Setting his purchases on the ornate wooden desk he’d inherited from his father along with the crown that grew heavier every day, he rolled his eyes. Mostly for form, because Reagan enjoyed needling him and he was in a mood to give his little sister what she wanted for once. “If you’re trying to find a diplomatic way to say I look like I just got laid, that doesn’t quite do the job.”
The corner of Reagan’s mouth kicked up in a smirk. “I’ll have to work on it. Either way, you do look happier. I was worried, after what went down at the docks.”
That worry was still there in her voice, in the way her gaze locked in on him as he moved about his office. And the worry ate at him almost as much as the danger he’d put them all in, however unintentionally. “I’m sorry for worrying you. I just… needed some space.”
Reagan inclined her head in acknowledgment. “As is your way, and your prerogative.”
“Still.” Settling on the couch beside her, he plucked the wine she’d likely been nursing for hours so she could keep a clear head until he returned home from her hand and sipped. “I am sorry. I should have let you know I’d be at the club.”
With a good-natured scowl, she took her wine back. “You should have. So next time you will.”
“I will.” Too restless for bed, despite the events of the night, he stayed where he was, his fingers tapping against his knee as his mind worked through the puzzle that was the woman he’d spent his evening with.
“Spit it out already.”
At Reagan’s dry command, he sent her a glare of his own, though it lacked any heat just as her scowl had. “There’s nothing to spit out as you so charmingly put it.”
“Clearly, something’s bothering you. Talk to me.”
He should. Other than their cousin Brody, Killian’s second-in-command, Reagan was the one person he’d always shared everything with. At barely a year apart, they’d been inseparable as children, then each other’s worst enemies, and then inseparable again when they’d lost their parents. She knew him better than anyone, and he’d stopped keeping secrets from her the day they’d laid their parents in the ground.
But there was a part of him that was loath to share his mystery princess with anyone else. As if just speaking about her would somehow tarnish the memory of what they’d shared that night.
So, like a coward, he focused on work instead. “What’s bothering me is the fact that the Russians attacked our fucking docks tonight, because they seem to be under the impression we’re weak. And even though we took out half a dozen of their men, I’m still pissed to have more blood on my hands.”
And just like that, she was no longer his little sister, but one of his most lethal warriors. Everything about her shifted, changed, sharpening and hardening right before his eyes.
It was a change he grieved on a daily basis.
“I understand. But you can console yourself with the fact that we took a minimal hit, as far as our own casualties.”
The reminder that they’d done more damage than they’d been dealt did help, but only a bit. “How are Brody’s ribs? And Tiernan’s shoulder?”
“Right as rain. Called in our backup since Naomi was… otherwise occupied.” Reagan’s lips twitched, but he ignored the jab. “No broken bones, and Tiernan barely got hit. They’ll both be tender for a bit, but no permanent damage.”
“Good. Good.” Still tapping his fingers on his knee, he considered the events of the night. “It still feels like too big of a coincidence that the Russians came for us this close to us finalizing our deal with Williams to give him control of the docks.”
“Agreed. But as far as we can tell, there’s no leak for us to plug.” She hesitated, only for a second, her nails tapping at the glass in her hand the way they did when she was weighing her words. “Have you considered the possibility Williams went to them himself?”
“I have.” And hadn’t yet come up with a satisfactory answer. “And unfortunately it’s not out of the realm of possibility. Let’s put Tiernan on him for a bit. See what he can find out.”
Richard Williams was, at current, Killian’s lead prospect for taking over control of the docks. While he dealt in trades that were technically illegal, they barely skirted the surface of what could be considered criminal. The deepest of deep dives into him and his family had so far turned up nothing alarming.
If it turned out he was working with the Russians, however…
“I’ll let him know. Lochlan is still working over the Russian we captured, but so far it’s looking like a dead end. Low-level soldier, not high enough to really know anything about anything.” The tapping started again, more agitated now. “He’s barely a kid, Killian. Not even old enough to drink.”
Fucking hell. “Tell Loch to let him loose. If he doesn’t know anything, there’s no point in keeping him. Blindfold him, drop him off in their territory, and tell the kid to pass along a message.”
“What’s the message?”
Taking the wine from his sister’s hand again, he drained the glass before rising to his feet and meeting her eyes. And saw his own resolve, battered as it was, reflected in her dark gaze. “That the O’Rourkes were feeling generous tonight. But if they come for our docks again, the next set of bodies we drop at their front door won’t be breathing ones.”
Aria
* * *
Her muscles remembered the night before well ahead of her brain. Stiff and achy, they screamed at her when she reached for her phone to kill the alarm.
