“Fuck that, Malia. Marry me, and all of this can go away. You won’t be sold off to the highest bidder. I’m not Caine. I won’t hurt you.” He emphasizes the last sentence by hitting his chest.
I nearly stumble back, unsure if I want to laugh or rip off his dick and watch him choke on it.
Maybe both.
Definitely both.
“Bold of you to think you would survive a move like that. Do you think you could survive me, Breckin? Or even survive my father?”
I shake my head, willing him not to answer. I’m exhausted, and this day has been a colossal shitshow. Turning on my heel, I look outside and see that Brenner has left. Thankfully, he didn’t stay to watch this obviously heated conversation. But, before I leave, Breckin has to have the last word.
“You’re not meant to seduce Brenner. I’ve updated Donovan on what I witnessed. If you want a soldier, I’ll be a fucking soldier and, as your brother’s right-hand, I’m concerned you can’t handle this mission, Miss Olin.”
Without another word, I storm out of the building and walk to my car, the rain sizzling out the fire burning under my skin. Leave it to Breckin to react like most men in a situation that doesn’t go exactly how they want.
Petty and spiteful.
After a short jog, I chuckle when my car comes into view. Brenner and I have the same car. The only difference is the color; his matte black, while mine is emerald green with iridescent flakes. I’ll have to steal one of Donovan’s, not only for the sheer horror it’ll cause my brother but also because I can’t let Brenner know I was taking a dig at my own car.
Hard rock blasts through the speakers as the engine roars to life, but I turn off the stereo. Right now, I crave silence. This day was never-ending. It’s almost one in the morning, and I have no doubt someone will be waiting for me when I get home.
Breckin wasn’t wrong.
I am just a pawn in this game of mobsters. I’m stronger and tougher than my younger brother, but I'm nothing more than a tool because I don’t have a dick swinging between my legs. An object to marry off and grab more power when we don’t need more.
Time and time again, I’ve proven myself worthy of taking over my father’s empire, of leading. And this mission not only helps my family but lets me continue to prove my worth.
Breckin underestimates me more than everyone else, and he’s too overprotective and jealous and doesn’t see me as I am, as a leader or a woman. But he was absolutely right when he said he’s not Caine.
I gave Caine the power to rip apart what little of my soul I had left. Still, Caine never saw me as weak, needing protection, or anything less than an equal. The Irish mafia heir broke me irreparably, but he understood me. And that’s what made me vulnerable to him. A vulnerability I refuse to expose to anyone else. Ever.
WHEN I GOT HOME, the mansion is quiet. I drag my exhausted feet through my home until I catch sight of my brother, camped out in front of my door. I should’ve known it was too much to hope I could come home and go right to sleep.
Donovan leans against the door, glaring at his phone. I pick up my pace, wanting to get this confrontation over with. He notices me only as I put more force into each step, his head snapping up and his eyes narrowing.
“Where the fuck were you?”
Donovan is holding his tone in check, knowing I’m in no mood to deal with any more bullshit.
“Breck called you. I don’t need to go into it further.” I try to slide past him to enter my bedroom, but he pivots his body to block the door.
“This isn’t a joke, Malia. You need to tell me what happened.”
Restraint is lost to me. I don’t possess much of it on a good day, but the hold on my anger has been put to the test beyond my limit today. Despite the broken nose and swollen balls I’ve already given him today, Donovan is still pushing me.
I snarl, stepping into him. “I don’t have to tell you shit. I will talk to Daddy tomorrow.”
“Don’t fuck with me,” Donovan snarls back, lowering his head, so he’s leveled with me.
What a brave boy he is today.
“Why were you with Brenner?”
The smallest amount of spittle hits my face as Donovan speaks through clenched teeth.
And that’s what snaps the fragment of control I had left.
Grabbing my brother by the throat, I slam his back against my bedroom door. A loud bang echoes down the hallway. The tip of my knife pulls down his lower eyelid, a threat that if he keeps mouthing off to me, I’ll pluck his eyeball out of its socket before he can scream for help.