“No,” I say, staring at himwithout flinching.
“Then put the fucking phone away and pay attention.”
Kyla shifts in her seat and sits up straighter. Lorcan's downright grinning now, enjoying the tension. Bronwyn's eyes dart to me sympathetically.
I let out a long breath, then check the feed one last time, risking my fucking neck with Seamus.
There she is again. Trying the door. Testing the locks.
Everything in me saysgo. Leave. Get back to her.
Now.
“Sign whatever needs signing,” I tell the lawyer. “Transfer it. I don't fucking care.”
“There are tax implications?—”
“I don't care.”
My da's rubbing at his eyes. “I don't want to talk about this anymore either, Seamus. Finish it,” he says. “Please. Sign the papers. I want to get back to my wife.”
He looks at me then, and Lorcan lays a comforting hand on his shoulder.
Why do I feel tears prick my eyes? Donovan was a good man before he turned traitor.
He taught me how to ride a bike when I was four, running beside me with his hand on the seat until I found my balance. Taught me how to speak to a woman—respect her, Ash, always respect her—even though he was shite at taking his own advice. Taught me how to throw apunch, how to take one, and how to get back up when the world knocked me down.
Losing a brother is a devastating sort of blow. It's like losing a limb you didn't know you needed until it was gone. It's phantom pain that never stops, an ache in your chest that won't heal, no matter how much time passes.
Because no one really knows the fabric of who you are better than the one who grew up beside you. Donovan knew every scar, every secret, every stupid thing I'd ever done. He knew me before the ink, before the fights, before I became the weapon the family needed.
He knew me when I was just… me.
But he's gone.
And I'm still here, carrying all the parts of myself only he understood.
“Right,” Seamus says. “Let's finish up, then.”
Still, his eyes linger on mine. Seamus didn't get to his place as The Undertaker and head of the McCarthy family by being easily duped.
He stands and dismisses us.
I take a casual look at the bank draft in my hand. It's a lot of fucking money, and I hate it. I hate that my brother died for me to have this money.
But I'll put it to good use.
Seamus walks over to me, his hands shoved in his pockets. “What's got you so distracted, Ash?”
Everything. Nothing. Her.
“Got things to handle,” I say in a way that doesn't invite questions—before I come up with a lie that won’t hold up under his scrutiny.
My phone vibrates.
Connection lost.
Fuck.
