Page 79 of Vengeful Secret

I look over at Gray, and he grins. “Da always says the more the merrier.”

Lara whoops and jumps in the pool, doing a cannonball and splashing Ciara.

Ciara gasps and laughs, splashing her back when she comes up, sputtering.

Before long, Declan and his very pregnant wife come out too, and even Marisol, even though she just sits near the pool, smiling at everyone.

Bree sits on the steps, hardly looking like she has energy to do anything more.

Ciara’s eyes go wide as she sees the full extent of Bree’s belly. “What’s wrong with your stomach?”

Bree laughs. “There’s a baby in there.”

“Oh! My teacher had a baby in her belly once. Can I see it?”

She smiles and calls to Declan. “Bring over the 3D ultrasound pictures.”

Declan pops into the house and then back outside, showing Ciara the pictures. Even I’m in awe of how realistic the baby looks.

“Can I hold it after it comes out?” she asks excitedly, and I shake my head, but Bree speaks up.

“As soon as he’s old enough. Then you can hold him.”

“He’s prettier than Effie,” Ciara whispers.

Bree looks at me, and I chuckle. “That’s a high compliment, coming from Ciara.”

Gray swims over to me while I stand in the shallow end, standing up and pulling me into his arms from behind. At first, I stiffen, not sure if his family knows what’s going on.

But Gray doesn’t care, kissing my temple, and I realize that none of them are looking at me. It’s not because they’re ignoring me, they just know that anyone Gray cares for, they care for, too.

I’m both shocked and heartened by the way the Burke family accepts me and Ciara so quickly. It doesn’t matter who I am. It doesn’t matter that we’ve been apart. All they care about is that Gray cares about us.

It warms my heart to be around this much family, and I hope that somehow, Ciara and I can continue to be a part of it.

22

GRAY

It’s beentwo days since Sutton was attacked, and I’ve kept the asshole who did it in my father’s panic room the whole time.

The panic room doesn’t actually function the way one might think. We have it down in the basement, locked away from prying eyes. We don’t use it for protection.

Quite the opposite. It’s basically a holding cell for those we need to interrogate or kill. And I plan to do both to this fucker who attacked the love of my life.

I hum, pulling up my sleeves as I walk down into the basement.

Kael’s already down there. I’ve had him keep an eye on the guy, provide him with food and water. Wouldn’t want him to croak from dehydration before I got to him.

“How’s our friend?” I ask, and Kael looks up from his car magazine. He throws it on the table, snorting.

“He's been begging and crying for hours.” There’s a derisive tone in Kael’s voice. The Irish aren’t supposed to be punks—they're not supposed to cry and snivel and beg.

Apparently, the Murphys are a different breed.

“Aye,” I drawl, cracking my neck and smiling slightly. “I’m going in.”

“You want some help, boss?”

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