Page 5 of Thorns of Deceit
“No,” I said. “I just want her name and address. I’ll handle this. You two have done enough.”
After the clusterfuck at the club, I came straight home and showered.
My phone buzzed angrily the moment I stepped out of the hot spray, and I wrapped a towel around my waist, then answered it.
“Uncle, it’s not tomorrow morning yet,” was my greeting.
“Don’t fucking kill her,” he retorted, sounding out of breath. “She’s Duncan Lyons’s daughter.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, regretting every decision I’d made in my life that had brought me here. I should have stuck to my own schedule and let my uncle and his goons handle the mayor.
“The witness,” he spluttered when I remained quiet. “You have to marry her.”
“And why’s that?” I asked, stepping into my walk-in closet where rows of suits waited for me on one side, my preferred attire—jeans and T-shirts—on the other.
I plucked out a navy-blue suit and started to get dressed.
“Were you not listening?” he hissed, and I could picture him pacing in his office, pushing his hand through his thinning hair over and over again. “Your contact sent us both the background check. Did you not read the email? It’s fate, Aiden. She’s our ticket to making a deal with Lyons.”
“I didn’t read it yet, but I did hear you.” I slipped on my slacks one-handed and looped my belt around my waist. “Don’t you think it will piss him off if he learns of this? Why notleverage the fact that the girl was in our club, possibly spying for him, and?—”
“No!” he shouted. “That won’t do. He’s known for his confrontation.” Uncle wasn’t wrong. Duncan wasn’t the reasonable sort and ruled his criminal empire by instilling fear into men and women around him. Rumor had it that he tortured his mistresses because he couldn’t find his wife and make her pay for her transgressions. Whatever those were in his mind.
“That bastard only respects marriage alliances,” Uncle continued. “It was the only reason he didn’t kill his sister’s man a decade ago. The two married before Duncan had a chance to end the fucker.”
I put my uncle on speakerphone and shrugged on my shirt, buttoning it up as he continued his rant. He gave me the rundown on Lyons, telling me about how, while Duncan was serving time, his sister had had a fling with her bodyguard. When he was released, he lost his shit, claiming the bodyguard didn’t bring anything to the table: no territory, no drug deals, no alliances. But his sister was just as stubborn and married the poor schmuck behind his back. The rest was history.
I made a noncommittal sound and adjusted my cufflinks as I headed into my office. I powered on my laptop and settled at my desk, the Manhattan skyline glimmering through the wall of windows, then pulled up the email.
“Why is she going by ‘Croft’?” I questioned, noting the key points in the file, although it seemed scarce. “Her birth certificate doesn’t list Duncan as the father. What am I missing here?”
“We don’t have fucking time to care,” he roared. “She’s his only daughter and you’ll marry her. Tonight! I’ve already called Father Hubbart, and the twins are on their way to fetch him.”
And that was how my night descended from a clusterfuck to a full-blown catastrophe.
THREE
RAVEN
Istood at the door to our shitty apartment, my hand on the knob and my chest twisting with agony.
As if I weren’t already stressed enough trying to escape my situation, now I had literalmobstersafter me? How would I come up with the money now? My scholarship would handle the tuition in Paris, but I had to get on that plane before I was dead. I needed money for airfare and two months’ rent for the flat my friends and I would share. My options were slim to nonexistent. Maybe I could talk to Mom and see if she could help? After all, she’d managed to run away from my father and stay off his radar for all these years.
The despair was wreaking havoc on my mind, making it impossible to come up with a feasible plan and causing me to lose all hope.
Fighting back tears, I pushed into our apartment. But instead of being met with darkness and my passed-out mother, I came face-to-face with something worse.
Aiden Callahan.
I stopped dead in my tracks, staring at the man sitting on the secondhand sofa in my tiny living room.
“Miss Croft.” He greeted me with a hint of danger in his voice. “Come on in. And shut the door behind you.” My gaze darted around, looking for my mother while fear clutched my chest. “Your mom’s in the bedroom,” he added.
“She better be alive,” I hissed with foolish courage.
Aiden’s lips twitched, but his expression remained cold. His hands rested on the armrests, a gun gripped in one with white knuckles.
“You better worry about yourself, girl. Now, shut that door.”
