He's right, and it makes the guilt worse. I should tell him. I should letsomeone else shoulder the weight before it crushes both Sean and me. But Sean's words echo like a warning bell.
Don't talk about it, not anywhere.
So I deceive him again. "It's just been a wild week. We'll get our shit together."
Brenna returns, smiling. She slides next to him. "Leave the boy alone, Finn."
He grumbles but leans back, arm around her shoulders.
I smile, but it feels wrong. They deserve only the truth from me. Instead, I hide behind another sip and stare at the green glow of the O'Malley's signreflecting in the window.
Family's family.
And there's no way I'm betraying mine for whatever this cult is that Sean's father created.
5
Valentina
Soft morning light slips between the half-closed blinds. It lands across Brax's bare chest, showcasing every ridge of sculpted muscle and his green O'Malley tattoo.
It's ironic. He sleeps like death isn't hovering inches from his throat, calm, worriless.
Reckless man.
Reckless men usually die young.
Is he going to cooperate?
The fear I won't just lose my seat at the table but my life, sparks in my gut. I inhale slowly, matching his breath, wondering how he can be so damn calm.
I study him with my arms crossed, waiting for him to rise with his fists clenched, ready to take me out. But his chest rises with steady, unapologetic breaths that belong to a baby, not a man in a life-or-death situation.
It's time.
The Underworld sent its last reminder two hours ago, and nothing about its merciless, cold words surprises me.
Deadline expires at dawn. Fall in line or fall in blood.
He rolls slightly, the shift revealing more of his abdomen beneath the sheet. Heat flickers low in my stomach at how infuriatingly perfect he looks when he's unaware of his surroundings. His relaxed, broad shoulders, stubble-shadowed jaw, and lips slightly parted would make it easy for me to take him out, or slide next to him and throw responsibility out the window.
Don't get distracted.
My seat at the table hangs by a thread, and here I am fighting the urge to trace the path of sunlight across his skin.
Pathetic.
I loudly clear my throat.
His lashes twitch before his eyes open slowly, hazy for a moment, then sharply aware. His gaze locks on me with a mixture of confusion and irritation that quickly morphs into something smug.
"Morning, Minx," he murmurs, voice still rough with sleep. "Didn't expect a wake-up call from you." He stretches in a long, lazy motion that sends every muscle in his torso flexing.
My pulse misbehaves. I school my expression into ice. "Glad you could join the living world. You owe the Underworld a choice."
"A choice," he repeats, scrubbing a hand along his jaw. "Right. The live-or-die one."
The sheet shifts lower as he sits up. He doesn't bother adjusting it or hiding half of his morning wood.
