Page 18 of Ruthless

“Thanks a lot.” I let out a deep sigh as her words hit too close to home.

“Sorry, Ken.” Once she realizes what she’s said, she backtracks. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Apology accepted.” I wave it off as the turning in my stomach creeps its way up my throat.

“Besides, you’re a mature twenty-two-year-old with a banging bod. I’m the short, plump friend with a giant ass.”

“One, telling me that I act old is not any better, Fi. And two, stop deflecting. You are one of the most beautiful people I’ve met, inside and out. Now, stop deflecting because you know that’s going to blow up in your face.”

“Don’t worry about me. I can handle my punishment.” Her resolve hardens on that last word.

I nod my head even though she can’t see me, and true to Fiona form, she continues talking like nothing happened.

“So, when is your due date?” Things clunk on a counter as she starts to have a funny echo behind her words. She must have made her way into the bathroom.

“I don’t know, but I am going to see Dr. Rourke for my first appointment this Thursday.” A lightness fills my chest at the thought. I took the test and know that I’m pregnant, but the idea of going to the doctor and having him confirm it scares the hell out of me.

“You better call me the second you’re done. I want to know everything.” She squeals into the phone, and I can practically hear her bouncing around her room in excitement.

“You have my word.” Sweat beads along my forehead as I feel my nausea settling into the back of my throat.

“Good.” She claps so loud it echoes through the phone. “I’m out of here before my dad can catch me. Go have fun climbing your new man like a tree, and I’ll call you later.”

I don’t wait for her to hang up before I rush to the bathroom. I toss my phone onto the counter and kneel in front of the toilet. My head barely manages to make it inside the bowl before I lose the contents of my stomach, which isn’t much at this point. I haven’t had much of an appetite lately.

After about ten minutes of reliving the only time Fiona and I got into my dad’s whiskey, I can lift my head out of the toilet for good. I wipe at my mouth and fall on my butt, the cold tile an unwelcome surprise against my bare legs. It takes me a good minute before I can finally stand and not feel like the room is spinning. There is no way I can drive feeling like crap, so I text Connor and ask him to swing by and pick me up on his way to the gym.

Ten minutes later, I’ve showered, brushed my teeth, and sat in the passenger seat of Connor’s truck. Neither one of us makes an effort to strike up a conversation, and for that, I’m thankful. My brother knows when to leave me be. He pulls into the first spot he finds, and I’m out before he turns the ignition off.

My stomach turns when I see our dad’s black Bentley in the parking lot. I let out a sigh, and Connor comes to stand beside me and gives me a light squeeze on the shoulder.

“You’ll be fine, Ken. He won’t even be mad at you. You’re everyone’s favorite. You know that.” There’s no malice in his tone, only teasing.

“I am not.” I roll my eyes and ignore his laughter behind me as I open the door to Morrigan’s and mentally prepare for this conversation.

“Just bat those eyelashes at him and promise you’ll come to Sunday lunch after Mass, and all will be forgiven,” he whispers against the side of my head to get the last word in.

The sound of “Hells Bells” by ACDC blares through the speakers as soon as we enter. That tells me all I need to know about who has been in charge of the music in my absence. I walk up to the front desk where one of my younger brothers, Keegan, is sitting and try not to have a heart attack at the sight before me.

A black Fedora with a red feather sits in the corner of the front desk, on top of a mound of paperwork—paperwork I had spent many hours on weekends and late nights organizing. In just a matter of days, he’s managed to make it a complete mess. He’s scribbling on a piece of paper, but the second he looks up and sees it’s me, his blue eyes light up. Morrigan’s is imprinted in bold white lettering in the center of his black T-shirt, just like the one I currently have on, and he’s wearing a pair of ripped skinny jeans with his favorite wallet chain hanging off the side.

He rushes around the side of the counter and wraps me up in a hug. “Where the feck have you been?”

“Keegan.” There’s no missing Connor’s warning in that one word. Keegan sighs and apologizes into my ear, but he doesn’t let me go.

I laugh and step back, taking in the mess of papers over his shoulder and wrinkle my nose. “What have you done to my desk, Keegan?”

“That’s all Teegan’s mess. I don’t do paperwork.” His slight Irish accent becomes thicker the more he talks. All five of us have the same slight Irish lilt mixed with our American accent when we speak, but mine is nowhere near as thick as my brothers’. “This face is too pretty to be stuck doing that shit.” He points at his baby face and smirks. He’s barely twenty and acts like it too.

“Everything was labeled on where it should go. How can it be that hard?” I throw my hands up in the air and put them on my hips to keep from strangling him.

“About that.” He rubs the top of his dark buzzed head and spears me a look. “Teegan reorganized it.”

“He did what?” My eyes widen as I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose.

The smile on Keegan’s face grows at seeing the expression on mine, and I know he’s said it to get a rise out of me. And it worked. Teegan is a dead man.

“Where is he? I’m going to kick his ass.”

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