Page 126 of Mangled Memory

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“You can wait outside.”

“I’m afraid I can’t, sir.”

“I wasn’t talking to you, Rambo.”

“Dad!” I whirl to Fitz. “I’m so sorry for my father. That was uncalled for.”

“Don’t apologize for me. I have nothing to be sorry for. Parading your goon in here is uncalled for, especially when your mom is… fragile.”

“PLS creates fragility. That’s not my fault. You can?—”

“You remember?” My dad interjects.

Remember?What the hell?No, I have no memory of any of it, but that doesn’t mean I can’t bluff. “Of course, I remember!”

There’s a whoosh of air just as Dad shouts, “Then why haven’t you been helping me like you were before?”

What.

The.

Fuck.

My barely audible “What?” is echoed by Liam’s much louder one…

… and Christian’s lethal one.

36

hide and seek shelter

Christian

If ever the rug could’ve been pulled out from under me, it would be this.

“What?” I repeat with what little breath is in my lungs. The question wrenches from me as my mind spins and my gut bottoms out.

There’s glee in Seamus’ face. There’s no other word for it, it was fucking glee. He knew what he was doing spewing that fucked-up shit.

Shock is written all over Fitz.

But Ayla. The panic in her features—the guilt, the dread, the betrayal. My wife who sucks at lying is… exposed.

With every breath, my shock turns into something far more lethal, far more aggressive—wrath.

I’m irate.

Helping him. She was helping Seamus. But helping him do what exactly. And what did he mean by “before”?

More so, though, it was Ayla yelling “Of course, I remember” that rocketed me from livid to violent. She remembers. She remembers and she’s been playing me, using me for her own gain or for Seamus Murphy’s.

“What the fuck.” I seethe in a voice that can only be described as dangerous.

The meaty palm that hits my chest knocks the air from my lungs. I look into the ominous eyes of Liam Murphy. “Let’s go.”

“The fuck?”

“Let’s go.” His tone is as menacing as my own. “Now.”

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