HAYES
Walking the covered archways of the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum with Collins on my arm, I feel the kind of calm that only arrives after a terrible storm. A serenity washes over me and keeps me buoyed, knowing the long mayhem has passed and I’m finally safe.
Ducking through the corridors, I marvel at the crafted pillars as the gravel walkway crunches under our feet. The atmosphere is sophisticated and lush as couples mingle and laugh over simple conversation. Champagne glasses clink, and the ruffles of suits and ballgowns float through the air.
I am wholly out of my element, in a rented tux and smelling like expensive pine. But this night is about Collins. Now that she’s mine—no longer fake, but truly mine—I’ll wear a loincloth to the Garden and recite poetry if it makes her happy.
She shifts next to me, pulling at her top. A sweet princess ballgown, black with studded gems along the skirt, she’s the night sky in physical form. I can’t stop staring at her—amazed after years this is all real.
The rest of the museum thinks so too. Men break their necks to look at the woman in her black dress, matching glasses and cascading curls. Women openly envy her.
“Do you see him?”
Tucking a strand behind her ear, I let my fingers caress her jaw. She’s here to give a speech, to present an award to a doctor who mentored her during her first year of medical school. Dillion was asked to attend as well. She’s been nervous all afternoon, that not even my tongue between her creamy thighs was enough of a distraction to keep him away for long.
Luckily, she has nothing to fear.
After Collins needed a break in the morgue, I called in a favor from Briar O’Brien—Collins and Maeve’s little brother. Ostracized from the family after a disagreement with Ferguson when he was barely fifteen, Briar has been kept out of the family for years. Sloane and Collins didn’t know where he was—only Maeve did. But she gave him his space, providing for Briar from afar while he grew-up. Now, having just turned twenty, he was a big shot in the computer information world—more importantly, a black market hacker. Highly sought after, he was on retainer with his sister’s organization.
He wanted no part of the clan—the death, the guns, it never sat right with him. So, he lived his life, pitching in when we asked for favors. Last I heard, he was on the West Coast, helping some hot-shot with a security leak.
With his skills, I was able to find out Dillion’s address, his work schedule, fuck, I knew his mother’s address or when he took a piss. And used it to make good on my threat.
Eventually, they’ll find his body in the harbor—or they won’t. The currents are weird this time of year.
No one touches her without her consent. I made sure he knew that.
Adjusting my coat, I place my hand on the small of her back as we move into the courtyard. Everything smells like heavy florals and old dust. I’m not much of an art guy, but to Collins, this is where she’s happiest. Therefore, it’s where I’m happiest.
Running a hand over a few falling fern stems, she asks,“What if he shows up?”
I shrug, accepting a glass of champagne. “He won’t.”
She twists the ring—myring—on her finger. It was for show, but now, it’s a promise. One day, she’ll be my wife and nothing will stop it. “You don’t know that.”
“Oh, but I do.”
My tone stops her. Scanning my face, she pouts, putting pieces together like a seasoned detective. She shoves me into the alcove by the stairs, brows pinched, eyes narrowed. A nice couple passes us, and she smiles, hiding how she’s pulled my knife and holds it right where my liver sits.
Nice. I love when she’s like this.
“Tell me you didn’t.”
“Didn’t, what?” I smirk, hands high. My knife pricks my skin and she groans, cursing me under her breath.
“For the love of…” Looking over her shoulder, she drops the blade. For someone who was never taught tactics, she’s good. “Am I going to find him on my table in a few days?”
Shrugging, I smile wide. “Possibly. I’m not sure he’d be intact. The tides are fickle and there are lots of creatures in the waters who like human meat.”
“You’re incorrigible.” She puts a hand to her forehead. “Do you always do this? Kill anyone you don’t like?”
Shrugging, I relax my shoulders, taking back my blade. “Pretty much. Don’t like the housekeeper? Harbor. That cashier looked at you wrong? Say the word and I’ll dump him in the Berkshires.”
“How have you done this for so long and not been caught?”
Cocking an eyebrow, I wave toward her body. “You do realize who your family is, right?”
“Yeah, but—” She shakes her head. “You know what? Never mind.”
