“Is he always like this?” she asks Pyotr.
“This is normal.”
I knee the back of his seat.
“Lord, please give me patience,” Dierdre mumbles under her breath. “I never thought I’d meet anyone more obstinate than Tristan, but you get the blue ribbon.”
“How did you know?”
The decision to come to Boston was last-minute. Hell, I didn’t even know until I got to the bell tower and found Pyotr waiting for me. We left as soon as I changed clothes.
Holding up her fingers in succession, she enumerates, “Syn called Andie who called Declan who called Cillian who called Drako. Apparently, the two of them are tight.”
Of course they fucking are.
Her smile is sickly sweet as she continues. “And wouldn’t you know it? I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d drop by and welcome you to Boston when you landed, so I could stop you from making the biggest, dumbest, most idiotic mistake of your life!”
The nuances of sarcasm are often hard for me to decipher, but hers come out loud and clear.
I scan the scenery passing by as we drive. Nothing but forest and road. How long does it take to get to Cillian’s place?
“I don’t need a fucking intervention. I know what I’m doing. And you’re fucking everything up,” I bite out with frustration when I check my watch for the thousandth time. My window of opportunity to get to where Viktor will be arriving soon is rapidly closing.
Dierdre’s forehead mars with a severe frown. “Clearly you do need afuckingintervention. I thought you were supposed to be smart, but what you’re doing is the epitome of stupid. You don’t go after someone like Viktor Androv by yourself. No offense,” she says to Pyotr.
“None taken.”
Before I can get in a rebuttal, the vehicle makes a sharp right, the centrifugal force jerking us sideways. A tall iron gate appears in the distance, a stone guardhouse sitting in front of it alongside the road. After a quick security check, we’re let in, and my irritation increases with each foot of tarmac we travel up the private road to the house. I wish I was in a better mindset to enjoy the view. Cillian’s estate is massive…and well-guarded, I think after seeing the armed men patrolling the grounds. Their presence reassures me and helps ease my concerns about my sister’s safety since she’s living here now.
Dierdre leans forward in her seat, spotting something up ahead. “Seems like my stalling tactics worked. You can drop us off at the front,” she instructs the driver.
“Stalling tactics?” I parrot, not quite sure what she means.
As soon as we pull around the circle drive, Pyotr suddenly erupts into what can only be described as hyena laughter. “Oh, this is going to be good. I want popcorn.”
Wanting to know what the hell he’s laughing about, I make the mistake of looking out the window.
Syn is standing on the front veranda, Tristan right next to her.
Ah, I get it now. Stalling tactics. They must have left Darlington soon after we did. I’m going to kill Pyotr for telling them. I think he did it on purpose.
“What?” he asks innocently from the front seat when I glare at him.
Syn crosses her arms, taps her foot, and crooks an angry finger at me to get the fuck out of the car.
I duck my head and palm my face. This isn’t going to end well.
Thirty-Seven
With his headbowed and his feet dragging, Aleksander stops on the bottom step and shoves his hands deep inside his front pockets. Syn hasn’t spoken a word since we hauled ass out of the house, hoping to make it here in time, and I know better than to push when she’s this angry. I do not envy my brother and the thorough ass-kicking he’s about to receive. One he absolutely deserves, and not only from Syn. What the fuck was he thinking?
Tension-filled silence stretches for several extremely uncomfortable seconds. The only noise is Dierdre’s unhurried footfalls as her high heels clack against the paver stone. She softly pats Aleksander’s arm as she comes up the front steps.
“Go easy on him,” she tells Syn, kissing her cheek. She motions for me to bend down and kisses mine. “I hope everyone can stay for lunch. I’m in the mood for tacos.”
Pyotr leans against the sedan, not following Dierdre inside.
Aleksander’s fingers start playing piano keys against his outer thigh. He opens his mouth, and I shake my head to stop whatever he’s about to say. There is nothing hecansay right now that will calm Syn down, and spewing excuses or sorrys will only make things worse.
