Thoughts of Rowan had crept into my mind like an invasive vine choking out all other life. No matter how hard I tried to concentrate on work that evening or clear my mind as I lay in bed that night, images of her hazel eyes haunted me.
No, that wasn’t right. Calling her eyes hazel was like simplifying the vastness of the Universe by calling it space. She had entire galaxies of color in her irises—full spectrums of green and gold and brown—different hues sparking to life depending on her mood. And her moods, dear God did she try to keep control of her fiery nature with a stranglehold. She was utterly fascinating.
If I was honest with myself, that was why I went to tell her in person that I planned to help. I didn’t have to. I certainly didn’t have to interrupt her class, but I liked trying to rile her. She was so damn self-possessed. That was usually my role. But when she was around, I felt like I’d lost all the progress I’d made over the years and was back to being a kid—unable to string two words together and talking with my fists. I liked finding ways to shatter her control. It was only fair, considering she did the same to me.
The other reason I’d sought her out was to ensure she didn’t go digging for answers and get herself into trouble. Considering she’d come to me because she was convinced something awful was happening at that house, I’d thought she wouldn’t have a problem with my orders to stay away. I couldn’t have been more wrong. I didn’t like her involvement with the Wellington family, but I hated how she scoffed at the idea of staying away from her boyfriend.
How could someone so hell-bent on doing good care for a man as worthless as Stetson Wellington? I’d done the research—the kid was an asswipe. A spoiled little rich boy who had no concept of the real world. Two-dimensional. Pathetic.
She couldn’t have real feelings for him. I was even more convinced of it after I felt the way she melted in my arms. So why was she with him? And why refuse to walk away?
I shook my head to myself as the man in question walked out of his apartment building. There was more than one way to skin a cat. If Rowan wouldn’t stay away from trouble, I’d make sure trouble stayed away from her, sooner rather than later.
The day after pulling her from class, I was back near the NYU campus for a visit of a different kind.
The douche had on a polo shirt with little golfers all over it, for Christ’s sake. He was making it hard to take him seriously. He’d probably piss himself if confronted by someone like me.
One could only hope.
He eyed me warily as he approached. I stood leaning against my motorcycle, which I’d conveniently parked only inches from the front of his car. He paid for a prime parking spot right out front. Handy when someone needed to track down his car.
“Hey, man, think you can move for a second so I can pull out?” He tried to be polite, but I could hear the irritation in his voice.
I simply looked him up and down and smiled as I lifted my phone to my ear. “Hey, babe. How was class?” Rowan stuttered on the other end, giving me the perfect opportunity for a genuine smile. “Good to hear. Listen, I have someone here who’d like to talk to you.” I tapped the speakerphone icon and leveled Stetson Wellington with a malicious stare. “Can you hear me?” I asked Rowan with a touch more volume.
“What? Yes, I can hear you.”
“Ro?” Stetson barked, his eyes rounding.
That’s right, pretty boy. I have your girlfriend on speed dial.
“Stetson? Keir, what the hell?” Her suddenly shrill voice shot from the phone.
Wellington’s face contorted with disgust. “You know this asshole?” he barked at her.
“Watch your tone, Wellington,” I said with lethal calm. I didn’t care how upset he was; he didn’t get to talk to her like that. “Rowan wants you to know it’s over between you. My relationship with her is irrelevant.”
“What?” Rowan’s voice rose yet another octave.
I clicked off speakerphone. “We’ll talk later,” I told her, then ended the call. Her seething anger across the line was so tangible, I’d have sworn the damn phone was on fire.
She’d get over it.
I swung my leg over my bike and met Stetson’s furious glare. “Suppose it’s time you looked elsewhere for your Stepford wife.”
“Right, like Rowan is all of a sudden yours? She’d never be interested in a thug like you.”
That stung more than I would have expected.
I flashed a menacing grin. “If that’s the case, no reason to worry.” I turned on my bike. When he tried to call out at me over the sound, I revved the engine. Placing my hand behind my ear, I indicated that I couldn’t hear him, then flashed my teeth in a vicious grin and pulled into traffic.
Fuck, that felt good.
It was too early to go to work, but I wanted to check on a few things, so I drove to my office. We owned the entire building that housed the Moxy. Typically, I wasn’t in the club all that often. It was a coincidence that I happened to be there auditioning when Rowan had come by. I spent most of my working hours in the offices upstairs, which I had expected to find empty. Instead, the main door was unlocked, and the lights were on.
“Hello?” I called out, my hand easing toward the gun holstered beneath my jacket.
Oran stepped from his office into the hall where I could see him. “Hey, man. Just me.”
What the fuck was he doing here?
I lifted my chin in greeting. “Can I help you with something?”
“Doubtful,” he grumbled. “I was working on getting another shipment of guns sent our way, but the supplier is skittish now.”
“Suppose he has good reason.” I leaned a shoulder against the wall. I’d already voiced my opposition to staying in the guns and drug business, but Oran seemed hell-bent on using the money to grow quickly. I preferred to fly under the radar. Why pursue income streams targeted by the feds when we already made bank in other, more discreet markets? Gambling, money lending, fights, and other pursuits were plenty profitable.
Oran had argued at recent family meetings that we’d never survive without acquiring more power. He specifically mentioned the dramatic decline of his wife’s family as a reason for his beliefs, claiming that they would still be alive today if they’d had more of a presence. As far as I was concerned, Flynn and Caitlin were without parents precisely because of their greed for power. They grew too big, too quickly, and made too many enemies, our family among them.
“Yeah, well, it won’t happen again,” Oran said with conviction before disappearing back into his office.
How could he guarantee that? If we had a rat who outed the location of the guns, who was to say it wouldn’t happen again? Unless … the guns were never stolen. If they’d been sold to someone on the sly, someone he didn’t want to tell us he’d made a deal with, then he could speak with authority. Had they been stolen, it was awfully ballsy of the thief to sell the shit right in our backyard. If they’d been cunning enough to get the drop on us right after the shipment arrived, why not move the guns so we couldn’t trace them?
The whole thing looked more and more sketchy by the day. I hated to think we could have a traitor in our family, but I didn’t want to ignore the facts either. I’d be watching Oran.
