Page 48 of Connor's Claim

Vanity wasn’t a sin my father avoided.

Nor was lust or anger. His fits of rage were a feature of my childhood. I’d tiptoed around them like a ballet dancer, learning fast that quiet obedience could spare me a slap to the face or hours of being berated.

I’d honed my craft in diplomacy in the battlefield classroom of our home.

I’d witnessed him take down his stepson with a fist to the gut. On several occasions, I’d encountered Connor’s mother with a bruised cheek and tear-streaked face. Yet as loathsome as he could be, murdering strangers didn’t fit what I knew of him.

Draining his glass, my father poured another. “What is it, Everly?”

I jumped, shifting my position to hide it. “May I ask who we’re dining with tonight?”

“You’re going out with Piers.”

Disquiet tightened my belly. That was unexpected. “Only the two of us? Why?”

“Because he’s a valued guest. Do I need to say more?”

“No, sorry, what I mean to say is I’m unprepared. If you gave me an objective of what you want from Mr Roache, I can make sure?—”

“You’ve been told what to do. Do I need to write a step-by-step instruction?”

“I just meant?—”

His fist smacked down on the globe bar, rattling the glasses. I stepped back, my hand flying to my chest.

“Fucking Christ. It’s very simple. Be seen at dinner, smile, laugh, and represent the family?—”

I nodded quickly. “Of course. I always do.”

“—then bring him home, suck his dick, and do whatever else he fucking wants to keep him happy.”

I stared at my father. He didn’t make jokes.

He sighed as if I were a child in need of patient guidance. “You’re twenty-seven now. People want to know why you’re still under my roof.”

I opened and closed my mouth. “You’d like me to move out and get my own job?”

He gritted his teeth. “For heaven’s sake.”

Footsteps drummed on the stairs.

Piers entered the room, his shirt fresh and a sports jacket over his arm. “Was I fast enough for you, Little Miss Makepeace?”

Father slanted his eyes at his friend, and I remembered my smile and bobbed my head.

“Please excuse any impatience, it wasn’t intended.”

Piers snorted then drew me by the elbow into the hall and to the door. Outside, he dropped his hold on me so I trailed after. At the car, I scanned the road beyond the end of our driveway, spotting a familiar vehicle and a man faintly visible behind the glass. Not Mick, as I’d half expected, but certainly another of the men who worked in the warehouse.

Disappointment crushed me, entirely unexpected, but real. I’d left Connor’s apartment on his instruction, so there was no reason to expect him to be the one watching over me.

Yet my evening had the sense of being out of control before it had begun. I needed him to know where I’d be.

Climbing into the car, I belted myself in then slid my phone from my clutch.

Piers dropped into the seat next to me and neatly plucked it from my fingers.

“Hey!” I protested.