“Red hair. Very pretty,” Ares answers.
“Fallon?” Trace looks from me to him.
“Forget her.” I stomp to my spare bedroom, where I keep a large cache of weapons locked up and tarps.
Blade crouches over the body, sniffing. “This thing will stink soon.”
“I’ll grab his feet,” Jett says, after shucking off his coat.
I toss the tarp on the floor. The body is heavier than it looks. Dead weight always is. I drag it toward the tarp, scrambling for a lie to tell about Fallon. I really wish I could just shoot Ares. Dump him with this guy and bury them both.
His brothers are lethal, though. I wouldn’t be surprised if Ares is either tagged or has a tracking implant. It’s not worth it.
I lean in to Trace. “Nobody saw. Nobody knows. It’s done.”
He studies me, eyes sharp. “Nobody buther.”
My stomach knots. “Not really, she was under a blanket on my sofa. I hid her.”
Trace glances around. “You need to lay low. Go to the safehouse.”
And leave Fallon?
“No.” I shut down the flash of protectiveness firing through me before it shows. “I’m fine. Just put a few more guards near the building.”
“He doesn’t want to leave his girlfriend,” Ares says with a grin.
“Shut the fuck up.” My voice cracks through the tension. “Listen, I don’t give a fuck if you head the Greek mafia.” I lunge for him. “You were late coming to warn me. Get the hell out.”
Trace holds me back, concerned at how I’m talking to a lethal mafia don. Blade and Jett stare at me, watching me fall apart.
I don’t comment on how those two are off somewhere pretending they’renotdating while I’m here pretending Iam.
Ares takes a call and leaves without saying goodbye.
Out of earshot, Trace says to me, “If Fallon was a witness, you know what that means?”
“Aye, she was.Is,” I stress that I have every intention of keeping her alive.
Trace pulls me in by the sleeve. “I know you think you’re invincible. You’re not. You see how Aunt Norah silently mourns our cousin. Don’t put that on our mother. You’re her…”
“Her what?” I am horrified to hear the end of that sentence.
“You are our legacy, Rhys. It is up to you to carry on our name.” He speaks out of pride and not defeat.
His wife Shea-Lynne can’t have children, and he gotsnipped to prove he wants her and only her.
I make light of his warning. “There are plenty of Quinlan brats to carry the name.”
“Not from our father’s line,” Trace reminds me that there’s always been a Patrick Quinlan.
“Why does Ares seem to think Fallon is your girlfriend?” Trace deadpans.
I stiffen before I can stop myself. “That’s a long story. Since you’re so interested in my love life…” I lean forward. “When you checked her out, were there any medical or psychological red flags?”
“Psychological?” Trace hisses. “I only looked her up once. She came up clean.”
“Was it too clean? Like somebody scrubbed her?”
