Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Their father sat in his great chair before a roaring fire, his gaze trained on some memory that seemed a million miles away. James stopped walking, wishing he could leave the old man alone. The news of Brendan’s death was horrific enough, but what he had to report now was going to send Victor over the edge.
And he’d take what was left of their family with him.
Ricky, the idiot, had no such reservations. “We have news.”
Victor shook himself and seemed to come back to them. “You’ve found out who’s killed your brother.”
“No, but—”
“Then why are you here?” He practically roared it, his voice loud enough to have come from a man twice his size.
Ricky shrank back, like a dog that’d been kicked one too many times, and it was everything James could do not to join him. For all his sins, Brendan had always stood between his younger brothers and their father, and now he was gone. Christ, every time he thought that, the claws shredding his chest seemed to grow. He stepped forward, all too aware that he was about to put himself into the warpath. “There’s something else.”
“Then stop standing there with your thumb up your ass, and spit it out.”
Easier said than done. He took a deep breath. “The Sheridan girl—the one who was supposed to marry Brendan—is now marrying Teague O’Malley. They’re announcing it tonight.” Possibly right this second.
Victor’s cane hit the floor with a meaty thump, and he pushed himself to his feet. “Tonight.”
It wasn’t a question but he answered it anyway. “Yes.”
“That bastard didn’t even give me the courtesy of informing me himself.” He turned to the fire again, muttering under his breath. “Should have passed the girl to one of the other boys. Both worthless pieces of shit, but that’s the proper way to do things.”
Jesus. James didn’t have to look at Ricky to know there was naked pain in his brother’s eyes. They’d never measured up to Victor’s standards, and in recent years he’d stopped pretending he’d ever done more than tolerate their presence. James stared at the portrait over the mantel, wondering for the millionth time what their mother had seen in this angry, bitter man. She’d loved her boys, and loved them fiercely, right up until the cancer stole her from them fifteen years ago. Maybe it was better that way—better that she’d gone the way of the angels before she’d seen the men they’d become.
Ricky shifted. “Father, we can’t let this insult stand. Brendan’s body isn’t even cold and they’re already pawning that bitch off on someone else.”
James shot him a look that he pointedly ignored. He doubted the dynamics in the Sheridan family were all that much different than theirs—meaning Callista Sheridan had no say in this mess. It was her father to blame. “Don’t be disrespectful.”
“Your brother’s right for once. Sheridan is spitting in the face of our grief, and I won’t stand for it.” Victor turned to them. With the fire framing his body, he looked like a devil who’d crawled his way up from hell. He turned his steely blue eyes on James. “We’re going to war.”
CHAPTER THREE
Everyone was taking their seats as Teague slipped through the doors and made his way to the half of the table that had been designated for the O’Malley family. He met Callista’s gaze, a primal satisfaction he had no right to soaring through him at the glazed look in her eyes and the way her lips were reddened and plumped from kissing him. He stopped in front of her. “We’ll be talking later.”
He could see the exact moment the mask slipped into place, her desire replaced by cold disinterest. “I don’t think so.” That was fine. She could hide behind the mask for as long as she liked—they’d be married and sharing a home shortly, and there would be no more opportunities to dodge him then.
So he gave her a tight smile and took his place on the other side of his parents. Sitting this close to his father was enough to give him indigestion at the best of times, and tonight was hardly that, despite the silver lining of actually being attracted to Callista.
His mother leaned closer and dug her fingers into his forearm. She looked particularly put together tonight, her dress designed to show off the fact that she was still willowy and beautiful despite having brought seven children into this world. “I know you don’t want this, but it’s vital you keep any theatrics to yourself.”
Theatrics. Like he was a spoiled little boy who was in danger of throwing a tantrum when he didn’t get what he wanted. The old anger rose again, but he managed to wrangle it out of his voice. “I’ll be good.”
Her green eyes were sympathetic, even if her grip wasn’t. “This is for the best. You’ll see.” It was always like this with her. In her own way, Aileen O’Malley was just as much of a hard-ass as her husband—possibly even more so.