Page 65 of Cruel Ice

James paced in front of the fireplace in Declan’s study. James had texted him about thirty minutes ago, telling him that he had news for Declan.

That they had to meet.

“You’re letting her get too close, but the woman is more dangerous than you realize.”

A glass of whiskey sat in front of Declan. He hadn’t touched the drink. James had come in and poured them both glasses. It was James’s favorite bottle. Aged twenty years. It would be a waste not to touch something so valuable.

Yet Declan didn’t touch it. Maybe because the last time he’d had a drink, he’d woken up tied to a chair in a damn basement. Experiences like that one tended to sour a man on alcohol.

“Declan.”

Declan looked away from the amber liquid.

“She’s wicked smart. IQ off the charts. Don’t let the fact that she’s bounced around doing bullshit stuff like dressing as a party princess or making fluffy pastries fool you.”

Anger swirled in his gut. “It’s not bullshit.” New rule in his world—no one would ever say a fucking negative word about Marley. “Working at the kids’ parties brought her comfort. The pastry making gave her peace and helped her to move forward. She needed that work.”

James blinked. “Sonofabitch, no, please tell me this isn’t happening.” He slammed down his drink. Drops of the liquid scattered across the desktop. “It can’t be happening. Not to you. I didn’t think you’d find someone who made you act—” But he broke off. Clamped his lips together.

“What?”Don’t leave me hanging, James. Say what you think.

The silence lasted a little too long, and then, in a rush, as if he had to get the words out quickly, James said, “You’re just like your father.”

Declan stiffened. “No.”

But James nodded. “I could see it in the hospital, that first night. The way you looked at her. The way you refused to leave her behind. Something about Marley Jones clicked for you, didn’t it?”

Clicked?

“That’s what your father said about your mom. That he saw her, and he knew she was supposed to be his. And when he saw something he wanted, nothing stopped Conor Flynn. Nothing and no one could ever stand in his way.” James swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Until you did. Until you, son.” James lowered into the chair across from Declan. He suddenly lookedvery, very weary. The lines on his face etched deep grooves into his skin. “I certainly wasn’t ever strong enough to stop him.”

Declan’s shoulders stiffened.

“I ran.” Shame darkened James’s words. “I knew what he was, and I ran, and I left you with him, and no matter what I do, I can’t shake the guilt. It drags behind me like chains scraping against a grave.”

“You had no responsibility to me,” Declan said. No emotion entered his voice. When had he stopped letting the emotion slip out? Because he felt emotions. Anger. No, rage. Grief. And maybe even—no. He shut down the thought as fast as it whispered through his mind.

“I did. I owed you, Declan, and we both know it. I was the closest thing to an uncle that you had, and I ran. I suspected he’d done something to your mother, and I couldn’t stay. Dammit, I—” A ragged exhale. “I ran,” he said again, miserable as his shoulders slumped. “I ran like the coward I am.” He stared at the glass before him. At the spilled whiskey that dotted the desktop. “I was always afraid of him. From the moment he came into the house. My mom was telling me I should be excited, that I was getting a new brother.”

“Stepbrother,” Declan corrected. An important clarification. There was no blood link between James and Conor Flynn. James was nothing like Conor. “That was the third marriage for Conor’s father.” And it hadn’t lasted long. Liam Flynn, Declan’s grandfather, had burned through wives. Five total.

“Conor scared the shit out of me. I woke up on the second night he was in the house.” James’s cheeks hollowed as he sucked in, then blew out a hard breath. “He had a knife to my throat. Told me that I was going to do what he said. I’d jump when he wanted me to bounce. That he controlled me, and I’d never be free.” He licked his lips. “Even after our parents divorced, I was still scared of him. Still doing what he said. Itook the job he offered me after college because I was too fucking afraid not to do it—and because the money was good.” His eyes squeezed shut. “There was so much money back then. Money makes you overlook a lot of things. You can close your eyes…” His eyes opened. “And pretend you don’t see so much. That you don’t see the pain and the evil that is right there in front of you.”

Declan still didn’t touch his drink. “You always thought he killed my mother.”

James nodded. “Yes.”

“And you ran because you thought he’d kill you next.”

“I gave her five grand.” A hoarse whisper. “I helped her to leave. I figured I would be next on his attack list, so I vanished. I hid. I stayed hidden and then…then Conor was gone. Dead. By your hand. You were sixteen. All the money was gone. The big monster from my past was gone. And you needed a guardian.”

“You were the closest thing to family I had.” There had been no one else.

“I either stepped forward, or you went into foster care.” James grabbed his drink. Drained it in a gulp. “I’d run before. I wasn’t going to run again.”

“You stayed by my side. All these years.”

He saluted with the empty glass. “Well, eventually, the money became good again.” He lowered the glass. It clinked on the table.

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