Inside, the illusion of “normal” snaps back into place so fast I almost get whiplash.
Lucie takes charge without even trying. She asks for my help with the kids, Harry backs us both up, and Declan gets volunteered for dog duty. It turns into controlledchaos…sleepy kids, overexcited dogs, too many Murphys in one space, and me in the middle of all of it.
We walk out, and I don’t think there’s a single second where I’m not flanked by armed men. It should feel like a prison. It doesn’t. It actually feels…protective.
It’s only when we’re back at the brownstone, stepping into those warm, lived-in halls full of noise and love and a zoo full of animals that I realize Declan and his brothers are gone.
Harry and Lucie disappear upstairs with the kids. Tallulah is asleep in Lucie’s arms while Harry wrangles a grumpy Raff. Lola slinks after them, clearly intent on keeping an eye on his tiny human nemesis.
I drift into the living room like a stray. My fingers trail over books, the soft, worn leather of chairs, all the little details that sayfamilyin ways money never can.
“Whiskey?” someone asks behind me.
“Yeah, thanks.” Then I turn and narrow my eyes at Ava. “Are you the spy sent to keep me here?”
Ava lifts a bottle and grabs glasses from the coffee table, completely ignoring my question.
“Since my nanny is still on duty, I’m the in-house protection until they get back,” she says. “With or without a head.”
“A what?” Blood rushes between my temples, a weird mix of horror and excitement grabbing hold. Something is deeply wrong with me, because a very small, unhinged part of me likes the idea of them bringing back a head on a plate.
Declan’s already killed for me. And, much as I hate to admit it, part of me finds that…hot.
Is this sick and twisted fantasy of danger and sex and bloodpoisoningme?
“An actual head?” I manage to squeak out.
“Theyhaven’t so far. But if someone was skulking around the party and aiming at you and Dec, they just might.” She smiles. “The Murphys are charming, deadly savages.”
It’s the perfect description of Declan—if you addwrapped in deceptive softness that feels sweet until you realize it’s pure alley-cat Lola underneath.
I take the glass and knock the whiskey back. I usually sip, if I drink at all. Which I normally didn’t. My body used to be my temple. Carefully curated, fiercely protected.
The burn sears all the way down. And I like it.
Clawzilla winds around my legs, and Arnold lifts his head from the giant dog bed like he’s checking in. Fiona and Monarch are curled up there too.
Arnold doesn’t seem bothered by the crowd. He doesn’t seem bothered by anything. Arnold, I’m convinced, is secretly in charge.
“And you like that?” I ask Ava. “The heads. The savagery.”
“I’m cut from the same cloth,” she says.
She sinks onto the sofa and grabs an iPad.
“I’m not,” I say.
“You don’t have to be the same,” she replies. “You just have to be something that works.”
“We’re going our separate ways when this is over,” I say. “Declan and me. So we don’t need to work.”
“Not really my business,” she says, like itisbut she’s choosing to stay out of it. “They’ll be back when they’re back. You should probably go up to bed.”
“What about the dogs?” I look at the pile of snoring bodies. “Should I take them out?”
The dogs don’t even twitch at the wordout. Traitors.
“Dec will handle it,” Ava says. “He’s a good guy. The animals all adore him. Even mine.”
