Emory firmly shook his head.
“Absolutely not. Havick’s daughter has no business coming with us. I don’t want her involved.”
“We can’t split up our men on her account,” Liam said.
“Whenever we go, if she’s still here, she’ll have to come,” Jack agreed. “It’s too risky not to.”
“No!” Mirabelle protested and sprung from the floor. “Emory, no. She’s scared out of her mind. The last thing she needs is to be dragged along while you take care of business.”
Outnumbered by Liam and Jack, that was that. The third rule of conduct—Emory listened hard to advice received twice and always asked for ground truth. Sycophants would let him ride off to ruin. If he was wrong, he wanted to know.
He glanced at Mirabelle on the verge of tears. Her bleeding heart would get the best of her someday.
“It’s not up to you.”
Mirabelle took the ground she was given and dug in again. “No, but it is up to you. I’m your sister, and I’m telling you I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
She only stated their relation in these moments, as if the reminder grounded him when spoken out loud. All too often, it did.
“Fine. We’ll give it a few weeks and let things settle, then see where we’re at. If she does come, I want you there to look after her.” Emory grinned as he stood and motioned to the plastic bag. “Besides, she seems to like you.”
Mirabelle rolled her eyes. “Oh, fuck you.”
“I’ll be outside. Bring her to me,” Emory said on the way to the foyer, but Mirabelle got the last word as he reached the door.
“Emory Holt, I swear to God you better be sweet.”
Emory did an about-face. Slack-jawed with nothing to say, he stood there dumbfounded as they all stared at him—Jack with a shit-eating grin, Liam who seemed to agree, and Mirabelle with her hands planted on her hips.
“What the fuck do you mean be sweet? I’ve been perfectly civil.” Emory pointed to Liam bailing for the back hall. “You were there. Was I not mostly respectful?”
Mostly. Not hardly. Didn’t really try.Amelia wasn’t there for him to brush her hair and dry her tears; for hush little baby, don’t say a word.
Liam declined a response, just puffed on his cigar that shit ash to the floor.
“I heard you tell her to sit on your face,” Mirabelle said, “that you’re great at eating pussy.”
Emory laughed; so too did Jack and Liam. He hadn’t known why he’d said—to test the waters or see the girl squirm. Maybe both. Mirabelle folded her arms over her chest with a pointed stare.
“Iamgreat at it,” Emory said matter-of-factly. “If she plays her cards right, maybe she’ll see for herself.”
Mirabelle’s nose wrinkled with disgust. “That’s gross, Emory.”
“Point is,” Liam interjected on his way out the door, “listen to your sister and keep your head.”
Jack saluted Emory before trailing after Liam. Mirabelle flashed a vindicated smile and followed the other two out.
They got him again with advice received thrice.
Be sweet.
He’d do his best.
THIRTEEN
AMELIA
Mirabelle fetched Amelia long after the sun set, and a terrible darkness rose in its place. Uncanny in its crypt-like quiet, the house was vacuous and gluttonous in its consumption of light and sound. Silent shadows held dominion there.
