Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 71832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“In some ways, it’s understandable. Iain got Jan’s daughter pregnant. You think Jan could let that slide? Would you, in his position?”
“No, I wouldn’t. And if he were in mine, he would’ve launched an all-out war already. Which I’m still considering.”
I tilt my head in reply. He knows what I think of that. A surgical strike, some targeted killings, enough blood to send a message, but not enough to burn the city to the ground—that’s what we need.
There will be reprisals. There will be death and suffering. Jan Minda will regret hurting anyone in the Crowley organization.
But an all-out war is just fucking dumb. A relic from an old time.
“I didn’t come to talk strategy,” I admit. “I came to talk about Iain’s sister, Ashlyn.”
Dad’s eyes narrow. “Her again? I thought we talked about this three years ago.”
“You talked. I ignored.”
“I told you back then, it’s unseemly. The girl is beneath you. All this attention, this time and energy and the fucking money, and you sneaking around like a fucking creep—”
I slam my hand flat onto the table to silence him. “The way I feel will not be a running fucking joke in our family. Not anymore. I married her yesterday.”
Dad’s eyes go wide. His mouth opens, his jaw works. I wonder if this is how Finn felt—but no, I don’t think so. Finn was nervous. I’m not worried, not in the slightest.
Because I know something my brothers don’t.
“What is the matter with you, boy?” Dad’s voice is a hiss. “You married the fucking girl? It was bad enough you following her around, using up resources, influence, drooling after her like a pathetic little dog, but you had to go ahead and marry her the second her brother’s lying dead in the hospital? What the fuck will the family think? It’s a disgrace. It’s demeaning to yourself and to everything we stand for. You should be ashamed. You should—” He can’t get the rest out as another coughing fit interrupts him.
I watch, leaning back in my chair, until he’s done. “Your opinion doesn’t matter.”
He nearly chokes. “The fuck are you saying, boy? My opinion is the only one that matters, you little shit.”
“Actually, you’re wrong.” I push my chair back, standing. “You’re dying, Dad. We both know the chemo and the drugs are only going to buy you some more time, but eventually, you’ll be gone, and I’ll be in charge.”
“You’ll never run this company, not now,” he snarls.
“Who will you name instead?” My eyebrows raise. “Finn? He’s married to a girl you hate. He’s also the youngest. Liam? We both know that won’t happen.”
“Nolan.” Dad growls at me.
“We both love Nolan, but you know as well as I do that he doesn’t have the temperament for leadership. It’s me or nothing. Ashlyn’s my wife now, and there’s nothing you can say to change that.”
He sits there seething, breathing hard. Wheezing. “I raised a bunch of spoiled, self-righteous little shits that know nothing about sacrifice.”
“I know plenty.” I stare at him, jaw working. “I’ve been sacrificing for ten years and you fucking know it. Now I’m finished. Ashlyn’s my wife, and when you die, I’ll take control of the family. Nothing will change either of those facts.”
“We’ll see how long she lasts,” Dad says, sneering. “Once she learns what a fucking piece of work you really are.”
“We will,” I agree.
Dad falls into another coughing fit as I turn and walk away.
Chapter 27
Ash
Another night home alone in Carson’s weird soulless house. I left Smoke a few hours earlier than usual since it was a quiet night and Bernie promised to take care of the place. It also helped that she got to go on an ordering spree and was in a particularly good mood.
At least tonight I have the rest of my stuff in boxes to keep me busy. I start unpacking, placing out pictures, decorations, candles, whatever I can to make this place feel like someone actually lives in it. I don’t love that Carson moved all my stuff in here, including all the framed posters hanging on the walls, and the little art pieces I bought at the vintage rummage shop, and all the books I kept stacked along one wall in my bedroom, but it’s better than having nothing.
Making this house into a home felt daunting at first, but now that I have some personal items and a magic, limitless credit card, I’m thinking I can pull it off.
But around eight, there’s a knock at the door. I jump, yelping slightly, surprised. I thought the only person that would ever come near that door was Carson, and he’d never bother knocking. I walk over, padding along the hardwood floor, and peer out the hole.
A woman’s standing there. She’s older, in her sixties, with reddish hair, big, green eyes, and smooth pale skin, dressed in a simple blouse and jeans with an expensive bag on her arm.