Chapter Eighteen
Bryce
So Ididn’timagine Mom?
Anxiety and dread throb at the base of my skull. I scan the lobby again, to no avail.
Where did she go?
Okay, time to think. Red was sent to seduce me last night. Mom has to want to check on her handiwork.
I start toward the elevator bank. The area is heaving with convention attendees. No Mom.
I turn back and walk out onto the street. Cars, pedestrians, arriving guests dragging their suitcases from the trunks. Loud honking and voices buzzing. I make a slow three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn. No brunette in blue.
I drag in some air and force myself to take a mental step back. I could be overreacting. It isn’t like Mom’s the only woman in the world with red lipstick. My eyes drop to a random blonde’s mouth, which is painted bright scarlet.
A man approaches from the left and places a meaty hand on my shoulder.
Adrenaline jets through my veins. I twist around, fist raised.
He lifts his free hand, palm out. “Easy, big guy. Harvey wants to talk.” He gestures toward Nieve, a bistro inside the Aylster.
I freeze for a moment, cursing my luck. “Got nothing to say to him.”
I start to turn, but the man puts pressure on my shoulder. “Let’s keep things dignified. Nobody wants a scene.”
My first urge is to break his pug face, but Harvey probably brought more than one minion to do his bidding.
When I turn toward the bistro, Harvey waves with a broad smile from a table just inside the window, showing off straight white teeth. A black suit makes him stand out against the ivory interior. He’s built like a tank, wide and thick, with more power than he lets on. A relatively trim waist says he’s vain enough to worry about having abs. His mahogany hair is slicked back, revealing a forehead with lines that make him look like a deep thinker rather than a potential mob heir. His pale amber eyes and heavy lids are nothing like Mom’s. He took after Vincent, got the narrow nose and thin lips. Not attractive, but charismatic.
I head inside and sit, my body sinking into the leather seat. A waiter fills my glass with water. “Talk.”
Harvey laughs. “Hello, dear nephew. I missed you. It’s been, what? Twenty-two years?”
Two beats.
My silence doesn’t faze him. He grins. “Have a drink.”
I drop my gaze to the water and give him a do-I-look-stupid look.
“Did you get my birthday present? I had it hand-delivered for your thirtieth. A Glock and an AK-47. For self-defense. When Zoe shows up again”—he points a finger gun in my face and pulls the trigger—“popgoes the weasel.”
He waits for me to react. I merely stare at him.
A deep frown. “It’s unfair of you to show no gratitude. Actually, your entire family is a bunch of ingrates.” He takes a sip of whatever he’s drinking and sits back. “You know Zoe sent you a bunch of presents? Mostly age-appropriate toys, I heard, but it’s your mom.”
Haven’t heard anything about that, but it wouldn’t surprise me if The Fogeys sent them back without informing me.
“Probably not anything as useful as a gun. After all, she cares aboutherself the most. Your family returned them, along with mine. That’s the only reason I let theinsolenceslide. The Huxleys are rude to everyone. They even turned away Father’s gifts for you.” Harvey’s expression turns reptilian—cold and soulless. “He’s lonely, Bryce. Misses you and your brothers very much.”
I yawn mightily, feigning boredom. I didn’t miss his emphasis on “insolence.” He seethes with resentment against my family, wants to humiliate us and force us to our knees.
Over my dead body.
“But look, I get it. You think he chose your mother over you guys. But what else could he have done? She’s his own child. And prison isn’t a pretty place, especially for the daughter of Vincent Dunkel. She’d have suffered over a little indiscretion.”
Did this motherfucker just call the kidnapping a “little indiscretion”?
