The Monster (Boston Belles #3) - L.J. Shen Page 0,103

she the one confronting me? Only the answer was obvious. She didn’t want anything to do with me. Every time we were alone, I’d somehow find a way into her pants before pushing her away and telling both of us it would never happen again.

Fucking pathetic.

And this time I didn’t mean her.

“If it makes you feel any better, your adoptive father had no idea this had anything to do with you. He would never betray you like this. Aisling told him she needed a few certain numbers to be redirected to Belle because, as you know, Belle is the owner at Madame Mayhem, a local nightclub, and she said someone was trying to target the club and write a damning tell-all about the managers and goings-on inside,” Gerald continued, taking another generous sip of whiskey.

I took a drag off my cigarette. My drink remained untouched.

Through the curtains, the oranges and pinks of a winter sunrise colored the sky. I tapped my cigarette to the side of my lip, mulling it over.

“It was airtight,” I said eventually.

“Yes,” Gerald agreed. “Aisling did all the leg work. When Troy asked why she didn’t come to you directly to deal with the publishing companies, she explained that because she was infatuated with you, she wanted to limit your communication to the bare minimum.”

She even used her weaknesses to her advantage.

“We communicate often,” I bit out harshly, childishly, the need to fuck her over right back overwhelming me. “If that’s what you want to call it. So where is this Barbara woman now?”

I knew where she was going to be soon.

Six feet under.

Actually, that wasn’t true. I wasn’t going to kill Barbara, but not because she didn’t deserve it for double-crossing me. I wasn’t going to kill her because it was obvious Aisling fucking Fitzpatrick was going to go after my ass, knowing I had one hell of a motive. It wasn’t a cold day in Hell, but finally, I found someone who held me accountable for my actions.

It wasn’t the police, the sheriff, the FBI, or the mayor, although all of them had tried.

It was a petite Irish girl with a smart mouth and eyes like bluebells who wanted to give me everything she had until I made it very clear to her I wasn’t worth any of it.

“That’s a great question.” Gerald grinned smugly, his face so punchable I was surprised it didn’t curve inside out.

He snapped his fingers, and just like that, Barbara materialized from the hallway, no longer looking like a day-shift stripper. Her hair was coiffed back, her attire a black velvet Prada suit and Chanel purse.

Yeah, she definitely didn’t need any food stamps or half-finished cigarette packs.

Barbara smiled at me apologetically, giving me a quick nod.

“I wanted to be here just to say I was sorry in person. I never meant to complicate things for you, Mr. Brennan, but Gerald is an old friend, and when he told me he was in trouble, I simply couldn’t turn my back on him. Surely, you can understand.”

Only I couldn’t.

Because I didn’t have any real friends. Only people I had business with and met with socially—only to make sure they didn’t screw up any of our mutual business shit.

“Well played, madam.”

She smiled and dashed out the door after saying her goodbyes, leaving Gerald and me to face each other. I took out another cigarette, waiting for the question on the tip of his tongue.

“So now it’s your turn to tell me … why?” he asked quietly, dropping his elbows to his knees. He looked broken. Wilted and weak and somehow still angry.

“Why did you put me through this? Why did you take everything I’ve ever cared for? What did I ever do to you, Brennan? Up until two months ago, I would name you as one of my closest business partners. Openly.”

Openly my ass. If he was so open about his business with me, he wouldn’t have forbade me from taking his daughter out for a coffee.

Not that that was what I wanted.

Or had anything to do with this bullshit.

“I found the letters,” I said, flicking ash into an ashtray on the table. “Catalina’s letters. Back in November. The old bat finally conked out, and her neighbor invited me to sort through her shit and see if there was anything of value there. Spoiler alert: there wasn’t. But she kept the letters to you. The ones you redirected back to her. And your photos together…” I took a deep breath “…and the