Page 16

16

Salem

The rain played its favorite tune outside the large oval window in the library. Two weeks of rain, and I spent the majority of my days in this room with a book open on my lap while I stared out the window. I refused to paint or even go look at the art studio.

Maeve had finally accepted that I wasn’t going to eat as much as she’d like. I had yet to get an appetite. Nausea had even become a thing this week. Depression, heartbreak, sleeplessness had all led to a constant state of feeling sick.

Brady was rarely around, and for that, I could be thankful. The less I saw of the man who looked like Eamon, the better. He had caused this. But then, in a roundabout way, so had Eamon. He had lied to me. Let me live a lie. I’d never known him. Not really.

Sitting in here alone, I’d had a lot of time to think about things. My life and the choices I’d made. The way that fate had seemed to be against me from day one. Give a little, then take it all away and then some. Yeah, well, I thought fate was a bitch too.

The worst truth I’d come to realize was this was probably best for Rome. My being gone would allow him to be a better dad. He wouldn’t be torn about being there for Nixie because of me. There would be no emotion and jealousy for him to deal with between the two women in his life. Because whether he wanted to admit it or not, Nixie was now a woman in his life. The woman giving him a child.

And here came the grief, my old faithful companion. It never failed that when I thought about Rome having a baby and it not being me giving birth to it, that I’d never have a baby to hold in my arms that was mine, the grief that was always present stretched and lifted its head to roar loudly in my ears. I was in one constant turn of pain, misery, grief, heartache, and now sickness that felt like a never-ending merry-go-round. The ride from hell.

I closed the book in my lap, giving up on attempting to read again today and failing by page two. Focusing on the words were too hard. It also made my nausea worse.

I had tried eating more at breakfast to see if it would help, and it did not help. Not at all. I stood over the toilet in a cold sweat for thirty minutes, but I didn’t throw up. Which told me this was all in my head. The depression was doing this to me. Thankfully, the nausea had eased some, but then I’d barely touched my lunch.

My gaze drifted around the room at the floor-to-ceiling books. There was only one wall without books, and it consisted of the oval window I stared out of daily and a family portrait, minus Brady. Which was odd. It was Keira, Cormac, and Eamon sitting in one of the fancy rooms downstairs—I forgot what Maeve had called it. Anyway, Eamon was an older teenager in the photo, so Brady had been alive. He’d have been a teenager too. When he had said his mother didn’t like him, I hadn’t imagined it was that intense. Leaving him out of a family portrait was cold. Even for her. I’d yet to find one photo in this house that he was in. There were several of Eamon though.

When I had asked Maeve about it, she’d smiled and shrugged, then walked away. I let it go because I honestly didn’t really care. I’d just been curious. It was weird.

What was also unexpected was that I had been given the master suite. It was on the third floor, and almost the entire floor consisted of it. Why would I have been given all that space in Brady’s house? I didn’t even know where his room was, but I doubted it was more impressive than the group of rooms given to me, which Maeve had called the master suites.

One of my and Eamon’s wedding portraits hung over the white marble fireplace in my sitting room, which was attached to the bedroom. I wouldn’t go in there after seeing it staring down at me the first time. I wanted to ask for it to be removed, but instead of making a fuss, I just stayed out of that particular room. That photo was one of a girl who trusted the man she was marrying. She thought he loved her. She believed a lie.

There was a sharp tap on the door before it opened, and Shara, one of the two maids, stepped into the room. She was a petite blonde who I’d guess was close to thirty. Like Maeve, she wore a knee-length black service dress with a white apron. It was all very lofty and annoyed me that the employees had a uniform like that to wear.

“Mrs. Murphy,” she said with her pleasant Irish lilt. “I hope yer havin’ a nice afternoon.”

I’d tried to get her to call me Salem, but she, Maeve, and the other maid, Elva—who was around my age—all refused. Brady had said to call me Mrs. Murphy, and that was what they’d do.

I chose not to lie to the women, and when they said things such as this, I always responded honestly.

“No, Shara, I’m afraid I’m still a miserable soul who misses her home and hates everything to do with Ireland.” I paused, feeling bad about speaking poorly of her country. “I’m sorry. I know, to you, it’s a lovely place, and it’s home. You’d likely hate America.”

She laughed softly. “I’d like to visit though. But, yes, Ireland is home.”

“And everyone longs for home. This will never be mine.”

Her usually chipper expression faded. “I can understand that,” she replied. “But does it help at all that yer husband stayed here when he visited? He grew up in these halls, ye know.”

Yes, I knew.

Maeve had told me all about it. She’d taken the job when the boys were teenagers. Even when I didn’t respond to her stories that she thought were funny, she continued telling them to me. As if, one day, I’d throw my head back and cackle. It wouldn’t happen. I didn’t care to know about Eamon’s life. Not anymore.

Saying nothing, I gave her a nod and waited for her to tell me what she needed.

“Yes, uh…” She sounded nervous, and again, I felt bad about that.

In any other circumstance, I believed we could be friends. But seeing as she, along with the others, were so loyal to Brady, I trusted no one. They knew I’d not come on my own free will and I was basically being held captive. If I didn’t stay here, then Brady would kill Rome.

“Mr. Murphy is having a dinner tonight with guests. He requires yer attendance. He has also chosen what ye are to wear and instructed me on how to fix yer hair. Ye are to be in the parlor for predinner drinks at seven. What time would ye like to begin gettin’ ready?”

I was required to eat dinner with his guests? Was he serious? Yes. Yes, he was. He was the world’s biggest asshole. Correction: he was the world’s biggest criminal asshole.

Rolling my eyes, I turned to look back out the window. I could argue with him and refuse to go, but I was here because he held all the power. If he demanded I do something, then I’d have to do it. And I didn’t have the energy to fight him. I was too tired.

“Five thirty will be fine,” I replied with complete lack of emotion in my tone. My voice sounded as dead as I felt.

“Very well. I’ll meet ye in yer dressin’ room at five thirty,” she replied.

I didn’t turn around and say anything more, sitting in silence while the door clicked shut behind her.

Music played lightly in the background throughout the house as I descended the staircase. Glancing down at my dress, I thought again of how similar Brady’s tastes were to his brother’s. This was a dress that Eamon would have liked. He’d have chosen it, too, if it had been among the choices. But Eamon hadn’t dressed me. Our marriage wasn’t like that. He’d treated me as his equal. Brady would make a terrible husband. It was a good thing the man wasn’t planning on getting married.

Maeve appeared at the bottom of the stairs, beaming up at me. “Yer a beauty, Mrs. Murphy. Why, ye take my breath away,” she said, placing a hand on her chest. “No wonder Master Rí was so completely taken with ye. His eyes never wandered. I’ve never known a more devoted man.”

I didn’t need to hear about Eamon’s values. I’d heard enough.

This entire household had literally worshipped him, it seemed. None of them had thought it was wrong that he hadn’t shared this part of his life with me. The excuse that I’d never have accepted it was correct. I wouldn’t have married Eamon had I known. His lying to me to get what he wanted was unforgivable. And because of it, I was here. With his horrid brother.

“Thank you,” I replied.

She waited until I reached the bottom, then told me to follow her. I could hear the voices and Brady’s laughter as we neared the room I was supposed to have been in ten minutes ago. I did not care. I wasn’t his puppet. I had to draw a line somewhere. He had taken away all my control over my own life.

When I entered, I realized it was mostly men and only two other women. The room went silent, and Brady turned to see me. He stood up from the armrest of the sofa where he had been perched, listening to a story that another man had told.

“Ah, there she is,” he said brightly.

I didn’t mask my displeasure with him as he walked over to me.

“She hates me, but we’re hopin’ that fades. After all, my face is the better version of Rí’s,” he said, and the room chuckled.

“I wouldn’t go that far, Brady. But you always had the biggest ego,” a blonde said as she looked from him to me.

I could see the challenge in her eyes, as if there was some competition I wasn’t aware of. She was in her thirties and stunning. Tall and willowy, dressed in a gold dress that shimmered when she moved. Her accent wasn’t like the others. There was a slight one there but she pronounced her words more like an American.

“Tsk-tsk, Orla,” said the other woman with a smug grin. She had dark brown locks that hung in loose curls, draped around her right shoulder, and was wearing a black cocktail dress.

I could see they were just lovely. Not.

“Orla, everyone knows ye love me, but had to settle for Conan because I like my many flavors,” Brady told her with a smirk, then plucked a glass of champagne from a tray that Shara had carried to him. He turned to me and held it out. “Drink, sister. Perhaps it’ll loosen ye up.”

I glared at the glass but took it, not wanting to make a scene. Just get this over with.

Brady waved out toward the rest of the room. “This is the family and those closest to us that are a part of our circle. Let’s start over here with Emmett, who ye have already met. With him is Devin, my first cousin, and his wife, Ciara. Then we have—”

“Brady, we’ve had an update,” a male voice interrupted him.

Turning back to look at the door, I recognized Tiernan, dressed much like he’d been on the day he helped abduct me. I’d not seen him since.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but this is urgent.” His fair skin was a splotchy red, as if he’d been running.

Brady’s normally amused expression was tense as he nodded his head. “I’ll be right there,” he replied. “If ye will excuse me,” he told the rest of the room before following Tiernan out.

“That doesn’t sound good,” an older man with silver in his temples said as he frowned at the door.

“He’ll handle it,” the man across from him said. “He always does.”

I was in a room with the people who supplied illegal drugs to Europe. I couldn’t say that I’d ever considered what those who did this sort of thing looked like. I’d watched Weeds , and I had an idea of what the Mexican cartel looked like, but I hadn’t thought about one in Europe. Regardless, I’d have expected a rougher, less polished group.

A man approached me. I suspected he was around my age, and he had blond hair, blue eyes, and a deep golden tan, as if he lived in the sun—which I thought would be difficult to achieve here in Ireland. It had rained almost every day since my arrival. As if the sky were crying with me.

He smiled and looked somewhat nervous.

“I wanted to introduce myself,” he said. “I feel as if I know ye, yet ye haven’t an idea of who I am.”

He was right. I didn’t. And the reminder that he knew me was not going to help my mood.

I gave him a tight smile, not even attempting to be friendly.

“My name is Seán Walsh, I was Ea—Rí’s best friend. We grew up together,” he informed me. “I’m sure this is a lot for ye to take in. This life of his that ye did not know about.” A sympathetic smile curled his lips. “If’n he’s lookin’ on, he’s feelin’ brutal about all this.”

Shifting my eyes over toward the rest of the room, not looking at anyone really, I raised my eyebrows, feeling my temper rise. I was tired of hearing how great Eamon had been.

“That doesn’t make the betrayal any less painful, does it?” I replied in a clipped tone.

I hadn’t even known he had a best friend. One since childhood.

“Aye,” he said quietly.

What more could he say?

“Salem,” Brady’s voice barked, and I spun around to see him taking long, purposeful strides toward me. “Come with me.”

His order was followed by him grabbing my wrist and all but pulling me out of the room.

“What is wrong with you?” I hissed angrily, trying to tug my arm back.

“We have a situation of sorts,” he replied, then led me into a room I hadn’t been in yet.

I glanced around and realized it was an office and there were more books. Brady locked the door and let go of me at the same time.

“I was hoping we’d enjoy the evening. However, my hand is being forced, and I don’t have time for details.” He sounded exasperated.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he muttered and stalked over to a cabinet, opening it and taking out a bottle of whiskey.

“We’ll need to disappear,” he continued, then took a pull from the bottle.

“What?” I asked, my voice rising with alarm.

“Ye heard me,” he said, giving me an exasperated glance, then taking another drink. “Just do as I tell ya, and I can answer yer questions later. No time for it now.”

“I’m sorry, but you abducted me, threatened to kill those I cared about, and now you’re telling me that we have to disappear.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “What is going on?”

He looked at me pointedly. “I smuggle hash and coke into Ireland, Salem. It’s what we do. I distribute it all through Europe’ Eamon was in charge of it but now it’s me. No one knows I exist. It wasn’t just a lie my brother told ya. It was one he’d lived his entire life, outside of the inner circle ye met in there.” He pointed at the door. “We have men who work for us who don’t know my face. But for a few years now, they’ve been sniffing around, thinking we don’t know who they are. The feckin’ CIA.” He let out a hard laugh and shook his head. “Calling me The Ghost .” Brady put the bottle back into the cabinet.

“Time to go, sister,” he said, then nodded his head for me to come to him instead of him coming to the door.

How did no one know he existed? What about birth records? Those couldn’t be hidden.

There was one sharp knock on the door, and Brady sighed, then stalked to me. He grabbed my wrist and began pulling me again back toward the bookcase behind the large ornate desk.

“That’d be Emmett with the signal to leave,” he said. “No more time.”

I opened my mouth to tell him to stop dragging me around when he took a book from the shelf and pulled it out slightly. There was a faint click, and Brady moved us back as the bookcase began to swing open. I stared at it, wide-eyed.

What the hell?

He forced me to move with him into the dark passageway that had appeared. Once we were inside, the bookcase began to close instantly. I could barely make out anything in the darkness, but Brady moved us through the narrow passage quickly, turning without slowing. He had to have every inch memorized to keep this pace without light to see the way.

“Stop pulling so hard,” I hissed at him.

“If ye obeyed requests, I wouldn’t have to,” he replied.

“More like demands.”

“It’s just ahead,” he told me.

As if I knew what was just ahead. He’d told me little. I didn’t know where we were going.

“How are we going to disappear?” I asked, almost having to jog to keep up with his pace.

“Eamon wasn’t the only one with a double life,” he replied. “Steps here. Be careful.”

Steps? How was I supposed to see them?

He slowed some for my sake, I assumed, as we went down a flight of stairs, then continued a bit longer before he stopped.

“Stand still,” he told me, then let my wrist go.

I could barely make out him moving, and it seemed like he was climbing up a short ladder. Then I heard a faint creaking sound as an opening appeared over our heads and the moonlight flooded the space. It was wider than I’d realized. The narrow passage must have changed at some point.

Emmett appeared above us as Brady moved back.

“Go on up,” he told me.

Not wanting to stay down here any longer than necessary, I went to the ladder and climbed the three rungs. Then Emmett held out a hand to help me out. Reluctantly, I gave it to him, and he lifted me up and onto the grass before letting me go. I looked around to see we were in a thicket of trees. It had to be somewhere on the property.

“Take this,” Emmett said, handing me a raincoat.

It wasn’t raining at the moment, but the cold, damp air warned that it would return soon. My heels sank into the moist ground as I waited on Brady to climb out of the hole.

He grinned brightly at Emmett. “Not the best ending to the evening.”

Lore smirked at him.

“Let’s go then,” Brady said, swinging his gaze to me.

“How far are we walking? These shoes aren’t ideal for a wet, soppy ground,” I complained.

“Aye,” he said, frowning down at them. “Not far, but I can carry ye.”

He took a step toward me, and I almost fell on my butt, trying to back away from him.

“Don’t even think about it,” I warned him. “I’ll take them off if I have to.”

He shrugged. “Suit yerself then.”

Both men began walking, and I managed to walk on my tiptoes enough to keep my heels from being sucked into the ground. Brady glanced back to make sure I was following several times while he talked in hushed whispers to Emmett. Thankfully, he had told the truth about it not being a long walk. A basic black sedan—nothing elaborate or flashy about it and definitely not a luxury line—sat on a deserted road that appeared to be wide enough for only one vehicle.

Emmett reached it first and opened the back door. Brady waved for me to get in first, and once I did, the door closed behind me. I watched as Brady walked over to the driver’s side, and Emmett climbed into the passenger seat. That was different.

When both men were in the car, Brady started it up and then glanced over at Emmett. “Who am I?”

I frowned. What kind of question was that?

“Edmund Harris. Age thirty-two, shopping for homes with yer fiancée. Yer from a, uh, Fultondale, Alabama.” Emmett shrugged. “I think I said it right. But yer fiancée has a sick grandfather who she wants to move close to. Yer a software engineer. Yer fiancée’s name is Annabeth Jones, and she was a fifth-grade math teacher, but ye decided it’s time for her to stay home and have a baby.”

Brady looked back at me and grinned. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said with a Southern drawl so authentic that I gaped at him. “I’d have rather been from Tennessee. I like that accent better. It’s a hella lot more fun, but Bama will do. Can I get a Roll Tide?”

What. The. Fuck?!