“Check again?—”
Just then, the phone finally rings, the sound slicing through the room.
I’m at Fiona’s side in two strides.
She stares down at the phone as if it’s a grenade.
Every muscle in my body tenses as I seehisname flashing on the screen.
Fiona glances anxiously at me, and I give her a curt nod.
This is it.
Fiona takes a deep breath before answering the call. “Hello?”
“Fiona.” Hearing my piece-of-shit uncle say her name like that has me balling my hands into fists. “You’ve been avoiding my calls.”
Fiona takes a moment to steady herself before answering. “There was a situation after I deleted the file.” She glances at me. “It was impossible for me to get away long enough to call.”
“You deleted the file?”
“Yes.”
There is another pause.
I dig my nails into my palms, needing anything to focus on other than the heavy sound of my uncle's breathing coming through the phone.
He should have been long dead, but hopefully, this conversation brings us one step closer to making that happen.
“You’re certain?”
“The file is gone, and I wiped the laptop without any complications or arousing suspicion. Cormac and his brothers have no idea.” Fiona looks away at the mention of my name, though her cheeks redden with color.
How she can think I will be able to forgive her after this is beyond me because this right here, this conversation with Lorcan, only cements her betrayal even more.
“My nephews can’t see for looking.” Lorcan scoffs. “But lucky for you, that works in our favor.”
The bastard sounds so smug it makes my blood boil.
“What should I do now?” Fiona’s throat bobs.
“Nothing. I’ll be in touch soon.”
When the call ends, I hold my hand out, and Fiona places the phone in my palm. I pocket it without looking at her and walk away, needing to put some distance between us.
She gets to her feet. “Did I…do okay?”
“You did fine,” I mutter.
When Fiona says nothing, I glance over, and I see something like hurt flicker in her eyes.
Before I can stop it, anger surges through me, hot and violent, tangling itself up in the relentless want and grief I feel every time I so much aslookat her.
I close the distance between us in two strides, my hand clamping around her arm as I shove her back against the wall.
She gasps, looking up at me with a mixture of fear and need.
“I’m not going to pat you on the fucking head for fixing your own mess. You don’t get praise for doing what you should have done from the start.”
