Page 43 of Velvet Chains
“She’s got you there, lad,” I said.
He rolled his eyes, smiling. “I mean it. Get them out now, Catherine.” He fixed his eyes on me. “And you. Why do you always look like you’re up to something?”
“I’ve spent my whole life wondering the same about you.”
He smirked. “Have fun with the boys, little menace.” He cocked his head toward the kitchen. “Coffee’s on. Come on.”
She wiggled her eyebrows and then disappeared upstairs, leaving me alone with Tristan.
I watched her go with something that felt like longing. “How’s Adriana?” I asked, following him to the kitchen.
“She’s sick,” he said. “And she’s furious about it because…well, it’s almost Christmas. She wanted to spend as much time as she could with the kids. And she’s weirded out that neither you or Liam have been around lately.”
“Work has been brutal,” I said, pouring myself a cup of coffee. “You know this.”
He nodded, taking a sip from his own mug and leaning on the kitchen island. “Tell me why.”
I could play dumb, but when Tristan wanted answers, there wasn’t much I could say to stop him from getting them. If I held back, he’d push until he had the whole story and then some.
I shifted and looked out the window, watching the snow fall.
He stayed silent, letting me stew.
“It’s going to be bad,” I said eventually. “You’re gonna be pissed.”
“Pissed is better than surprised,” he replied, setting his coffee down. “Not by much, but I prefer it.”
I rubbed my temple. “The FBI is tailing me. I’m trying to be…as low-key as possible.”
He looked me up and down. “Why?”
I swallowed. “It was a mistake. I didn’t think. I just told them.”
“Told who what?” he asked, voice even.
“The FBI. I told them I killed Mickey Russell.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared.
“Jesus Christ,” he finally said. “You’d better have a damned good reason. Tell me everything. Don’t leave anything out.”
He clicked his tongue against his teeth like he was biting back a thousand other words, a thousand other questions, a thousand other recriminations. I knew they were coming. I just didn’t know which one would hit first.
I stayed silent and slumped at the kitchen island. Everything except for the ticking of the clock felt frozen, like time had finally screeched to a halt and left us in suspended animation nervously hovering until the sound of Tristan’s voice shattered it. I wanted to kill it, but who could kill time?
It killed you first. If you were lucky.
“I thought I told you to explain.” Tristan raised an eyebrow.
I sipped the coffee until it burnt my tongue, then put the disposable cup I had originally gotten it in down in front of me. “Some things are complicated.”
His fingers curled on the kitchen counter, knuckles white…and I knew he wanted to hit me. “Uncomplicate them for me.”
I exhaled, bracing myself. “The FBI was coming for her. I jumped in and said I’d killed him.”
“Because…you didn’t think the FBI could take care of our problem? You didn’t trust your own process to achieve what you wanted it to, which was to destroy the DA, so she wouldn’t come after the Callahan family?”
I tried to ignore the way his hand was now drumming a rhythm on the counter, the same way our father’s always had when he was about to teach us a lesson. “Has the DA come after Callahan business? Beyond the FBI tailing me, haven’t you noticed that police presence has gotten less intense around Chameleon and around our other clubs?”
