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“I didn’t put it there,” I bite out, shoving a hand through my hair. “Seriously, if I’d nicked it, do you think I’d chuck it in my bloody locker? Only for it to then fall out right in front of you?”

I crouch down and scoop it up. “Here.” I thrust it towards him. “Take it. Say you found it somewhere else—outside maybe, or on a table or something. I don’t care. But if the police find out this was in my locker, then between this and those keycard logs, I’m done for. We’re talking jail time, Johnny. Someone is framing me, I swear.”

He doesn’t move to take it. Just stares at the ring, then at me, his expression torn. “You want me to lie . . . to the police? And to Da?”

I can see the conflict in his eyes, the weight of what I’m asking him to do pressing down on him. Johnny’s always been the good son—honest, reliable, the one who follows the rules. Asking him to lie goes against everything he is.

“Johnny, you know me.” I step closer to him, lowering my voice even though we’re alone. “If I was guilty, I wouldn’t drag you into this with me. I’ve always looked out for you, haven’t I?”

He hesitates, his expression shifting like he’s at war with himself. “Aye,” he says softly. “You have.”

“This is something I need you to do for me.” I hate how it sounds like begging, but right now my pride is the least of my concerns. “Please.”

He’s quiet for what feels like forever, his gaze dropping back to the ring in my outstretched hand. Finally he takes it and slips it into his pocket. “Aye, I’ll . . . come up with something. A story about where I found it.”

The look on his face twists something deep inside me. He doesn’t like this—lying for me—but he’s agreeing all the same, which makes the guilt churn hotter in my stomach.

“Thank you. Seriously.”

He doesn’t respond, just gives me a slight nod as I shrug into my leather jacket. Usually, the worn weight of it feels grounding, comforting. Not today.

We head out, Johnny leading me towards the exit like I’m a dodgy punter being shown the door after causing too much trouble at the pub. The sound of our footsteps echoes off the corridor walls, every step grating on my nerves. We pass Samantha coming out of her office, and her lips curl into a satisfied smile. Being the head of housekeeping, she’ll know all about the thefts—and, no doubt, about me being the number-one suspect.

“Bad day, Robbie?” Her voice drips with false sympathy.

I stop in my tracks, ready to give her a piece of my mind and wipe that gloating expression off her face, but Johnny places a hand on my shoulder and urges me forwards. “Not worth it,” he murmurs.

And he’s right. Losing my temper now wouldn’t solve anything. It’d only give people another excuse to call me trouble.

Outside, the summer sun is still blazing down. Clearly, it hasn’t got the memo that my life is crumbling to pieces. My bike gleams in its usual spot. Johnny stops a few paces from it, his expression grim.

“Da . . . has asked me to keep my distance from you while the police investigate.”

Another blow, right when I thought things couldn’t get worse.

“He says we can’t risk it looking like we’re meddling, given we’re your family. We’ve got to let the police do their job without getting in their way.”

“I get it,” I admit, although that doesn’t mean it stings any less.

“I don’t want to keep my distance. Now is when you need your family the most.” The emotion in his voice threatens to crack my composure, but I refuse to let it.

“I’ll be fine,” I assure him, feigning a confidence I don’t feel. “This’ll all blow over once the police realise none of it holds up.”

Johnny nods but doesn’t look convinced. He pulls me into another hug.

When he lets me go, I swing my leg over my bike, settle into the seat, and turn the key in the ignition. The engine roars to life beneath me, vibrating through my bones. Usually, this is the moment when everything else falls away—when it’s just me, my bike, and the open road.

Not today. Today the engine’s rumble can’t drown out the chaos in my head.

As I pull away from the resort, I catch a glimpse of Johnny in my mirror, still standing there, watching me go. It hits me all over again that this isn’t just happening to me. It’s happening to him too, caught between his brother and his father, between loyalty and doing what’s right.

And me? I’m completely and utterly screwed. Because someone has gone to a lot of trouble to set me up, and I’ve no idea why. All I know is that I’m on my own, and the evidence against me is stacking up by the minute.

This entire situation is a mess.

CHAPTER SEVEN

CAT