I shrug. “Fortnight.”
His jaw tightens as he nods. He doesn't like us fighting in the underground ring, but he's given up on trying to stop us fully.
And I fuckinglovethe ring. Miss it as of late.
My younger cousin Kyla is watching me too, curiosity in her bright, keen eyes. Bronwyn's pretending not to notice anything, but her stillness gives her away. They're both too fucking observant for their own good.
“Let's get on with it,” Da says, his voice carrying that rough quality that comes from years of whiskey and orders. My mother has softened him, but he was a right hard man once.
His hearing's gone in recent years, and it's a bloody shame.
Seamus nods to some corporate suit I don't know and don't care to, who starts droning on about trusts and distributions. We're here because Donovan had one last trust that still needs to be distributed—one he'd have gotten if he hadn't turned traitor, if we hadn't put a bullet in his skull to punish him for his deception.
I swallow hard when a lump rises unbidden in my throat. My oldest brother was close to me, almost as close as my Uncle Tiernan. Almost. But he turned coat. Gave in to the Boston Irish, took a bribe, and paid the ultimate price. They’re still at large, the bastards, and we know it’s only a matter of time before they rear their fucking heads again.
But fuck, I miss him, traitor and all. Donovan would've given me advice on how to take Crowning down and how to do it without causing devastation to the McCarthy family.
I stop listening when the lawyer drones on.
My phone buzzes with a motion alert.
I pull it out and angle it so nobody can see.
I breathe again.
She's in the kitchen, moving around, opening cabinets, looking for something to use to get out, probably. Smart lass.
Crowning will pay for ever making her think she's anything but perfect, the fucking prick. I'll shove his goddamn toast down his fuckin' throat and beat him bloody with a crusty baguette.
Bastard.
My chest tightens as I watch her. Even with the picture pixelated and grainy, she's gorgeous. Her dark hair falls over her shoulders against her pale skin, and the way she moves—careful and deliberate. Scared, yes, but not panicking.
“Split between the remaining sons,” the lawyer is saying. “Ashland and Lorcan McCarthy, in equal shares.”
I should feel something about it, but… money's just money. All I can think about is whether I reinforced the window locks enough. If she breaks the glass?—
Fuck.
“It's a lot of fucking zeros,” my younger brother mutters beside me.
“Aye,” I say. “I'd rather have my brother here.”
“Same.”
My da makes a sound like a half sob. His eyes are wet. “God. My fucking boy,” he whispers.
The room goes quiet. Even Seamus has the decency to look away. Donovan's betrayal cut deep for all of us, but for Da, it destroyed something fundamental in him. A father's not supposed to outlive his son, and no one wants to bury a son as a traitor.
I know I should say something. Comfort him, maybe, but my throat's tight. My phone buzzes again, and I'm grateful for the distraction. All I can think about is Bianca.
If she escapes, she'll run straight back to fucking Crowning. My jaw clenches. She doesn't know what he is, what he's done.
She thinks I'm the fucking monster.
Maybe I am, but I'm the monster keeping her alive.
“Ashland,” Seamus says again. His voice is harder now. His ruddy cheeks are a little darker than normal, his blue eyes narrowed. “You need to be somewhere, lad?”
