Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 92734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
He was getting off easy. He knew that. He’d always known that. Once upon a time, he’d even reveled in the knowledge.
Not anymore.
But that had more to do with him than the job he was expected to step into. There wasn’t much he got excited about these days, and it sure as fuck wasn’t going to be keeping the books with a side of computer hacking that convinced him that the night Devlin died hadn’t been a horrible case of fate making a mistake.
He blinked, realizing that both his father and brother expected a response from him. A harsh laugh slipped free. “I’ll be there.” He stood again. “If there’s nothing else…”
His father waved a hand. “Go.”
“Gladly.” He turned on his heel and marched out of the room before Aiden could chase him down and yell at him for being disrespectful.
It used to be that he didn’t lose sleep over his siblings’ fates—not when he always knew his. Now he couldn’t stop thinking about them—about what Devlin would be doing if he wasn’t six feet underground. He’d have started his junior year of college in the fall, going about school with the same enthusiasm he went about life. It wasn’t the same way Cillian had always lost himself in the partying and good times. Devlin genuinely enjoyed everything from his morning coffee to the lectures from his professors to whatever book he was buried in at the moment. At twenty, part of him had just been so… young. Full of potential.
Potential that had been cut short because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
And his other siblings?
Teague was fine. Hell, Teague was better than fine. He had a banging-hot wife who seemed to genuinely care about him. If anyone in their family was living the dream, it was Teague. They didn’t see him nearly enough these days, what with his attention being focused solely on solidifying the Sheridans’ hold on their portion of Boston. Cillian didn’t blame him for that. His theoretical future kids would be as much Sheridans as O’Malleys—more, really.
Keira and Sloan… He didn’t even know. He’d barely seen them since they got back from the house in Connecticut, and that was indication enough that something was off. Keira was normally in the middle of everything, and for her to be playing least in sight wasn’t a good sign. And Sloan was probably half a day from slitting her wrists in angst.
I’m going to need to talk to her sooner rather than later.
Aiden didn’t seem too torn up about being heir and preparing to step up and take over the family. Cillian had never pegged him for a clone of their father, but then he’d been wrong about a lot of things. What did he know?
And Carrigan… fuck.
He turned the corner and picked up his pace, heading for the door. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do to help Carrigan. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do to help anyone.
* * *
Carrigan walked into the restaurant and stopped cold. It was totally and completely empty. She glanced back at the door she’d just come through. Surely if it was closed, it would have been locked? She’d been to Slingshot countless times in the last ten years and it didn’t matter the day of the week or the hour, it was always damn near packed. She looked around again, wondering what the hell was going on.
A flustered girl who couldn’t be more than eighteen hurried up. “Ms. O’Malley?”
“Yes…” The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Was this a trap? Dmitri was on her father’s list, so she’d assumed he was safe enough to meet. Surely she hadn’t assumed wrong? Damn it, I know better than this. Where’s Liam? He’d gone to park the car, so he’d be here in just a few minutes. She touched her purse. The Taser was still stashed in the bottom of it. She could use it if she had to—it wouldn’t kill anyone, but it’d give her a chance to run. If there was a legitimate threat, Liam was more equipped to deal with it than she was, no matter how much she hated relying on someone else to ride in and save the day.
“It’s safe.” The Russian accent rolled over her like the best kind of vodka. The man who stepped out from behind the column matched it perfectly. Carrigan had the wild thought that he’d been standing there with the sole purpose of making an entrance, but then he took a step closer and she was too busy staring to speak. He was… well, he was gorgeous. Dark hair styled perfectly. Cheekbones sharp enough to cut, which should have made him look delicate but didn’t in the least. And those gray eyes. Good lord, the man was sex on a stick.