“Swear you won’t kill Kieren.”
I rock back in surprise. After what we did together, I had assumed she didn’t care about that boy anymore.
Except normal people can dislike someone, but still not want them to get murdered. I forget that sometimes.
“I’m not sure that’s a promise I can keep.”
She doesn’t like my answer, but it’s the truth. Her grimace suggests this is a hard line for her. “Kieren’s an asshole. He deserved to get his car burned up, but beyond that…” She trails off uncertainly.
“The decision is out of my hands.”
“That’s a great excuse.”
“But it’s the truth and you know it. I’m not the one making those calls.”
“Then convince the men who are to spare him.”
“If that’s what you need, then I’ll try.” She starts to shake her head, but I speak over her. “That’s the best I can do, love. I’ll push back for him, and they might even listen to me, but if word comes down that Kieren’s got to die, then I won’t hesitate.”
Her face tightens into a pained lump before she turns her back on me. “Fine. Good enough.”
“What’s that mean? We’re doing this?”
“It means the next time you see me, you’ll pretend like we’ve never met before. And after that—“ Her hair sways against her back and she walks away.
I watch her go, chest thrumming. God, I could almost laugh. What a fantastic girl.
And shehatesme now.
Not that I can blame her. When she looks at me, she sees her own prison sentence. I’m hoping that she comes around with time, but I can’t force her to like me, let alone want to be my wife.
“Broke another heart, Liam?” Hal returns to refill my coffee cup.
“Not yet. Working on it though.”
She gives me a hard look which quickly softens. “You’re a pain in the ass.”
“You love it though.” I take a bite of the soup and let out a mock-groan. “Your spit is delicious as always.”
She rolls her eyes, but her mouth curves as she walks away.
CHAPTER 10
REGAN
It’s a cool, quiet night, and my father’s on the phone the whole car ride. He speaks quietly about some business deal the firm’s working on and I try my best to actively tune him out. I smooth the hem of my dress, looking out the window, trying to keep my nerves in check but everything feels like it’s spiraling out of control, and I don’t know how to drag it back together again.
It’s been a week since I spoke with Liam in the diner.
One week to stew on my future, one week to obsess, to worry, to wonder if I’m making the biggest mistake of my life, to imagine a dozen different scenarios in which I manage some daring escape and live a life far away from here.
One week to accept this is happening.
“Fucking Russians,” Dad mutters as the car stops outside an art gallery on a busy Manhattan block.
“Something wrong?”
“No, nothing you need to worry about.” He grunts as he pushes open the door. I swear, he’s getting older every day. I don’t remember him making all these noises a few years ago.
