“Talk shit, get hit, Donnie boy,” I say, inspecting my hand to make sure I didn’t break a nail.
“Feel better?” My dad asks a knowing smirk stretched across his face.
I huff and sit back in my chair.
After twenty-four years of this, the man is used to my brother and me. I’m sure he’d be the same way if he had siblings growing up. In fact, I know that he and Elijah beat the hell out of each other when they were kids. Lion and I are the same. Lion is just better at reading and blocking me. The shit that flies out of Lion’s mouth isn’t as provoking as what Donovan spews.
“I’m just saying, we don’t quit shit, Mal,” he says, stuffing tissues in his nostrils, making it impossible to take him seriously. “So, there’s more to this than you’re saying.”
“I’ll give you exactly what I gave Dad.”
I lean closer to my brother, resting my elbows on my knees.
“Collins and I are finished, I have compromised the mission, and if Dad wants to protect Liam, I’m not the one.”
Donovan’s eyes widen, and he looks between our dad and me.
“The fuck you mean ‘compromised?’”
“I don’t need to tell you how, just that he doesn’t know my true identity.” I sigh, thinking maybe I should add another half-truth to ease their minds. “Liam is falling in love with me, and it’s causing issues between him and Collins. I was going to pursue Liam when I split from Collins, but I think it’s best for everyone for me to stay away from this.”
Both Donovan and Dad watch me for a few moments before they get into their own conversation about how to move forward. I find myself just nodding here and there, as I’m no longer responsible for what happens.
Staying away from this means I don’t want to know anything unless I have to. They can find someone else to plant into Liam’s life to protect him. It’s obvious now with Dad never denying my claims that is exactly the reason behind this. I’m not one to give up on trying to get answers, but I need to let this go.
I need to let Liam go.
I want to break him into pieces, smash away all the purity he clings to within his soul, and breathe my corruption into him. With the blackened pieces of his heart I’ve already seen, it wouldn’t be hard to do.
“There’s another topic I would like to address since I have you both here,” Dad says, cutting through my thoughts. “Since we’re discussing Brenner, he got his name on the list for your ball, Malia, and I’m allowing him to attend.”
What the fuck is my dad playing at?
An FBI agent in a room full of organized criminals; they’ll snuff him out in a second and tear him apart. Then it occurs to me that perhaps my dad’s conversation with Banagher Byrne wasn’t just about the kid.
He wants to talk to Liam, and that’s his way of doing it, but why under those circumstances? And just when I think I’m away from this, I’m sucked right back in. What does The Omen have to prove to Liam Brenner?
IT’S BEEN ALMOST THREE weeks, and I’ve dodged Liam’s attempts to contact me. With the ball quickly approaching in only a month, I’ve managed to get back to living life the way I like it—a little bit of murder and mayhem, with a dash of chaos and crazy.
Donovan and Dad have kept most Liam topics away from me, which I am thankful for. Dad is still keeping his secrets, and I’ve stopped pushing. I’m settled back into my normal life, handling business as my dad’s proxy while he and my brother scramble to work out whatever new plan they have.
I finally got my dad to agree to me moving out of the mansion, his only stipulation being that I had to move into Breckin’s building. I think he was hoping it would deter me, but I needed out of that house. Even so, I wouldn’t feel right leaving if my dad wasn’t alright with it. We’ve always been a unit—Olin’s live and serve under the same roof.
No surprise that my mother about shit herself when she found out I was moving. After a few days, the witch just batted her eyelashes and told me I could play now, but my freedom wouldn’t last long. Tawny thinks she’s won some kind of war with this ball, and she’s above my dad’s word against it being nothing more than subterfuge.
I wouldn’t put it past her to have something devious up her sleeve, but what can a woman whose phone calls are screened and who can’t leave her own home actually do? Not a goddamn thing. One thing that will never change with that woman is the chip on her shoulder. It’s a permanent fixture.
I convinced Donovan and a few others to go to The Emerald tonight. I went with black leather pants and a lacy top for our night out. The city is still frozen over from a sudden ice storm a few days ago, so it’s a little too cold to be nearly naked. I’m not above showing skin despite the temperature, anyway.
Donovan texts me to tell me everyone is in the foyer ready to go and to hurry the fuck up. I snort, having half a mind to make them wait for trying to rush me. Then again, I just want to break free, get hammered, and dance away my stress.
Breckin stands across from me when I open my bedroom door to leave. His eyes rake over my body, leaning against the doorjamb, blocking my exit. A tight knot flexes in his jaw as he clenches it.
I’ve barely talked to the man in the last few months. He’s the last person I’d expect to be standing here. When I narrow my eyes, it’s as though he coils in on himself against my scrutiny. I wonder if I stared hard enough if he would internally combust and rid me of his presence.
Breckin clears his throat. “Your apartment is nearly ready. I just got the call.”
He shifts his weight between his feet.