Dancing With Danger (Goode Girls #3) - Kerrigan Byrne Page 0,45
of reminder of her. She and Honoria were as different in coloring as night was from day. The elder two Goode sisters had midnight hair and large dark eyes, but her jaw was crafted with the same sharp lines and stubborn angles. Her shape formed with the same delicate perfection.
Raphael licked his lips, thinking he could still find hints of Mercy’s incomparable flavor on them.
“Children...” Gabriel exhaled the word on a long puff of smoke. “I’ve never allowed myself to think of something like that. Even if I’d ever been able to convince a woman to— Well, I’d never thought to maintain our legacy. I suppose I’d hoped our father’s seed would die with us, perhaps his violence would, too.”
Raphael feigned his usual irreverent mirth. “Likely not, I’ve probably got a million bastards out running around somewhere. Find you a handsome hazel-eyed tramp and I’ve probably boffed his mother.”
“I know you better.” Gabriel’s solemnity wiped the smile from Raphael’s face.
Because he was right.
Raphael was as careful as he could be, even in his conquests. He’d never wanted to sire a child, to assign the poor thing a bastard’s status.
A bastard that would have become an orphan.
He’d always known he’d make a shit father.
“Why are you asking about the future, anyhow?” he clipped, stealing the pipe from his brother and taking an uncharacteristically long inhale.
He’d never been much of a smoker, but it certainly couldn’t hurt to start on today of all days.
His last day.
“Couldn’t tell you.” Gabriel scanned the bustle of the streets. Streets they’d claimed to own, corners upon which they’d done business for ages. “Who am I, if not a fighter? Who are we, if not criminals, thieves, and smugglers? I’m going to wake up with this name, Gareth, and it tastes wrong in my mouth. Maybe it wouldn’t...if I had a purpose.”
“Well, you’ll have a few bloody weeks to brood on it in the hospital while your face is gooping back together...I wouldn’t worry about it. Things won’t change so much.”
Gabriel retrieved the pipe from him and took another draw. “You don’t know that.”
“I know you’ll have all this gold to spend, and don’t worry, I’m pretty sure you’ll still be dog-fuckingly ugly, so that will at least be familiar.” Raphael punched him in the shoulder.
Usually, a bit of banter cheered his brother, but not today. “The doctor said there would still be scars.”
“Sure, but you’ll have a fucking nose, won’t you? Besides.” He waggled dark brows. “Posh birds who crave a bit of rough will ask to kiss your scars, see if they don’t.”
Gabriel shook his head and shoved him back. “Get on with you, now.”
Raphael knew his brother couldn’t smile. The scars wouldn’t allow it. But he remembered what Gabriel’s mirth looked like.
And that was enough. He superimposed the memory over what was left of his brother’s face.
Inside, he felt exactly how Gabriel looked. Destroyed by lashes, slashes...
And scars.
“Gabriel, if anything should happen—that is—if it takes me too long to get to the Indies, go to America without me. I’m having Mathilde’s ashes sent to—”
Gabriel perked at that. “You’re leaving almost a month ahead of me, of course you’ll get there first.”
“Of course, but you never know...plans go awry.”
Pushing himself off the wall, Gabriel towered over him, staring down hard from his one good eye. “Are you thinking of staying for her? Because it’s not possible. It’s too dangerous for them both.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Raphael had to turn away. What a shit time to realize he was terrible at lying to his brother.
He wasn’t going to stay.
He was going where no one could follow. Going to find his father in hell and be part of the bevy of demons tormenting the bastard for eternity.
“I saw you last night.” Gabriel’s low murmur whipped his head around.
“Pardon?”
“Sneaking into Cresthaven.” His brother picked a sliver of tobacco from his tongue.
“Are you following me?”
“No.”
Raphael narrowed one eye at him. “Then what were you doing at Cresthaven?”
It was Gabriel’s turn to look away. “I had business nearby.”
“No, you bloody didn’t.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Gabriel made a dismissive gesture. “It said on the police records that Felicity Goode was in the police wagon with you, but that wasn’t her. It was her twin.”
Raphael didn’t have to feign indignance this time. “How can you tell them apart? You’ve spent all of five seconds in their company.”
“Felicity doesn’t speak like Mercy.” Gabriel’s voice changed in a way that sparked a dark and painful knowledge in Raphael’s gut. There was a