Page 41 of Ruthless

“He says there’s a problem at the gate. It won’t open. We’re pulling up right behind you now.”

I glance in the rearview mirror and see Rory’s lifted Chevy closing the distance. They’re close, but not close enough. All it takes is one bullet to hit their target, and it’s all over. “I can’t stop. I do, and they’ll be on us.” And I’m not letting that happen.

“Don’t stop. Crash into the left side and go right through to the front door. We’ll take care of the rest.” It’s all the permission I need.

The familiar three-story house comes into view. Four white pillars extend outward to the concrete stairs that split off on either side and meet the driveway. Green shutters cover each of the many windows that line the front, and I’m sure there are several more along its backside. Large shrubs surround the entire thing, blocking out the view of the house from the street. To say the house is fucking huge is an understatement. It’s almost a shame we’re about to plow through and rip it all up.

“Brace yourself, Ken.” Fucking shit, this is going to be bad.

She curls into the fetal position in her seat as I barrel straight through the left side of the iron gate, narrowly missing one of the poles. The force cracks my windshield, splintering my view, but I can make out enough to keep going. What becomes of the SUV is suddenly a memory after that.

We’re off-roading through Finnegan Donnelly’s front yard, ripping it to shreds. Pieces of green and Georgia clay fly all over the place, landing on the hood of my truck. I don’t stop until the nose of my hood is right up against the steps that lead up to the front door and slam it into park. Kennedy is my first priority.

I bend down and pull her up into my lap against my chest. My hand strokes the top of her head as her body shakes against me. “You okay?”

Her head tilts back and what I see punches me in the gut. Her glasses are cracked, and there are minor scrapes on her face where the glass cut her. She’s got minor wounds that are bleeding, but nothing too serious. “No. That was bloody nuts.” The more upset she gets, the thicker the Irish lilt to her words becomes. “What the feck happened?”

“I don’t know.” But I’m gonna find out. And they’re fucking dead. Every last one of them.

I help Kennedy out of the truck and inside the house. Rory and Connor pull in and follow after us, but I’m not waiting. The faster I can get Kennedy inside the house, the better I’ll feel.

Inside the house, it’s just as I remember the few times I was here with my brothers. Hardwood flooring throughout with off-white walls and splashes of green is all I see. I manage to take in a bit more and find several family pictures along the walls this time. One, in particular, catches my eye. I recognize all of the Donnelly kids, but it’s the woman that Finn has his arm draped around that has me stopping where I stand. Everything about her is identical to Kennedy, from the dark hair to the glasses on her face. The only thing Kennedy inherited from her father is those infamous Donnelly blue eyes.

“My mother, Siobhan,” Kennedy says, answering my unspoken question.

I clear my throat and glance over at her, doing my best to ignore the tension that courses through me when I catch sight of the scratches on her face. “You look just like her.”

The corner of her mouth lifts into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “My dad says I act a lot like her too. She was murdered when I was four.” The way she says it with such a neutral voice leads me to believe that Finn never hid the truth of what happened or how he handled it from them. I keep my expression blank. This isn’t news to me. That’s one of the first things Asher looked up when we found out Kelsey was his niece, but I have a feeling if I tell her that she’ll punch me in the nuts.

She taps the glass of the framed photo and starts back up the stairs. When we walk up to the open office door, I come face to face with the last person I ever expected to see at Finnegan Donnelly’s house.

CHAPTERSIXTEEN

Kennedy

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Zane’s entire body goes rock solid next to me. Gone is his calm demeanor from earlier when he checked me over. He glares in the direction of my father’s desk to a blond in a tan suit. The temperature in the room instantly drops by several degrees, and all conversation stops when the blond lifts his head and his hazel eyes glance our way.

While Zane is busy lost in whatever pissing contest this is, my nausea decides now is the perfect time to make an appearance. I suck in a few slow, deep breaths, hoping like hell I can keep the licorice down. Something tells me that it will not be so hot coming back up.

I look to my dad for a distraction and possibly an answer for what is going on, but his gaze is also fixed on Zane. My dad is sitting behind his big mahogany desk in one of his favorite black pin-striped suits with a cigar in his hand and an open folder on his desk. The familiar blond, whose name escapes me, is leaning a hand against the side of the desk, tilting his head to the side with his head bent over the pile of papers. I’ve seen him around here a couple of times, but other than a few small pleasantries, we’ve never exchanged many words. If we’re interrupting something important, neither one of them let on.

“I’ll take care of our little problem as long as ye do yer part, Rosenberg.” My dad leans back in his chair, dismissing him.

“Consider it done,” the blond, who I now remember, answers with a chin tilt as he grabs his briefcase from off the floor by his feet and heads toward the door, putting himself directly in our path. A smile spreads across his face the closer he comes to us and holds his hand out for me to take. “It’s always a pleasure to see you again, Kennedy.”

“Mr. Rosenberg.” I suck in another deep breath to control my rebelling stomach and place my hand in his, prepared to shake it when his fingers tighten around mine.

“I’ve told you. Call me Barrett.” Barrett smiles, showing off the whites of his teeth. He attempts to lift my hand to his mouth, but my husband gets there first.

“I don’t fucking think so.” Zane grabs my hand out of Barrett’s grasp before his lips make contact. He pulls me in tighter next to him and drapes an arm around my shoulders, locking me in place. He might as well have peed on me to mark his territory. Heat fills my face at the move, but Barrett isn’t fazed.

He ignores that comment and Zane’s caveman behavior as his gaze darts from me to my husband. Those hazel eyes light up as his lips twitch, suppressing another smile that wants to break free. “I hear congratulations are in order.” Barrett leans in closer to press a kiss to my cheek, and that’s when Zane loses it.

He shoves Barrett in the shoulder, knocking him back a couple of steps. “Touch my wife, and you won’t live to regret it.”

Barrett laughs and shakes his head. “There’s that Savage temper. Tell your brother I haven’t forgotten about him.” With that, he winks and walks out the door.

Zane drops his arm and stomps forward until he’s right in front of my dad’s desk. He bends forward and presses his fists down on top of the stack of papers. “What in the fuck is the district attorney doing inside your office?”

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