Unless he wants it to look like someone else did it.
I’d like to think Matthias would avenge me if I were murdered. Liam wouldn’t risk starting a war by killing me himself without an alibi. But then, what’s his motive?
As the eldest Kavanaugh, I’m technically first in line to inherit the Kavanaugh fortune and the underground empire. But I’ve already told Liam and the twins I don’t want it. Sure, I could stake my claim, but why would I? I don’t want anything to do with that world if I can help it.
I’ve told Liam I’m more than happy to help with the legal side of things once everything is said and done. I just won’t take away from what the twins have worked so hard for.
That wouldn’t be fair to them.
Something shifts in Liam after I told him that, right before I accused his wife of being a dirty, rotten, cheating liar.
Not my finest moment.
“Um, Ava?” Margaret says quietly.
There’s something in her voice, nervous, tight.
I shake myself out of my thoughts and look at her. Her face has gone pale, her eyes wide and locked on something behind me.
“I think he’s here for you,” she whispers without blinking. She looks like a fox caught in a trap.
A chill skates down my spine. The fine hairs on the back of my neck lift, instinct screaming that I’m being watched.
I don’t need to turn around to know who she means.
There is only one man who can make a room react like that.
I swear I can hear his heavy footsteps even over the pounding music. My body hums, wired tight, every nerve ending aware.
Watched.
No.
Hunted.
The question is, who’s the prey?
Because it sure as hell isn’t me.
Heat presses against my shoulder, his presence overwhelming, unmistakable. Still, I refuse to look at him. Instead, I drain the rest of my drink and let my blood-red lips curve into a slow, dark smirk.
“Nice of you to join us,” I purr, letting the words drip with intent, “husband.”
“You’re in a lot of trouble, my little traitor.”
twenty-five
“What brings you here?”
Ava turns in her seat to look up at me, her emerald eyes shining brilliantly in the dancing lights.
“One of my men saw you here. Rang me as a courtesy.”
It is not a lie. Not exactly. One of my men did call me after witnessing what went down on the dance floor. My gaze roams her body, slow and deliberate, and from my quick assessment, she appears unharmed.
I do not know what I was thinking, rushing down here like this. I cannot shake the image of her being stabbed, her bloody body laid out on the wooden floor beneath us. It did not happen, thank God, but the image claws at me anyway.
So does the pain tightening my chest.
