I took the stairs down two at a time until I heard a voice drifting from downstairs, two floors below. The echo carried it up, even though the person was obviously whispering.
“…really don’t care. As long as it’s done. Discretion is key. I’ll call you next week from another burner phone. Do not call me, understand? It’s too risky. I shouldn’t have even picked up your call today,” the voice seethed.
Syllie.
I wasn’t one to eavesdrop. Not out of good manners, God forbid, but because I gave zero-to-minus-thirty fucks about other people’s lives. Syllie, despite being an okay dudebro, was at the bottom of the list of people I was interested in. If he had a sidepiece, good for him. I shook my head, smiling to myself. Old sport was sampling other flavors secretly. Naughty. I waited, letting lover boy finish his call.
“I’m not worried about the old sod. He’s getting smugger by the second. His younger kid is also a literal fucking joke—wouldn’t recognize trouble if it gave him herpes and cut his dick off. But the older son is dangerous. We need to watch him.”
Whoa.
Re. Fucking. Wind.
Literal fucking joke? This had my name all over it. I’d nearly trademarked this bitch in my family. Dangerous older son? That would be mo órga. Precious Cillian.
Also, this sounded nothing like a torrid, harmless affair with an anal-loving mistress.
I wasn’t offended, though I knew he’d referred to me as a goodie bag of incompetency, STDs, and failure. I was more occupied with what he was up to. I plastered my back to the wall, trying not to make myself known. For the first time since I’d discovered my dick was good for more than pissing interesting shapes in the snow, I was interested in something that wasn’t pussy.
“Yes, that’s fine. Listen, I need to head back to the office before people ask questions. We’ll talk next week.”
He killed the call, sighed heavily, and started making his way up the stairway. Thinking on my feet, I went back up the stairs, tiptoeing, opened the first available door, and slid in. I pressed my back to it, listening to Sylvester ascending the stairs to the eighth floor. When the coast was clear, I opened the door and made my way straight to Da’s office.
I was out of breath by the time I got to him. He was sitting with Cillian—surprise, surprise—laughing over their bowls of salad. I didn’t knock. Part of me wanted to please him, but the other was happy to piss him off.
“For the love of God, learn how to knock.” Da put his salad down and patted his mouth with a napkin. “What do you want, ceann beag?”
I waited for the slow-ass door to close all the way, regulating my breath, before I talked.
“First of all, for you to stop calling me this.” I thought about how I called Sailor CT even though she hated it. “Second, I just heard Syllie talking weird shit with someone on the phone. I think it was about us.”
“Specify,” Cillian ordered, chewing on a piece of lettuce and steamed chicken from the organic bar downstairs. Even that didn’t emasculate the fucker.
“I think he wants to bring us down or something.”
“Us?” Cillian arched a thick eyebrow, assessing me through honey-hued eyes. He took assholeness to a whole new level today—probably still pissed about the refinery explosion. But nobody was hurt, so what was the big deal?
“You. Happy?” I crushed my teeth together angrily. “He wants to take you down. He said something about how Athair was smug, and I was stupid, and you were dangerous, but that he wanted to go on with some plan.”
“Where was that?”
Cillian was the only one talking. Da had returned his attention to his salad, and I wondered if he even took me seriously. I felt my ears pinking with rage. “Emergency stairway.”
Cillian and Da exchanged looks I couldn’t read. Maybe I’d have been able to if, you know, I saw them more than twice a year.
“Probably bitter about his quarterly bonus.” Da patted the corners of his mouth with his green handkerchief, chewing.
Cillian frowned, but didn’t correct his assumption.
“Go back to your duties, boy.” My father waved me off.
“But Da…”
“Chop-chop now,” he stressed, pointing at the door with his plastic fork.
I glanced between them. My brother looked at me in a strange way. The wheels in his brain turning. Whatever he was thinking, it wasn’t enough to back me up. I kicked a trash can, sending paper and bottles flying everywhere.
Nice. Asshole doesn’t recycle, either.
“Jesus fuck, you never listen.”
“Stop. Cursing,” Athair bit out.
Cillian motioned to security through the window emotionlessly.
“No need to call your guard dogs. I’m leaving.”
I wanted to slam the glass door in their faces, but again, watched as it closed inch by inch for half a goddamn hour.