very alone.
At the bar I pour us both some Jameson, practically contraband in the land of wine and absinthe. It was our father’s drink of choice, though he’d settle for beer when the liquor store cut him off and he had to go to the gas station. I sit across from him, setting down the glass. He glances at it a moment before taking a drink.
“First time I’ve had that in years,” he says.
“Figured a family reunion should have some memories. Even if they’re dark.”
“I am sorry for—”
“Don’t.”
He runs a hand over his face. I recognize it because I do that, too, sometimes. I wonder if Holly and London share the same mannerisms like that. “I am.”
“You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for.”
“I know he was a sick fuck. And he was getting sicker. I left you to that.”
“You protected me when you could.” I remember my brothers taking beatings that were meant for me. I remember them giving me food at night when our father had passed out. I remember the way they protected me before they left.
“Since we’re talking about it, did our mother—did she ever come back?”
“Hell.”
“I looked for her. Later. When I had the resources. I’m not hoping for some big reconciliation, but if she needed money right now, if she needed—”
“She doesn’t.”
“Then it’s true.” He looks at me, his dark green eyes unfathomable. “She’s dead.”
I have to swallow hard against the memories. They’re fleeting but all the more powerful because of being rare. Her singing a song. Her warmth when she held me. Feeding me. She must have lived in fear with that fucker as her husband, but she found love in her heart for us. “Yes.”
He looks away, toward the window where the Eiffel Tower looks like a gaudy fucking party trick. I’ll never be able to see it again without tasting Holly’s sweet pussy.
The irony is, this was my first time in France since the diamond heist. And it’s connected. Her being here isn’t a coincidence. I involved her in my mission once before.
Now she’s inextricably linked to this, too.
How will she feel when she finds out I used her—again?
“Having second thoughts?” Liam asks. “About keeping her here?”
Second thoughts? “Fuck no.”
I knew when I walked out of that prison cell that she was mine. I probably knew even before that, when I first sensed an angel in there with me.
It’s something deeper than affection. Darker than love. She’s mine.
“Does she know that she’s not allowed to leave?”
I shake my head once. “Not yet.”
My brother cocks his head to the side. “If we had come from a different family, I might try to convince you not to do it this way. You could try talking to her, explain how you feel, explain what you’re worried about.”
It’s like he’s speaking a foreign language. “I’m keeping her alive.”
“I have a feeling if I tried to take her from you, one of us would end up dead.”
My whole body tenses. “You’re not taking her.”
“God, Elijah. He really did a number on us, didn’t he?”
“You seem pretty fucking normal.” I’m the one too broken to even tell a woman I’m fucking that I care about her. I want her alive. That’s the kindest sentiment I can offer. I’m basically a machine made to fight and lie and kill. There is no setting that allows me to love.
He takes a large swallow of scotch. “You have no idea.”
“So tell me. You want me to work for your company? Tell me something about you that I could use to put you in jail. That’s how you show you trust me. Mutually assured destruction.”
“The sad part is how much logical sense that makes to me.”
I take a sip. “I’m waiting.”
He sighs. “I’m guardian to a little girl who… God, I’ve never even spoken the words aloud. I killed her father. Poison. One of those orders from the US government that they’d deny until the end. Only, I didn’t know she was in the room. Didn’t know she’d take a sip.”
“Jesus.”
“She almost died.”
“And a judge thought you’d be a great dad?”
“Fuck no, but they were easy enough to bribe. I started taking care of her out of guilt, but now I care for her… because of herself. Who she is. Except she’ll hate me if she ever finds out what I did.”
“It’s actually impressive how fucked up that is.”
“Thanks,” he says, his voice dry.
I hold out my drink. “To mutually assured destruction.”
He matches my toast, and we both drink. He’s right