as Sean, her speech is crystal clear.

“Hi. No, I’m not related. My name’s Sawyer.”

“This is my friend from school,” Ash says. “Irina, you look so cute in this outfit. Let me see your bracelet.”

“Thank you.” Irina holds up her arm.

“Gorgeous.”

A few feet away, the boys are explaining about the missing dragon. Sean conveys that they suspect the bear might have helped with the prison break. Unlike the other kids, Makayla doesn’t say a word. Instead, she turns and narrows her eyes at the bear. Then with a running leap, she jumps onto the bear’s chest and punches him in the head.

It’s so ferocious and hilarious that both Ash and I laugh.

“Oh, my goodness. Makayla,” Irina says in a long-suffering tone more suited to a parent. “Be careful. If you break his stitching, Aunt Laurelyn and Uncle Trick will probably be upset. Remember you’re supposed to be gentle?”

Makayla glances over briefly as she climbs onto the end of a dresser.

“Oh, my gosh.” Irina turns quickly toward Ash. “If she jumps on him, it might knock out his stuffing. It’s happened at our house.”

Ash strolls over and catches Makayla mid-leap. The little girl’s momentum is so powerful, Ash falls backward onto the mattress and stuffed toys.

The boys find the crash-landing hilarious and are still laughing as Ash sits up with Makayla.

“Wow.” Ash’s hair flies around her face. If she’d had pigtails, they would definitely have become lopsided. “You’re getting too big for me to catch you when you jump!” Ash’s tone is a mix of admiration and reproach. “Come on, Makayla.” Standing up, she takes the girl’s hand. “Can you help Finn and I search the closet for Draco? He’s a pretty sneaky dragon, and we need the help.”

Makayla nods amiably and pushes up her sleeves. Finn hooks an arm around Makayla’s and says something about their being a team.

We continue searching the room, and it’s Irina who discovers the adorable black-and-red stuffed dragon crammed behind Sean’s bed.

The kids all gather around the toy and discuss what sort of new prison to put him in so he won’t be able to escape.

There’s a banging knock on the door that causes us to jump. When the door swings open to reveal War, clad in head-to-toe black and looming like a gothic tower, the kids freeze, like bunnies scenting a lion.

Makayla launches herself forward like a rocket. When she’s a foot from War, she raises her fist. My jaw drops as Makayla punches his leg with more force than should be contained in such a small body.

“The hell?” he says, looking down.

Undeterred, Makayla draws her fist back and shuffles her feet into what may be a boxer’s stance.

War reaches down, but Ash springs forward and snatches Makayla, then backpedals out of reach. In a low, cool voice, Ash says, “I would kill you.”

Rolling his eyes, War makes a sound of derision. “Right.” He points at me and then wags his finger for me to come over.

“No,” Ash says, stepping in front of me. “Why are you here?” Her firing the question at War in no way means he will answer. He does not.

Putting a hand on Ash’s shoulder, I try to reassure her. “It’s fine.” I walk around them, noticing that Makayla has almost twisted out of Ash’s grip.

Irina comes over, her brows crinkled with concern. When she addresses her sister by name, the little girl stops trying to writhe free, instead focusing all her attention on Irina.

My brows rise as the older girl speaks to her in what sounds like Russian.

“Good advice,” War says.

Makayla glares at War and redoubles her efforts at escape, swinging her body so hard she breaks free of Ash’s hold. Ash tries to grab her but lands on one knee and a palm instead.

Makayla barrels forward, but this time War plucks her up before she can land a punch. She does manage to kick his chest in a move a ninja might envy.

Unconcerned, he tosses her into the pile of stuffed animals.

I gasp because she’s flown so far through the air. But she pops up immediately and explodes out of the pile like lava from a volcano.

“Don’t you dare do that again,” Irina snaps at War before whirling around to face her sister. Throwing up her hand, she yells, “Stop.” Then, Irina launches into what sounds like a sharp rebuke in Russian.

Makayla halts in front of Irina, and despite the fact that she’s apparently younger, she’s a bit taller, and they’re eye-to-eye.

With furrowed brows, Makayla whispers a couple words, also in Russian. It’s the first time I’ve heard her speak since she arrived, and she looks as grave as a general about to go into battle.

War’s brows rise in surprise at whatever she says, then he laughs. The entire room is shocked at the deep, rich sound.

“Enemy?” War says, amusement still playing at the edges of his mouth. “I’ll remember that.”

Ash’s nephews crowd around the girls, with Sean and Finn both asking questions.

“Sawyer,” War says, all amusement gone. “I need to speak to you.”

Deciding I should show at least as much courage as a three-year-old, I cross the room to face Jamie’s giant housemate.

“Hallway.” He ushers me out the door and closes it before Ash can follow.

* * *

JAMIE

C’s place has turrets and a stone facade, so it’s nicknamed The Castle. After ringing the bell, I wait, glancing at the circle drive where an SUV with Crue 1 stamped on its license plate sits front and center.

The door opens, and C fills the doorway. At an inch or two under six feet, he’s not short, but he’s so muscular he doesn’t look as tall as he is.

“Good,” he says, pushing the storm door open. He’s recently buzzed his hair close to the scalp, revealing a barbed-wire C tattoo on his head. Marked for life. It’s a Crue edict.

I notice C doesn’t offer his hand for me to shake. That’s a breach of protocol and hints at where things stand.

Following him in, I remain silent. From the entry, we’re heading past the living room when C stops next to a side table.

“Any electronics you’ve got on you, leave here. Coat, too.”

I empty my pockets of my phone and key ring and lay my coat over the back of a couch. C drops his phone onto a cushion as well, then strides to a metal door with a keypad. He places his left thumb on the scan pad and then types in a code. The sounds of locks clicking can be heard just before he opens the door.

“Go down.”

I precede him down the steps, glancing back when I’m halfway to the bottom. C slides a metal crossbar into a slot in the wall. If anyone wants to get downstairs before it’s removed, they’ll need a medieval ram capable of breaching an actual castle stronghold.

The basement isn’t what I expect. For some reason, I’d been picturing a waterboarding set up, bare cement floor, and milk crates as seating. Instead, the floor’s sealed dove gray concrete and the furnishings could do as well upstairs as down. There’s a table whose top looks like a mixed media art project, with shellacked overlapping pieces of black and burgundy leather. The chairs are carved wood with red leather padded seats.

There’s a dark gray couch with burgundy pillows and a heavy mahogany coffee table. Plus, a wood-and-marble bar cabinet that Napoleon might’ve gone to war for. C grabs ice from a black chest and mixes himself a whiskey and Coke.

He tilts his head toward the booze, but I shake mine. For this conversation, a clear head is critical. So, while a few swallows of Guinness are medicinal, I wouldn’t touch whiskey on a million-dollar dare.

C sits at the table, and I take the seat across from him. “I heard about why Robert Allendale had to die. And that you knew you’d kill him before you came to work for us.” Hazel eyes always seem the warmest to me, until now that is. “To me that means you were never a part of this Crue. So, every penny you were paid will come back to the organization. If you weren’t who you are, you’d be in the ground, but your cousins have covered your debt and then some to keep you alive and out of the hospital.”

My brows draw together. I think I heard an s on the end of the word cousin . Is he talking about Ashling, in addition to Trick? And if so, why?

“Are you saying?—?”

“Don’t interrupt.” C’s voice is low, but there’s an unmistakable edge.

He’s armed, and we’re barricaded in an underground bunker. C has been a gangster for most of his life. I know better than to give him an excuse to ventilate my chest when that’s precisely what he would like to do.

After a swig of whiskey, he sets his glass on the table. “To understand the extent of the potential damage, I need information. Anytime you lie to me, you lose something you care about. Like your ability to ever row again. Or the pretty young girl you made a witness to a murder we covered up for you.”

I tense, watching him warily.

C leans forward. “Why did the son have to die?”

My mouth goes dry as I stare back at him. “To destroy the father. And because he was hurting the girl.”

“Who pulled the trigger? You or War?”

“Me.”

“War was what? Lookout? Getaway driver?”

“No, I never said that.”

“We already know he was there. We’ve taken inventory. The gun and burn phones you stole from the Foxgrove house and ultimately destroyed are on the tab. Who unlocked the closet and took those out? You or him?”

“Me. Everything that was done, I did.”

“The only reason you needed two burn phones was so you could communicate with each other. And his personal phone traveled with yours as far as the Carolinas. And then the burn phones traveled together the rest of the way.”

My grimace is so fierce it makes my entire head hurt.

“He was supposed to be at Thanksgiving dinner here in Coynston. Bailed at the last minute. You both had to know there would be questions.”

“War goes off without a word plenty. As you know, he’s not big on social gatherings. Changed his mind about Thanksgiving, I guess.”

“What was his share in the Brad Allendale murder?”

Shaking my head, I shrug. “No share. Everything that was done, I did.”

“But not alone. You’re not telling me you went to Palm Beach by yourself?”

Blowing out a breath, I rub the bridge of my nose. I’d sacrifice the bones in my hand, sure, which is what I think he was threatening when he said I’d never row again. But Sawyer’s life?

After grinding my teeth together, I suck in a breath. “Listen, this vendetta dates back to when I was a boy. It’s got nothing to do with anyone I’ve gotten close to in the past year.” The thing my mind can’t stop wondering about is whether War has gotten Sawyer out of Trick’s house and away. If I knew she was gone, I would lie until the fucking end and to hell with life.

“Did you not fucking hear me say I already know War was with you? I want to hear what part he had in the execution of Brad Allendale.”

Swallowing, I shake my head. “Brad Allendale died because my brother Jude died.”

C’s eyes narrow and bore into me. “It had nothing to do with you guys wanting Allendale dead because he got rowdy and grabbed Ash by the throat at the rave?”

“No.” Leaning on my elbows, I stare him straight in the eyes. “I won’t say I wouldn’t have taken the chance to beat him down if the opportunity had arisen sometime in an alley outside a GU bar. I would have happily beaten him bloody. But killing him? No. If I’d wanted to murder him as retaliation for what he’d done to Sawyer and Ash, I’d have come to you and Trick to see if I could get cleared to do it.”

“And War gave no indication he wanted to kill Allendale?”

“Christ, no. None.” I tap my fingertip against the tabletop. “Killing Brad Allendale was a choice I made alone. Everything from taking the gun to pulling the trigger, it was a hundred percent me and no one else.”

C picks up his glass and leans back. Sucking down whiskey, he watches me the way a hawk watches a rat. “It’s time you fuck off back to Ireland. Out of my Crue and out of my sight for good. Don’t show up on this side of the Atlantic for shit. You’re not welcome.”

“Hang on.” I rest my elbows on the table. “Trick said I would stay in the Crue longer. As payback.”

“I don’t need you. Never did. Trick’s already covered the cost of the Connecticut cleanup and for training you. You can work out a way to pay him back if that’s what he wants. And since it’s too soon for you to marry the girl, you’ll break things off with her. We’ll keep an eye on her to make sure she stays silent.”

I’m not going to break up with Sawyer and be banned from the States while she’s still here.

What the fuck is this?