Page 45 of Shattered Hearts
That interaction—which caused me to hate my father wholly and completely for the first time—was the event that precipitated my separation from the Kings.
My father’s indifference to my abuse, his disinterest in my safety, his desire to always follow the money and little else. I couldn’t remember a single time in all my life he made me feel safe, the way a father’s supposed to.
I earned his trust multiple times over, and how did he reward my loyalty? With betrayal, abandonment, and cruelty. I can’t trust Thomas Brennan with anything. If I call him now, even on the off chance he picks up, he’ll try to negotiate with me. While a madman tries to break the door down, my father would ask,What do I get for saving you?
“Riley,” Troy growls against the frame, “open the fucking door while I’m asking nicely.”
Wood shavings rain onto the floor from the bullet he puts through the door. Too shocked to scream, I’m lost, sinking into a pit of my own grief.
I can’t call the police or my family. Who can I call?
Finn’s face appears in my mind…but he’s not my friend or my husband. He’s technically not even my brother-in-law. He has no reason to care.
Even though it was only yesterday, him thrusting his arm out in front of me feels like a century ago.
His protective instinct, those dark, glowing eyes…
That one involuntary gesture is probably the most concern any man has ever shown for me or my safety. Ever. In all my life.
Tears waterfall from my eyes as despair devours me.
I’m never going to see him again.
Chapter 12
Finn
“Pleasure doing business with you.” Owen McGrath tips his hat as the boys heft the last crate of chrysanthemums from the truck onto the warehouse floor.
“Likewise.” I yank the truck door closed. “Shane sends his regards.”
Owen is a top client, one my father personally assigned me to handle scheduled product deliveries to. Owen is a reserved, stylish man, until set loose in a nightclub. In the light, McGrath designs spaces for the rich and famous. In the shadows, he’s a fence. He and I both know, potted beneath the plants we’ve delivered are thousands of dollars’ worth of synthetic contraband.
“You four. Get going.” I throw my chin toward the truck, and the fledgling foot soldiers loitering around us disperse. They’re assigned to one more delivery today. Rory will oversee the second drop.
They’re headed your way.
As soon as I send that text, my phone rings.
Riley.
I ignore the tingle at the back of my neck when I see her name.
We already agreed to a schedule for the week, so what can she be calling about? Has she found Harper? Is our charade over?
Angst and trepidation course through me at the prospect. Beneath all the other crap vying for space in my brain, my inability to marry Harper Brennan is still there, all the way at the bottom, glaring at me.
If my stay of execution ends today…or tomorrow…what then?
And why, instead of the horror of legally binding myself to Harper, does my brain keep trying and failing to imagine a final goodbye with Riley?
Before my brain fractures any further into hypothetical scenarios, I answer the call. “Hey?—”
“Finn.” Riley’s terrified whimper is unmistakable.
Her voice, so small and broken, destroys me. She doesn’t have to say it. I already know something is very wrong.
Fear squeezes my chest.