He tilts his head to the side and I take a step in his direction, rising to the challenge but Oren steps between us, placing a hand on my chest like that’s enough to stop me.
“How do we know he wasn’t the one behind it?” Breckin adds. “The pig did have his sight set on taking down Nathaniel. What more perfect way for him to do it? Have his enemy’s daughter taken so he can weasel himself in the heart of Nathaniel’s home. Sounds like a grand plan to me.”
It would be, if that were still what I wanted.
I don’t owe Breckin Reynolds, Malia’s brother’s second in command, any explanation. Nor do I need to prove my innocence to him.
“Breck,” Oren warns as I bare my teeth, ready to jump. “Liam’s feeling a bit rabid this morning. Let’s not poke the bear. We have somewhere to be.”
Breckin charges toward Oren, leaning down with a sneer.
“He should be locked in the basement and questioned!” he yells.
It’s enough to snap the tension on my restraint and I shove Oren aside, lunging forward and slamming my fist into Breckin’s snarling face. He’s slow to react, stumbling backward as I keep coming, the sound of bone crunching under my fist feeding the rage boiling in my veins. Blood splatters with each hit and I’m grabbed from behind before we both hit the ground.
Oren curses as he yanks me away from Brekin. My breathing is labored as I look at Breckin’s bloody body on the ground. Donovan runs into the foyer and takes in the scene. He raises an eyebrow at me and purses his lips.
“Congratulations, Brenner, your dick is bigger than the jolly green giant’s,” Malia’s brother says.
He shifts his gaze to Oren. “Let me guess, Breck is trying to lay claim on my sister while she’s not here to put him in his place?”
I snort and wipe the blood from my face with my forearm. Breckin is groaning and sitting up now, so I haven’t injured him more than he’s used to.
Shame.
Oren shrugs.
“Not exactly,” he says with a smirk. “Breckin just fucked around and found out. I warned him Liam was a little rabid this morning.”
Donovan hums, reaching out a hand to his friend and helping him to his feet. I smile when Breckin stumbles while trying to find his balance, earning a glare from Breckin and a scoff from Donovan.
Donovan’s response to Breckin’s ass-beating surprises me. Supposedly, they are best friends, so it makes me wonder again just how much of what I thought I knew about the Olins is actually true.
Oren turns to me, eyeing me up and down.
“If we weren’t about to walk into the bureau, I’d ignore the blood you’re covered in since you’ll be adding to it later,” he says, his eyes shining with amusement.
I look down and assess myself, turning around and walking to the guest bathroom next to the foyer. I wash my hands and face, not worrying so much about my clothes since they’re dark and, by the time the blood dries, it shouldn’t be as noticeable. Then again, maybe it will be and I just can’t be bothered to care.
When I’m done cleaning myself up, Oren and I walk side by side to the underground garage.
“He’ll keep coming,” Oren says, side-eyeing me. “Breck’s been trying to lock Malia down for a decade. Poor fucker had to watch her whole relationship with Caine, waiting for him to fuck up. He swooped in when it finally happened and became her honorary toy cock, since he was drooling at her feet at every turn. He must see you as weaker than he is, which means he’s going to push.”
I grunt.
“He must like being emasculated and embarrassed then.”
Oren gives me a sideways smirk.
“I think the dumb asshole has become numb to it thanks to Malia. He’s persistent… obviously.”
We enter the garage, and I take in the number of cars housed here, all high-priced and limited editions. My car is parked next to Malia’s, and I smile at the two nearly identical Porsche GTs. Mine is matte black and Malia’s is a green color not too different from her eyes.
Coming to a halt next to me, Oren notices where my attention is focused.
“I always found it odd,” he says, and I turn to look at him with a raised brow. “Porsche GTs aren’t as popular in America as they are in Europe. Especially in the UK, where the Olin’s originated. The two of you have the exact same model and make, the only difference is the color.”
I don’t respond to him echoing my thoughts but step around him to walk toward the keys. As I grab mine, Oren plucks another set off the rack and smirks at me.