Page 32 of Retribution
“You’re still punishing Lorcan for it.”
Finn’s icy focus locks onto me. “Careful, Kimmy. Careful.”
I clench my jaw, fingers itching to shoot something, punch something. Do something. In a fit of temper, I push away from the counter. Finn grabs my elbow, leaning close.
Freezing, I say, “I told you—”
“I know.” His voice is quiet. “You need to hear this. I entertained your questions tonight. You ask the wrong person the wrong question at the wrong time, and you’re a dead woman. Especially with the O’Malleys.”
With each word, his breath brushes against my ear. I suppress a shiver. “I’m aware of their reputation.”
“You don’t know shit, Kimmy.” He lets go of my elbow. “Any deals made with them aren’t worth the paper they’re printed on. Lorcan doesn’t need their money. Whatever he wants, he only has to ask me. Tell Lorcan he’s a stubborn fool.”
I face him. “Yeah, ’cause that’ll go over well.”
He gives me a steady stare. “I have no doubt you can be persuasive.”
“He’s not interested in my persuasion.”
“Every man is interested—it’s just the length of time he’s interested that varies.”
Part of me wants to slide up to him, rub against him, and see how long I can hold his interest. There’s a hum building between us that I recognize. How far am I willing to take this to get the information I want? To maintain the peace?
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I murmur, one side of my mouth lifting. At the doorway of the kitchen, I pause and glance back at Finn. “Why don’t you have an accent? Lorcan’s got several.”
Finn’s smile is like the sun rising, inching across his face. “Lorcan wants to fit in. I have no desire to do that.” He puts his empty bottle in the sink. “I didn’t spend as much time in Ireland. My time was cut short.”
Everything in me wants to stay and ask more questions. If Antonio is right about Finn, and I have to assume he is, I need to keep my insatiable curiosity in check.
Build the relationships. Tear the organization to the ground.
Lorcan’s office is empty, and so is the gym. The only other place he is likely to be is in his room. My hand hovers over the buzzer. There are lines I don’t cross. Living here, with them, is making me question where the lines lay. That can’t happen.
“Ring the buzzer,” Lorcan’s amused voice comes out of the box on the wall.
My nerves of steel serve me well when I don’t even startle. Searching the doorframe, I spot a tiny camera perched in the corner.
“I see you took my advice. That was fast,” I say.
The door clicks unlocked, and I open it. His room is more like a hotel suite than a typical bedroom. There’s a kitchenette, a sitting area, a king bed, and a few closed doors are probably closets and a bathroom. Unlike the rest of the house in darker shades, this room is in a soft gray with white accents.
“I liked your camera idea. When I see something I like, I take it.” Lorcan swaggers over with two drinks. He passes me one. “You feeling any better?”
“Much better. Thanks. It was stupid of me not to eat today.” Looking around, I realize there are no windows in his room. “This room cannot meet fire code.”
Lorcan laughs and lifts his whiskey. “I don’t play by the rules.” He smirks at me before flicking a switch. Walls fall away behind his bed, and it’s a vast expanse of glass between his room and the backyard.
“Impressive.” I swirl my drink before taking a mouthful.
“And yet, you don’t seem impressed.”
I wander around the room, peering at photos of him with his mother, a few with his father, one of him with Finn. Physically, he’s a lot like his dad. I suppose it means Finn favors his mother.
“What did my brother have to say after I left?”
“I told him we went to The Cage.”
Lorcan snorts. “You’re a terrible secret-keeper.”