Page 50 of Brother's Keeper

The air felt suddenly thick and stifling. My foreheadbeaded with sweat, and I tugged on the knot of my tie. “Yeah,” I muttered. “Me, too.”

What began as something wonderful had taken a turn into praise I didn’t deserve and a reminder of everyone and thing I was betraying by carrying out Grimm’s agenda. I wanted to tell Briggs the truth. I’d heard that confession cleansed the soul, and mine felt black and bottomless right now.

When Holland mentioned me working as an investigator, it had seemed like a joke. How would they ever trust me? And why, when I’d proven over and over that they shouldn’t?

“I need to step out,” I blurted, searching my memory of the home to find the nearest exit. “Sorry.”

I imagined their surprised expressions as I stepped away, unbuttoning my suit coat and pulling out the cigarettes inside. My hands shook as I plucked a cigarette from the pack and pinched it between my lips, then put the pack away. People blurred past in my hurry on a weaving path toward the back of the house and the deck beyond. I could walk around to my car from there and drive the hell away from here. Holland would have to do without a happy birthday from me. I doubted she’d miss it.

The home’s finery and added party décor were wasted on me. I moved as though in a tunnel, not caring about the stares I must have been getting or the waiters and party guests dodging my path.

By the time I reached the wall of French doors that led to the deck, I held my Zippo and a glass of wine, drinking past the unlit cigarette tucked in the corner ofmy mouth.

When an arm shot out in front of me, I stopped so suddenly I almost sloshed cabernet onto the Oriental rug underfoot.

Grimm—Maximus—stood beside me. His narrow, gray eyes targeted the cigarette. “Notin my house, I said.”

I yanked it out, pinning it alongside the lighter in my hand. “I’m leaving your fucking house,” I hissed, trying to avoid attention from those standing nearby.

Grimm’s expression darkened. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Home.” Stepping around his barred arm, I polished off the wine and set the empty glass in a potted plant beside the back door.

Whatever effort I’d put into keeping this interaction discreet was undone when Grimm grabbed my jacket collar and pulled me to another abrupt halt.

“You are a guest at this party,” he seethed. “So, at this party you will stay, and you will behave, no matter how greatly that must pain you.”

People were definitely watching, maybe listening, but I wasn’t the one here with the most to lose.

I spun around, jerking my coat straight and fixing him with the most venomous glare I could muster. “Briggs says you’re gonna make me an investigator?”

He dipped back, failing to mask his surprise. “I am considering it.”

“Well, don’t.” My fingers curled around the cigarette, crushing it so that tobacco tumbled into my palm. “I don’t want it.”

Grimm’s mouth flattened into a hard line. “I don’tcare what you want.”

“Don’t I fucking know it,” I muttered.

“Dad?”

I wasn’t sure when Holland had approached or how much she’d seen and heard. I almost hoped she got wise to the whole thing—saw through Grimm’s sham of a disguise and freed me from having to play along. The charade was becoming too painful.

Turning toward her found a vision in shimmering satin. Her white hair was twisted into a braid that spilled over her bare shoulder. The silver gown she wore fell to the floor, shapeless besides hitting the curve of her hips and plunging between her breasts. There were no sunglasses tonight despite the lights in the house. I caught the pinch between her slim brows and wondered if it was due to eye strain or the sight of her father arguing with me.

“Fitch?” She looked at me next. “What’s going on?”

I forced a smile. “Great party, Holland. Put me down for next year. I was just leaving.”

“Already?” she asked. “Stay for the toast, at least.”

I cast a side eye at Grimm. “You giving a speech, Max?”

“Preston is,” Holland supplied.

Ah, Preston. Holland’s racist human boyfriend. Or would it be speciesist? Generally, not my favorite person because he liked himself too much, and Holland didn’t like him enough.

Since the human ambassador had missed his big moment at the one hundredth anniversary gala, saying a few kind words about Holland tonight would have to do.I wasn’t committed to staying until a waiter slid by, passing out flutes of pink champagne.

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