Page 3 of Royal Bargain (Royals of the Underworld #3)
LIAM
A s I stare at the text, conflicting emotions tumble around inside me.
My jaw hangs slack, and I run a hand through my hair, trying to piece together my thoughts.
“Fuck,” I curse, a snarl ripping through me.
I’m not about to go running off to Annika just because she gave me a sob story about some kid who may or may not be mine, and how they’re in “danger”.
Restless energy fills me, and I stand up, pacing around as my slippers make little squeaks against the laminate floor. My chest feels tight, tension winding my muscles so taut that every movement is sharp, jittery.
My family has already been through enough hell because of the Volkovs. Kellan almost lost Rose, Clary nearly died, and now we have all the kids to think about—Rosie, my nephews…
They’re still just babies.
No.
There are too many innocent lives tangled up in this mess. Bringing Annika back into the fold, even for a moment, could destroy everything we’ve worked so hard to protect.
I stop pacing abruptly, gripping the edge of my kitchen island until my knuckles turn white.
Memories flood back, sharp and painful. The night she broke things off still plays in my mind on a cruel, endless loop—her eyes glossy with tears she refused to shed, her voice trembling as she told me we were done.
I hadn’t seen it coming. Maybe I should’ve, but I didn’t.
It sent me spiraling for weeks, drowning myself in whatever distraction I could find, trying to pretend I wasn’t completely fucked up over her.
“Goddammit,” I mutter, grabbing my phone off the counter again. I stare at the message like it might reveal some hidden clue or answer if I glare hard enough.
Something nags at me, irritating me even more as I realize that no matter how much I want Annika to be the villain, no matter how desperately I want to paint her as the bad guy, I know she isn’t.
Back when we were still together, she gave me the benefit of the doubt for way too long. She let me off the hook, even when I stood her up for date nights over and over. Even when I prioritized my family, she said she understood. She was too good for me and I blew it.
Plus, I know for a fact that she’s never once lied to me.
Because of the nature of our relationship—the fact that we came from two different worlds—we made a promise to each other to always tell the truth. We knew we could only work if we kept each other honest.
So why would she start lying now? If she says she’s had my kid, she’s telling the truth. If she says she’s in danger, she’s being honest with me.
My hand curls into a fist as I slam it onto the counter, frustration finally spilling out. If that kid truly is mine, if they’re my flesh and blood, there’s no way I can turn my back on them.
The sudden jangling of my phone breaks the heavy silence, and I nearly jump out of my skin. My alarm flashes on the screen, a reminder that I need to get my ass in gear and head to campaign headquarters. There’s so much to do and nowhere near enough hours in the day to get it all done.
As I sit down at my new desk, to a shiny new laptop courtesy of the senator, my mind is sent into overdrive thinking of everything on my plate for the day. There are major donors who need wooing, advertisements to approve, polls to scrutinize… just an endless list of things that need to get done.
So I start by focusing on the one task I can get done right now—creating the flyer for the upcoming potluck fundraiser. It’s simple, mindless. An easy way to get into the groove of working without overloading my brain.
An hour later, I chew my lower lip as I examine the art I’ve chosen for the main image. I’m trying to decide whether it gives more “family-friendly” or “childish” vibes. It’s just a simple clip-art cooking pot, but suddenly, this seems like a monumental decision.
Frowning, I drag it into the bin and search the digital library for another illustration, realizing that I need to make sure I craft the right image for the senator, that it has to say that he’s approachable and friendly, but also that he’s a serious candidate.
Tapping through a few more choices, I examine one that looks a little more like a watercolor illustration than a computer-generated image, and the corner of my mouth quirks upward. Perfect.
As I’m dragging it into place, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I realize that someone is behind me. Swiveling to look, I realize it’s Burns himself standing there.
My mouth twists in surprise. I hadn’t expected to see him until this afternoon.
“Hello, Senator,” I say, standing up quickly. “Is anything wrong?”
“I just thought I’d come in and check to see how things were going,” Burns says, a placid smile on his face.
His dark blue eyes rake over my office setup, eyeing the ring of coffee under my mug, the crumpled-up pieces of paper from where I’d discarded some notes, the stash of paperclips in a haphazard pile, and I feel a sudden twinge of self-consciousness.
Hastily pushing the paperclips into the drawer, I then chuck the trash into the bin next to my desk and quickly use a napkin to mop up the wet coffee.
“Just been busy,” I say as I straighten up. “Working on the flyer for the potluck.”
Burns nods. “How’s that going?”
“This is what I’ve got so far,” I say, directing his attention to my screen. “What do you think?” It’s only half-finished, but I think it looks pretty damned good so far, with the watercolor cooking pot taking the front-and-center position, along with a fancy script font announcing the event.
Burns studies the image for a moment, expression unreadable. “Have you had a chance to contact Courtney Ashton?” His question takes me off guard, and I stumble to answer.
“Ah, not yet,” I say. “I know she was one of your biggest donors in your last campaign, but I haven’t managed to reach out.”
“I see. Did you at least get an analysis of the polling data from the Center for Advocating Policy?” Burns says, an edge of exasperation in his voice. I huff out a breath and shrug.
“Not yet. It’s on the list.”
Burns sighs, the sound escaping him slowly. “So this flyer thing… is that all you managed to get done today?”
I meet his gaze, but when I don’t answer, he nods, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Brannagan, you know I need a campaign manager who can quickly and efficiently get the ball rolling on any and all projects throughout the day with minimal to no supervision.”
“I can!” I insist, frustration rippling through me as I lean against the desk. “You just caught me off-guard.”
“Politics moves at lightning speed,” Burns says, voice flat. “Polling results can change at the drop of a hat. Poll numbers can change overnight. We can't afford distractions.”
A slow burn of shame envelops me, making me grit my teeth to keep my emotions in check. “Understood, sir,” I say, trying to ignore the pressure pushing against my chest like a heavy weight.
Burns walks away, stopping at the coffee pot to pour himself a cup, and as he’s distracted talking to one of the campaign staffers, I take a moment to breathe, to try to get my shit together.
Shit .
I can’t afford to screw this up, dammit. This was supposed to be my chance to show the rest of my family how much more I was capable of handling. This was supposed to be a test of my merit, and it seems I’m already failing spectacularly.
Rory’s voice echoes sharply in my head. “You’re just the family screw-up…”
It’s a bitter reminder of why I'm near the bottom of the pecking order, despite being third-born.
“Fuck,” I whisper, curling my fingers into a fist, digging my nails into my palms. “I have to make this right.”
Once I see the staffer leave Burns’s vicinity, I head over under the pretense of grabbing a little cup of water.
“Sorry about all that with the flyer,” I say, my heart hammering in my chest, a knot in my stomach. “I can assure you it won’t happen again.”
Burns side-eyes me for a moment as he stirs creamer into his paper cup, then turns to face me as he tosses the stick into the metal can. Something softens in his gaze as he reaches out, putting a hand on my shoulder. The sudden pressure is somehow grounding, and I breathe out slowly.
“Look,” he says, pointing his cup at me. “I hired you for a reason, Liam. And it wasn’t just your flowery little speech at the event. You’re intuitive, driven, and I've seen how you handle things for your brothers.”
I swallow. His words are prying at the edges of my self-doubt, and I give him a half-hearted smile.
“I know you can do this,” he says. “You just need to get out of your head. Let that intuition guide you on this, Liam. Show me that I made the right choice, taking a chance on you.”
The last sharp corners of my shaken confidence are chipped away, and I feel as though a weight has been lifted off my chest. Burns believes in me. Even if I feel like a complete screw-up, he still believes in me.
“Thank you, sir,’ I say, sincerity in my tone.
“I’m going to have one of our social media team members work on the flyer.
I’m going to get in touch with Mrs. Ashton, then go over the CAP polling data with the senior staffers.
Once that’s done, we can meet this afternoon to discuss the next steps in your campaign, Senator. ”
Burns’s smile is infectious, and I find myself grinning in return.
“There’s the Liam Brannagan I was looking for,” he says, reaching his fist out to gently bump mine. “I knew you had it in you.”
Buoyed by my newfound confidence, I hand over the flyer responsibilities to Lana, Burns’s social media manager, and immediately get on the phone with Ms. Ashton, arranging for a meeting with Burns to “discuss” her donation.
The rest of the morning is spent poring over polling data, making more calls, and arranging a town hall meeting for Burns.
It’s only when I’m in the middle of writing out notes for myself that I stop for a moment to take this all in, to allow myself to feel the spark of this moment.
I never knew I could enjoy taking charge so much.
I’d always been under Kellan and Rory’s authority, working for them, taking orders, and playing the part of a dutiful sibling. But this has been a breath of fresh air, showing me that there is more to life than cleaning up after a hit or paying someone off to stay quiet.
Something tightens in my chest as my mind moves to the other weight of responsibility that I’ve been avoiding—namely, my child.
I frown, staring into space for a moment. No matter how tense the relationship between Annika and me might be, I have to step up and be there for my kid. There’s no question about that.
Finishing up with my notes, I reach for my phone and text her, asking for her location.
The knot returns to my stomach as I wait for her reply, trying to busy myself with emails so I don’t get the chance to look at my phone. But when it chimes, I nearly jump out of my seat as I scan the text response from my ex.
Ana: 1241 Labman Rd, Apt 211.
She’s given me an address, and I decide that now is as good a time as any, so I pack my things up and head out.
I need to be there for my kid. No matter how dangerous things get, that kid is now the number-one priority in my life.