Page 5
However, despite my stepfather’s plan working for the past five years, I couldn’t find peace. I hadn’t made any close friends here. My fear of the Callahans finding me was impossible to get rid of, and I was terrified that if I got too close to people, they would hurt them too. Because of that, I had kept most of the locals I had met at arm’s length.
And then there was fear of tall, broad men with blue eyes wearing jeans and white T-shirts that this place seemed to swarm with. Whenever I saw one, panic filled me.
Why?
Because they reminded me of Tyran Callahan.
I’d lost count of the times I’d imagined seeing that man out of the corner of my eye. Or his twin, because for all I knew, Tyran was still serving his time. Although even that was coming to an end.
I flicked a glance at the clock, noting it wasn’t even five a.m., but trying to sleep was impossible, so I got up and headed for the kitchen as I scanned every room on my way there.
The cottage was small but inviting. A gas fireplace warmed the sitting room, its stone hearth worn smooth. Exposed wooden beams crossed the ceiling, and shelves were filled with books I’d procured over the years here. An armchair sat beside the window, perfectly positioned for watching fishing boats drift across the bay.
Once I was in the kitchen, I turned on the Keurig coffee machine that looked out of place with a farmhouse table and rustic stove, copper pots hanging above it.
While coffee dripped into my coffee mug, I sat at the table that was set against the large window overlooking the garden and the sea beyond it.
Rain tapped softly against the windows, heralding yet another gray, overcast day. That was the norm here. And now, with autumn settling firmly over the village, the rainy days were becoming frequent, each one darker and drearier than the last. It wasn’t exactly helping my state of mind.
If anything, the endless rain made me even more nostalgic for the life I had left behind: a life filled with a wonderful family, friends, familiar places, and… well, everything that had once made me feel like I belonged somewhere.
Sometimes I couldn’t help but wonder how I’d managed to ruin it all.
Why had I walked into that stupid sex club in the first place? Why had I let myself get kissed so senselessly? And, more importantly, why had I become so hopelessly obsessed with a man I should have never met in the first place?
A man whose path should have never crossed mine.
Dammit, Sienna, stop with the hindsight.
Rather than thinking about the past I couldn’t change, I reached for my iPhone, not bothering to check for any messages. There were never any, because nobody knew this number. Instead, I went to the Magic Sort app and started playing the game. I was on level 3,912. Yes, my life was sad and consisted of working remotely—as an IT engineer building and tearing down firewalls for my stepfather’s company—playing the Magic Sort game, eating, and sleeping.
Today would be no different.
THREE
TYRAN
New York City
Icould hear Kyran stomping down the hallway toward my office. My latest expansion was the newest, state-of-the-art gym in New York City—a private haven where the city’s most powerful businessmen, billionaires, politicians, and A-list actors came to train.
My twin had a very particular walk that resembled the walk of a herd of horses and made the hardwood groan beneath his every step, followed by the dull thud of his boots.
I took another slow sip of my coffee and sank deeper into the long leather couch, waiting for him to emerge through the door.
The office was quiet otherwise. Late-afternoon light spilled through the tall windows, cutting across the dark wood paneling and catching in the haze above the fireplace. The faint scent of leather, expensive whiskey, and coffee hung in the air.
I preferred the coffee. Whiskey had too many memories attached to it.
Kyran finally stepped into the office and stopped.
His gaze swept over the room before landing on me.
“Where the fuck is Aiden?”
I shrugged. “Fuck if I know.”
My brothers and I agreed to meet here to discuss the product movement.
