Page 43 of Sweet Revenge
Evie shook her head at Brogan. “I’ve never worked under my real name. Only aliases. So knowing my real name is a start, but it doesn’t give him the kind of leverage that leaks all my identities. I imagine that’s what he’s trying to find out.”
“Fascinating. How does someone even get into that line of work?”
Evie pinned Aidan with a hard stare. “I don’t know, Aidan. How does someone become a mobster?”
Aidan’s eyes narrowed when Brogan chuckled. “What I’m hearing is you want to put this family into harm’s way to clean up your mess. Why should we take a bullet for you?”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“Aren’t you? What’s the point of this little meeting?” He sneered the word. "If not to make your case and beg for our help?”
“No one’s begging,” Finn said.
Evie clenched her fists in her lap, struggling to keep her voice even. “I’m not here to beg. I didn’t bring my parents into this. Their killer did. If that’s Peter, I can own my choices here, but I won’t apologize to anyone for something I didn’t do. Least of all you.”
“I would expect nothing less from you. You’ve made your bed. Maybe you should lie in it instead of expecting us to pick up the pieces of the mess you’ve made.”
“Fuck you, Aidan.” Evie shot out of her chair so fast it nearly toppled to the floor. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on the edge of the table. “God forbid you ever make a rash decision that takes you so far from where you want to be you don’t know how to get back again. Although maybe you’re already there considering how far up your own ass your head is.”
Throwing her napkin down on the table, Evie stalked out of the dining room, slamming the door to the back patio behind her. She wanted to scream, kick something, throw things. Fuck Aidan and his insinuation that this was somehow her fault. She’d stolen for dozens of people over the years, and not one of them had ever tried to murder her family.
She picked up a small planter that sat on the low stone wall that edged the patio and heaved it into the yard. That, at least, made her feel marginally better.
“What did that plant ever do to you?”
Evie whirled at the sound of Declan’s voice. How long had he been standing there?
“Aidan is an asshole. And he does not speak for this family.” He crossed the patio to stand next to her. “Peter became my problem when he targeted my people.”
He reached up to cup her face, pulling her closer. “And, however long you’ve been gone, wherever you go, you are my people too, Evie. Mine to protect.”
She blinked at the tears that burned her eyes and leaned into his hand. In that moment, she realized how easy it would be to get lost in him again, to be consumed by him. She couldn’t afford that kind of distraction, but she wasn’t sure how much longer she’d be able to resist the constant pull of him.
She stepped out of his arms, hugging herself tightly when he frowned. “I need your help. To bring my parents’ killer to justice so I can go back to my life. But that’s all this can be, Declan. Nothing else.”
When he said nothing, she turned and let herself back into the house, skirting the dining room full of arguing voices. She made it all the way upstairs to her room before the tears fell. Pushing her clothes onto the floor, she crawled into bed and curled into a ball under the covers.
ChapterTwenty-One
Sleep eluded him. After Evie left him standing on the patio, he’d eventually gone back inside, disbanded the group, and sent Aidan off to do scut work if for no other reason than it gave him immense pleasure to do so.
That finished, Declan attempted some work in his office, but it was impossible to concentrate. Every time it seemed like Evie was opening up, she slammed the door and shut him out. He’d meant what he said about protecting her. He’d do whatever it took to make sure she was safe.
Giving up on work, he’d put in a punishing two hours at the home gym he kept in the basement, working out his frustration. Not even that was enough to send him into sleep.
So now here he was, wide awake at almost one in the morning and annoyed with it. Throwing back the covers, he padded barefoot down the stairs and back toward the family room. A shot of whiskey should do the trick.
When he neared the family room, he noticed a light from the kitchen. Brows knitted together, he changed course. He heard the staff head to bed hours ago, and no one else usually roamed the house this late at night.
When he walked into the kitchen, her back was facing him. Steam rose from the mug on the counter while she scooped tea leaves out of a small bag and into a strainer, dropping it into the water.
She fit there, better than he’d ever imagined, and he liked the look of her in his space, among his things. She knew her way around the kitchen better than he did, pulling spoons out of drawers and replacing the bag of tea in exactly the right spot. It made him wonder how many late nights she’d had down here, making tea when she couldn’t sleep.
When she turned and spotted him she jolted, quickly swiping at her cheeks with her fingertips, then tugging down the sleeve of her robe to wipe her eyes. She’d been crying. He thought the overwhelming urge to protect her from anything or anyone who would hurt her would have faded after all this time. It hadn’t.
He wanted to comfort her like he would have when they were younger. Hold her while she cried and kiss away her tears. Knowing she didn’t want that, at least not from him, he did the next best thing and offered her a distraction instead.
“Good, you’re up. I wanted to talk to you about that job.”
