Page 107 of Shattered Veil
Say less, Balor...
Balor arranges for me to meet Lachlan on Saturday.
He keeps his warm hand on the small of my back as we enter the children’s dance studio on Mayfair Street, but that does little to assuage my fear of his older brother.
The Enforcer.
I’m utterly terrified at the sight of him, wiping away the excitement I’d felt all day when Balor said his enforcer brother needs a favor.
From me.
Six-six, full of tattoos, and with a scar across his right cheek, Lachlan O’Rourke stands perched like a hunting owl, ready to strike if anyone gets too close to the petite woman with a blonde braid who’s clearly pregnant. Seeing the name Lachlan tattooed on her neck, there’s no mistaking that she’s his wife.
Even though I have a bun in the oven myself, Balor isn’t here to introduce me as the soon-to-be mother of his child. He promised to keep it our secret until we see my doctor.
Lachlan strides toward us while we linger near the glass door that chimed loudly when we ambled in. He starts the conversation with, “And when areyoudue, little one?”
I gasp, holding my stomach. “Balor!”
“He didn’t say anything. I’ve come to know the signs.” Lachlan folds massive arms across a chest so wide he blocks several little girls in tutus behind him from my view. “I’m wondering why I had to guess.”
“Because it’s between us right now,” Balor answers.
“I didn’t have that option,” Lachlan argues. “Da outed us right away.”
“Thanks for returning the favor.” Balor sounds miffed. “Can you not tell Kieran and Riordan?”
This secret he’s agreeing to keep weighs on me. What I’m asking.
“Keep important news from our king and his underboss?”
“Never mind.” Balor flushes with frustration. “At least letmetell them at our next meeting.”
“King?” I ask, my stomach turning to ice with worry that everything Balor agreed to as far as us taking this slow will be smashed.
By a king no less.
Balor lowers his head. “My oldest brother. To the people in this city, he’s referred to as King O’Rourke because he’s the head of our family.”
Lachlan’s eyebrows pinch together as a steely gaze continues to drift between Balor and me.
“Balor said one of your wife’s students has special needs?” I speak up, acting bravely in hopes of some respect.
It’s certainly not out of sanity.
Lachlan’s menacing grin drops suddenly at the mention of his wifeandthe precious angel who I heard is having difficulty with the dance lessons. “Aye. I’m grateful you took the time to help my wife even if you didn’t come here just to share baby news.”
“No problem,” Balor says with snark.
Ignoring them and chalking it up to a sibling dynamic—something lacking in my life—I immediately pick out the little girl struggling among the eight perfectly poised mini ballerinas lined up at the ballet barre.
“Let’s do snack time,” Lachlan’s wife says, eyeing us at the door.
By the letters tattooed onhisfingers, I learn her name is Katya.
These two must have an interesting story.
The little girls rush over to a table set up in the corner. A woman, I assume a mother of one of these cutie pies, pours cups of juice and places them next to paper plates filled with cookies and cut-up fruit.