Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Because Shane didn’t have to die. None of my family ever has to die. They do, though, all for the clan, and they always end up in a closed casket, just like Shane.
“Tell me about this new job, then,” Uncle Tomas says, squinting at me over his drink. “You work at a law firm? You’re a lawyer now? Your daddy going to put you to work now keeping our boys outta jail?”
“I’m not a lawyer, Uncle Tomas,” I say, glancing at Nolan for some help, but he’s only smiling at me, the bastard. “I do research for the lawyers.”
“Well, that’s good then, dear. Lawyers are a bunch of liars and bastards. Never forget it.”
“Don’t we have a whole stable of them on retainer?” Nolan asks.
“If I ever teach you anything, boy, it’s that sometimes you need a bastard to get the job done.”
Nolan laughs and raises a glass to that, and I take my chance to slip away. The house hasn’t changed much since I moved out: thick carpets, dark wallpaper, lots of tile and wood. Dad had the kitchen redone a few years back, and all the appliances remain shiny and new, but otherwise it’s the same house I grew up in. The same furniture, same scuffs on the walls, same fireplace. I swear, the same firewood in the copper bucket next to the same chipped fireplace tools.
Out back, the night’s cool, and more people linger on the patio, sitting on the metal furniture, standing out near the pool. The forest looms, dark and oppressive. Aiden’s there with Uncle William and Aunt Shaena, all of them smoking and talking over drinks. Shaena’s a whip-thin lady with dark hair and a pinched face, and she’s gesturing with her beer like she’s conducting an orchestra. Uncle William looks like a shorter version of Dad, except heavier.
Aiden catches my eye and excuses himself from the group. He comes over, grinning at me, and I force myself to smile back. I wish I could avoid him forever, but even in a big house like this, we’ll eventually run into each other.
“How’s it feel being back?” he asks casually, holding his glass to his lips. “You get settled yet?”
“Back in the old room. Feels weird, honestly. Like everything’s smaller.”
“You’ve been gone for too long. What’s it been, six years?”
“Yeah, six long years.” And it would’ve been a lot longer if Rian hadn’t entered my life again.
“This is good, Daley. You’ll be safe here. Dad won’t have to worry about you in the big city anymore, and we can focus on taking care of business.”
“You mean, you can focus on the war?”
He shrugs, grinning. “If you want to call it that, sure.”
My hands are shaking, and I have to lower them to my sides to hide the tremor. Rian didn’t tell anyone about my run-in with the Turks downtown—if he had, Dad would’ve freaked out, locked me in a bunker, and made sure I didn’t leave until every single one of them was dead. We both agreed it’d only cause more problems.
But I wish I could tell him just how much trauma he’s caused me already. If it weren’t for my damn family, I could be a regular person with a normal life, and instead I have to deal with knives to my throat and dead brothers and cousins littering the ground like trash.
“You don’t have to worry about dealing with me much, anyway,” I say, turning away toward the house. “I’ll be at work most of the time.”
He clears his throat. “Work?”
“Yeah, you know, my job?” I don’t look back as I walk into the living room again.
But Aiden follows me. I want to lose him in the crowd, but he grabs my arm when I reach the kitchen and turns me around. He’s looking pissed and confused, and his head tilts to the side as he digs his fingers into my arm.
“Ow, what the hell?”
“What do you mean, your job? I thought you quit.”
“I didn’t quit. Let go of my arm, asshole.”
He grunts and releases me, shaking his head. “How are we supposed to protect you if you’re still going into the city every day?”
“I don’t know. Let’s hope the Turks don’t try to cut my throat on the train.”
He doesn’t find that funny. And he shouldn’t.
“Come on, we’re talking to Dad.”
“No way. I’m not doing this again with you. I moved home. You got what you wanted. Can you just leave me alone?”
“Daley.” His jaw works as he glares at me. “You need to know your damn place in this family.”
“And you need to back off.”
He grabs my arm again, and this time his grip is like iron. He drags me from the kitchen, through the hall, and into Dad’s study. It’s crowded with cigar smoke and cousins, and everyone stares as Aiden shoves me before Fergal Halloran like I’m some kind of traitor. He releases me, and I glare at my older brother like I want him to spontaneously combust—which would bring a smile to my face right about now.