Page 5 of Mercy in Betrayal

Gripping the edge of the table, I bend over, my fingers still itching with the need to destroy. My fingers dig into the table’s surface, and I half expect it to crack under my death grip. Cheers have my head snapping up, my spine straightening, and I glare down the hall at the room I just disappeared from. The new year has started. What a way to ring it in.

Just step down. Let Carina lead. Or Tom.

The echo of my father’s words have me glancing back at the shattered mirror. “Fuck you,” I tell him. I take a few deep breaths and fix my dark tie that has fallen out from my suit jacket. I turn and walk, the pounding pulse of my own blood still ringing in my ears.

With each step, I make a conscious effort to shake off the anger. I can’t allow Ivan to see the effect his words had on me. I must show that even in the face of something as huge as this, I am in control.

I re-enter the room with composure and accept a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. I curse myself as I quickly switch my hands and take the glass with my left. My right hand has a cut across it; I hadn’t noticed or felt the sting when I smashed the mirror. I stuff my bleeding hand into my pockets.

I don’t know what draws my gaze back to Ivan, but he’s watching me and raises his glass toward me like he didn’t just deliver a death blow to me. I hold up my own glass, and one of his brows raises as he seeks out my other hand that’s still buried in my pocket. I can almost make myself believe that Ivan knows my hand is bleeding and what I just did. The balloons and streamers float across tables and pour onto the floor. Cheers continue to ring out, and everyone around me hugs someone close by.

Cassidy and Evie move into my line of sight as the crowd shifts. They are hugging someone who I can’t see at first.

Evie pulls away from the woman she’s hugging, and I get my first glimpse of Rowan O’Rourke. The girl from the photograph, in the flesh.

My mouth goes dry.

Rowan O’Rourke is young—far too young for me. She looks like a woman from a pre-Raphaelite painting, her hair long, wavy, and vibrantly red against pale white skin. She’s wearing some kind of old-fashioned gown, and although it should look silly, it looks good on her. Really good. She’s a tiny little thing but curvy, and the dress somehow accentuates every one of her womanly curves, making my blood pound harder in my ears.

The pink leash she is holding doesn’t match her outfit, though. The leash leads to a large, ridiculous orange cat sitting on a chair next to her. What is it with these women and their animals?

I shake my head a little. Such a strange little bird, Rowan O’Rourke. And yet, her very oddness somehow looks perfect on her. She was made to stand out, even if she looks like she doesn’t want to be seen.

Glancing around, I notice that a fair number of men around the room are sneaking looks in her direction, and I find myself taking a step closer. That won’t do. Her brother will have to continue to be protective of her just a while longer while I work out how to best approach her.

I had known she would eventually make an appearance, and I could decide what I wanted to do about her. Here…now…knowing what I do about the docks…it feels like serendipity.

Finding Angel in the crowd, I tip my glass to him in a salute and watch as a smile creeps along his face. Then I return my attention to Rowan. I can’t take my eyes off her; her smile is rare and genuine in a sea of others. She’s real and innocent, and because she belongs to Cassidy O’Rourke, she’s going to be mine.

She really is a lovely girl.

Her looks don’t matter, though. They're a nice bonus, but revenge doesn’t have to look pretty.

Chapter 2

Rowan

Clementine tugs at his leash with a low mew, drawing my attention. I reach over to stroke the Maine Coon, his long ginger fur gliding between my fingertips as he stands with his paws on the back of a chair, his feline gaze fixed intently on the doors leading out to the corridor.

Glancing up, I’m just in time to see the back of a man as he exits amidst the streamers from falling party poppers and celebratory din. “Really, Clem? All of that for a man leaving the room? You’re supposed to be my emotional support animal, not a…matchmaker or whatever.” I’m not even certain what the cat wanted to indicate by signaling to the man walking away from us.

Evie’s arms come around me just then, distracting me, and she swings me around. “Rowan, Cassidy…come meet the Scarpettas. My erstwhile fiancé.” She giggles, obviously flush with the alcohol circling the room.

Cassidy’s gaze is fierce, but his smile is tender and slightly goofy as he looks down at Evie. He’s a little drunk, as well, but watchful still. Cassidy’s always ready to pounce. “I think we already met them, love,” he says. He turns to me and reaches to tug at a curl. “Happy New Year, sis.”

“Auld lang syne,” I whisper, echoing the song that just faded away.

His gaze sharpens upon me, even as Evie tugs loose to speak to someone. “It’ll be good for you here. A new start.”

“Yes.” My fingers curl into Clem’s fur.

Away from the memories.

Away from the constant fear.

I look into my brother’s drink-hazed gaze, though, and I know. We can cross oceans, but we’ll never really outrun everything that happened over the past few months. Never outrun their deaths—

“Reset.” I say the word out loud, a reminder for myself. Cassidy blinks, then nods.

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