Page 21 of Ruthless Reign

“Not on the phone,” he hissed down the line. “I’m at your flat.”

My teeth clicked as I shut my jaw. I wouldn’t bother asking why he was there. A son who didn’t have anything to hide wouldn’t wonder, but it was the first and only time he’d stepped foot there.

“I’ll be there in two hours.”

“Two hours?”

“I have bones to bury.”

I hung up before he could reply. He’d like the insinuation. He’d like to think I killed one of the Kents. He might not even be angry if I told him I killed two instead of his allotted one. The single life to be taken for non-payment.

I waited to see if he would call back, but as I suspected, he didn’t. Which meant I had a chance. There was a chance I could come up with something good enough to save her life.

Mo mhuirnín.

She’d been hanging over my head like a guillotine ready to fall ever since I told him.

She’s the daughter of Damien St. Vincent.

Why? Why couldn’t I have kept that one secret for myself? Why couldn’t I have kept her for myself?

I offered her like a lamb for slaughter and now it was only a matter of time before my father came to collect. He was biding his time, but I knew he’d use the information whenever he thought it would have the most dramatic impact.

If he found out Damien St. Vincent’s adopted sons and his fucking biological daughter killed two of our men tonight, would he take her? Would he hurt her? Send her back to Damien in pieces to keep him on a leash?

I wouldn’t let it happen. I wouldn’t have her blood on my hands.

My phone vibrated and I glanced down to find her name there on the screen. A new message from Rebecca. I didn’t think it was a coincidence. I’d sent her at least half a dozen messages in the last couple days since I cut the wire at the safehouse. She left me on read for every single one. Granted they were all trivial, insignificant texts. I couldn’t let on anything.

If she hadn’t put it together yet I wouldn’t give her the clues she needed to do it.

But it seemed her hero moment tonight put some things in perspective as I read the simple message.

Rebecca

You played me.

…and you were so very easy to play, mo mhuirnín.

Something that felt suspiciously like guilt squeezed in my chest like a vise and I bared my teeth against it, hating how she had the power to draw something so hateful out of the box where I kept useless emotions hidden deep, deep down.

I inhaled to clear my mind, setting my phone down on the seat before starting the SUV. I drove for fifteen minutes until I found a dirt road so desolate and unkept that the Lincoln struggled to bump over the uneven terrain. Only then did I park again, going around to the back to pull the pickaxe and shovel out of the trunk. I hefted them over one shoulder before setting off into the dark, through the trees and into a barren expanse of land only illuminated by the moon and stars above.

I dug two shallow empty graves and filled them back in. If Da doubted me, he would check for them, but I doubted he’d dig them up.

It was a risk, but one I’d have to take.

My hands were dry, the calluses screaming with new blisters as I drove back into Santa Clarita. The flat I rented just off campus was to back up my cover as a student. I even threw a small house party there when I first moved in and the neighbor’s cat had taken a liking to me as if I’d lived there for years instead of barely a month.

I assumed the green sedan parked outside was Da’s current ride. He had a new one daily. Part of Eoghan’s job was to ensure he never drove the same vehicle twice. He’d have to find someone else to fill that position now.

As I pulled up behind the sedan, I cleansed my expression of all emotion, feeling the mask of Séamas O’Sullivan’s son slip into place over my face. As it settled, every remaining ounce of trepidation or guilt fell from my shoulders, replaced with the cold, calm certainty Da expected. The son born of the mold his whip pressed me into.

I slipped from the Lincoln and took the small pavestone path to the front door, walking into the house without bothering to kick the dirt from my boots.

The small flat was dark and vacant inside, but I could feel him. The bachelor’s kitchen sat untouched. The cushions of the only sofa in the adjacent living room were undisturbed, but I wasn’t surprised. Da never got comfortable. He barely slept.

I walked through the living room and into the hall, passing the pocket-sized bathroom before heading straight for the bedroom, drawn to him like moth to flame.

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