“How is my baby sister?”Amusement glowed in my brother’s eyes. It was half past three and I probably looked as tired as I felt. My brother, on the other hand, looked like a million bucks. “Who do I need to kill?”
Byron’s greeting to me was always the same. He was the most predictable unpredictable person on this planet as strange as that sounded. From the moment I was born, I could always count on my brothers. To them, I was the baby to protect and cherish. To me, they were gods.
Though in a slightly different way than the rest of the female population. To the whole world, the Ashford brothers were the most eligible bachelors to walk this earth. All of them shared certain physical qualities. Thick, wavy hair. Cheekbones that could chisel ice. Height and broad shoulders that spoke of grace as well as lethal strength.
And the women’s favorite was my eldest brother with his wealth, power, and sex appeal. Not my words.PeopleandForbesmagazine printed those exact words, immortalizing them for the world to read. They were often in the spotlight, political and social. I was never part of that world, and it was thanks to my brothers. They sheltered me from that shallow, glittering world.
“No need to kill anyone,” I scoffed, rolling my eyes with a soft smile. “I’m quite capable of killing the bad guys myself.”
I winked playfully as he bent his head to press a kiss on my cheek.
At thirty-eight, Byron was my oldest brother. Four brothers could be overwhelming. There was also another half-brother roaming this earth. As horrible as it sounded, I had plenty of brothers and that piece of information didn’t shatter me as badly as learning I had a half-sister. Snooping through my brother’s desk while in high school gave me a preview to our family. Specifically to my father. And not a good one.
“Nice to see you again, Agent Ashford.” My brother’s arms wrapped me into a bear hug. “My favorite sibling, though don’t tell that to the other ones. They might get jealous.”
I chuckled and returned his hug.
Women passing by eyed me enviously, not realizing I was hugging my brother. Byron looked good in his jeans, a black, button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and aviator shades. It was his dress-down style, but he still attracted women’s eyes like bees to honey.
To the world Byron was a cold, ruthless businessman with cut throat tactics. Years ago, a reporter jokingly called my brothers the Billionaire Kings who ran their empires with cold heads and even colder hearts. The name stuck, but what the world didn’t know was that when it came to the family, no amount of money or power mattered to my brothers.
Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for our father.
I bet it burned Senator Ashford to know his sons surpassed him a million times over. The accumulated wealth of my brothers rivaled Jeff Bezos. My brothers weren’t politicians or aiming for the presidency, but the fact of the matter was that if they wanted it, they’d get it. They were charismatic and successful in everything.
They were often compared to the Kennedys. At least the papers stated it, and we all knew the papers never printed anything wrong.
Either way, to me these men were my brothers. My family that I’d give anything to protect. Just as they’d protected me their entire lives.
“And you, Mr. Ashford. An infamous Billionaire King,” I teased. “Ready to have some of your standards lowered?”
He chuckled, showing me a perfect set of white teeth.
“My sister has the highest standards when it comes to taste,” he retorted. Then as if he remembered something, he continued, “Except when it comes to food. I am starving, but if you take me to one of your suspicious food trucks, I’m afraid I’ll demand my pilot come back and pick me up.”
I shoved my shoulder into him, but he barely budged. “How was I to know you’d order seafood?”
Six months ago, I dragged my dear brothers to a food truck on L’Enfant Plaza in D.C., right before I moved to New Orleans. I ordered a veggie sandwich; they ordered crab cake sandwiches. I mean, everybody knows not to order seafood from food trucks. Right?
Well, apparently my brothers didn’t. And as I talked to a friend I ran into, my brilliantly smart brothers ordered exactly that. All three of them ended up with food poisoning. And let me tell you, my brothers were the biggest babies when they were sick.
They swore up and down they’d never eat crab again. It was a running joke that I tried to poison them. So they’d assured me as they rolled on my bathroom floor, clutching their stomachs that I was no longer in any of their wills, and there was no need to take them to food trucks… ever again.
Like I cared about their damn money. I’d threatened to record them if they brought up a will one more time. Just the thought of losing them sent cold fear right to the marrow of my bones.
“Don’t tell me I have to take you out to a fancy restaurant for dinner with my measly government salary?” I complained, though I couldn’t stop smiling.
Byron’s smile broadened. “Don’t worry, Rora. I’ll get the check.” My smile faltered for a mere second, but Byron caught it. Only Byron and Kingston ever called me Rora.
His arm came around my shoulder in understanding, and we walked to my car in silence, both of us probably lost in our own memories.
Kingston would forever be a shadow we missed.
* * *
We haddinner at Emeril’s, much to Byron’s satisfaction.
The place buzzed with life and thanks to the Ashford name that Byron gave, they seated us immediately. My brothers were always recognized, I wasn’t. And it was by design.