by Carina Adams
I had become a monster. A man I didn’t recognize. A man who struggled to remember who he really was. A man I hated.
We never found out who had ordered the hit.
You’ve only ever seen what you want to see—you don’t see the big picture.
Conall’s words made me narrow my eyes, thinking over each detail of that night. Why had we never discovered who was behind their deaths? I hadn’t known it at the time, but I learned in later years that people blab extremely easily. Pain and fear were great motivators. Threaten someone with physical pain, or make them think their worst fears would come true, and they’d tell you anything you wanted to know.
Yet no one had broken. We’d never gotten the asshole who had pulled the strings. Which meant I’d missed a vital piece of the puzzle. It was either someone who people were truly afraid of or someone who had earned such a degree of loyalty that his people would rather die than turn on him. Or both.
I reached for my coffee, pausing midway. Holy shit. No.
I replayed the scene in my head. My father had been home that night, but he wasn’t supposed to be. When Bron had charged in, interrupting the meal, Dad hadn’t looked surprised. In fact, he’d looked relieved. At the time, I’d chalked it up to realizing it was only Bron and not someone else.
After Bron had given us the news, Moira had turned to Dad and begged him to tell her it wasn’t true. What if she hadn’t been talking about their deaths, but instead asking my father if he’d been responsible? Bron had told Dustin that he was doing his job. Had my father ordered him to turn a blind eye while my aunt and uncle were murdered?
There were other things too. Dad’s refusal to go after whoever had done it should have raised red flags. Any other time, Colin Callaghan had been quick to retaliate. Logan was his brother, for Christ’s sake. He should have threatened to tear the town apart until the murderer was delivered to our front door. Instead, he’d insisted we wait for the police to investigate—the same police department that he had insisted was full of corrupt officers trying to make a quick buck.
I hadn’t seen it because I hadn’t wanted to. Dustin’s theory that a rival from Boston had declared war on our family had made sense. It added up. I didn’t think about looking to see if another scenario also added up.
Fuck.
Why in the hell would my father take out his own brother? They’d always been so close. Then my mother’s words from the day before hit me like a ton of bricks.
“Your uncle Logan called in the hit.”
That hadn’t made sense yesterday. Hell, it still didn’t make sense. Why would Logan have Graham Forte killed? And why would my dad get revenge almost ten years later? I was missing something.
Dustin had been a fucking prick, but the only reason I’d ever wanted him dead was because of how he treated Gabby. I would have tolerated anything else from him, simply because he was my blood. Add Gabby into the picture though, and nothing else mattered.
I would have killed my brother over a woman. Would my father? I thought back through my childhood, examining the way Logan had looked at my mom. He’d respected her in a way I’d admired—I always thought it was because she was his sister-in-law.
But little things, like the way he had watched her, suddenly stood out. He looked at her the way I was sure I looked at Gabby. As though he wanted something he’d never have. Fucking Christ.
I yanked my truck into the first parking lot I saw, turned around, and headed back south. I didn’t have a lot of time to waste, but I needed to know.
This time, Moira opened her own door, completely dressed and in full makeup, despite the early hour. I didn’t see Tank or her goons anywhere, but I knew they were here. She wouldn’t be alone.
I didn’t bother with fake pleasantries. “Did Dad have Logan killed because of your affair?”
My mother let the door shut before she turned to me. I half expected her to deny it all, tell me that she’d never had an affair and that my father hadn’t been the one behind Logan’s death. I fucking hoped she was going to tell me I was nuts and kick me out of her house.
Instead, she only said, “No.” Then she walked away, leaving me there.
No what? No, my father hadn’t had him killed? No, there was another reason entirely for Logan’s murder? No, she hadn’t had an affair with him?
I needed answers, so I followed her around the corner and into a small kitchen. Nothing about the room seemed like Moira—it wasn’t sterile and aluminum and cold like the one I’d grown up with. Instead, it was bright and homey. She stood at the counter, motioning me to sit at the table.
I hesitated.
“You want answers.” She shrugged. “I want to have coffee with my son.” She nodded her head toward the table. “Sit.”
I had a hundred different arguments why I couldn’t stay—the most important being that I had no desire to sit at a table and talk to her. But I wanted answers.
I sat.
She carried over two mugs, handed me one, and eased into the chair across from me. I braced for the small talk bullshit that Moira loved so much. Instead, she took a sip of her coffee and set it down.
“I wasn’t having an affair with Logan when he was killed.” She pushed her shoulders back, sitting up straighter. “Our affair had been over for twenty years. So no, that’s not why he was killed.”
I watched my finger tap on the table as I tried to digest her words. My parents had problems, as every couple did, but they were solid. Dad wasn’t always warm and fuzzy and Moira was, well, Moira, but they had loved each other. One of my earliest memories was coming down the stairs after a nightmare and finding them dancing in the living room—he’d had his arms wrapped around her, and he was nuzzling her neck while she clung to him and laughed. I’d sat and watched them for what felt like hours.
I’d never, not once in my thirty-six years, imagined that she would have cheated on him. Especially not with my uncle. If she was going to have an affair, why choose Logan? Was there not one other man who would sleep with her, so she had no choice but to fuck her husband’s brother?
Logan and my dad had been complete opposites, much like Dustin and me. Despite some small disagreements I’d seen them have over the years, they were like a well-oiled machine. A team. What could have made Logan think that screwing his big brother’s wife was the right thing to do? Sleeping with your brother’s wife was one of the ultimate forms of treachery.
Despise and disgust filled me. I thought I’d hated her before, but now—for the first time, I was glad that Logan was gone. I didn’t blame my father for taking him out. Hell, I was surprised he hadn’t killed them both. They’d betrayed his trust.
If Gabby cheated on me with—
Fucking Christ! Realization charged through me at light speed. Guess my apple didn’t fall far from the tree, huh? I was Logan. I’d fallen for my brother’s girl. I’d tried to take something that wasn’t mine.
My mother cleared her throat. “And no. Your father didn’t order the hit.”
My head snapped up, my eyes flying to hers. I’d been so sure. The signs were all there.
“I did.”
I could only stare, positive that I was hearing shit. “No. I was there when you found out, remember? You were torn up. You were devastated.”
She scoffed. “Acting, Declan. It was all acting. I was so happy that son of a bitch was dead that inside, I was screaming with joy. That show you saw? It was to ensure no one ever figured it out.” She swallowed. “Your father did though. I think he knew what I was going to do before I did it.”
“Why? If Dad already knew about the affair…” I shook my head because I couldn’t believe my mother was that good of an actress. “Why kill Logan?”
Moira glanced away, at the beach out the window next to us, then back at me. There was no sadness or shame on her face. She took a deep breath. “When you’re a parent, you’ll understand. You protect your children at all costs. No one matters more than them.”
She lifted he
r cup and took a sip as if we were having a casual conversation during Sunday brunch. “I did it to keep you safe. I only wish I had done it years before.” She looked out at the water, and for a split second, regret showed on her face. “If I had let your father kill that son of a bitch after Graham died, I might have been able to save Dustin.”
Then her lips puckered. “Dusty may have had Logan’s blood in his veins, but Colin raised him. We thought if we loved him enough, gave him the extra attention he desperately needed, and raised him to be a good man that he would be. Nurture over nature. Somewhere we went wrong. Dustin turned. He started going off the rails, spiraling out of control.”
No. My mouth fell open. Dustin couldn’t be Logan’s son. I would have known. Memories assaulted me. Little things that hadn’t made sense at the time suddenly clicked.
The day my father realized Dustin had beaten me up, and he’d told me that no one was going to hurt his son and get away with it. His son. The differences between us—Fi, Dustin, and me. The ones I had always noticed but never read much into.
Anger scorched through me. Fuck them. How could they keep something that important from us?
“Did Dustin know? Did he at least know before he died?”
Moira nodded. “Yes. He’d known for years.”
She looked at me while her words sank in. My brother had known. We’d hated each other, but I was surprised he’d never thrown it in my face.
“Logan told him. I’m not sure when, but sometime after he graduated, once he started working at CI. Your father stepped in once we discovered how much time Dusty was spending with Logan and Mark, but it was too late. The Dustin we loved was gone.” Her shoulders rose in a shrug.
“The day Logan took more interest in you, I knew it was only a matter of time. You asked why I had him killed, but you should really be asking why it took me so long. I’d already lost one child to that monster. Who in the hell do you think taught Dustin to be the way he was? Hateful, violent, and cruel—that was never your father! No, that was Logan. I wasn’t going to lose you too. You were my pride and joy. You were my good boy, my angel.” Her lips moved into a sad smile.
“Dustin had already helped morph you into something I barely recognized. I wasn’t going to let Logan take the rest from you. So I took care of it.” For the first time in a long time, I saw water pool in her eyes. “And lost you anyway.”
I couldn’t argue. She had lost me. I’d lost myself.
“Grady is a great kid, Declan. He’s smart, and funny, and kind.” She smiled, her pride clear. “Gabby has done an amazing job with him. I love him, and I can’t imagine not seeing him all the time. But he’s his father’s son. Unless we do something, we’ll lose Grady the way we lost Dusty.” Fear, unfiltered and honest, made her entire body tense.
“You can’t see it, but Mark is the same kind of man his father was. Grady is Mark’s nephew. In Mark’s mind, Grady is his only living relative. As long as Grady is in Maine, and easy to find, Mark will find a way to get to him, the same way Logan got to Dustin.”
I wasn’t going to let that happen.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Gabby
I woke up smiling.
I was warm—so cozy, tucked in my bed with my favorite puff lying over me and my head nestled into the most comfortable pillow that had ever been made. Nothing on me ached, which meant for the first time in a long time, I hadn’t tossed and turned all night. And I wasn’t exhausted.
It was heaven.
I turned on my side, trying to calculate how much time I had before Grady invaded, asking for breakfast. I was half surprised that he had let me sleep this long. The head print on the pillow next to mine startled me at first, then the memories came back.
Declan.
Declan naked. Declan kissing me everywhere. Declan telling me he loved me before he showed me exactly how much he did.
My face flamed red, but I was too happy to be embarrassed.
Last night had been something that dreams were made of—something romance novels were written about. He hadn’t been rough or unkind. No, Declan had given me something I’d never had.
He’d loved me.
He was gentle. He talked to me, not at me, not telling me how disgusting and worthless I was. Instead, he told me I was beautiful and perfect. Then he’d made me feel as though I was both.
That was the kind of night women dreamed about. One I had never imagined. Now, I couldn’t wait to do it again.
The bedroom door was slightly open, allowing the heavenly scent of freshly brewed coffee to waft into the room. I grinned, picturing him down there, in my house, right where he belonged. Suddenly, I couldn’t wait to get out of bed.
After throwing back the covers, I slid out of bed and hurried around the room, trying to find something to wear. Part of me wanted to surprise him and go down wearing nothing but a sheet, but the other part was too cold. Flannel pajamas and knee-high fuzzy socks were sexy, right?
Totally.
As I plodded down the stairs, I heard the sizzle of bacon and the scrape of a spatula. He was making me breakfast! My heart was so full that it could have burst.
When I stepped into the kitchen, the good morning greeting died on my lips. Instead of Declan, an old man stood at my stove. I squeaked, completely startled, my hand flying to my heart.
Conall turned, taking my entire reaction in stride, and offered me a grin. “Good morning, lass!” Before I could recover from my shock, he moved to me and kissed my forehead before taking my arm and guiding me to the table. “Sit.”
“Good morning?” I sat, because I didn’t know what else to do, and stared at the man in front of me. I’d completely forgotten that I had called him. How could I explain that he’d wasted a trip, that everything was going to be okay now? “When did you get here?”
“About five.” He went back to the stove, not offering any more information. The house was glaringly quiet, making it clear we were alone.
“Conall?”
He lifted his head, not taking his eyes off the skillet in front of him.
“Where is Declan?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he slid an omelet onto a plate, cut it in half, and slid one-half onto a second plate before he added strips of bacon to each dish. Then he carried both to the table and headed back for the coffee cups. “He had something to do.”
I felt my face fall as worry crept up my throat. Something to do? Declan had already had something to do—be here, eating breakfast with me.
“You look well rested,” Conall told me with a nod. “It’s nice to see.”
I swallowed, not feeling the slightest bit hungry. Anxiety made my stomach burn. “Conall, thank you for coming.” I meant it. Despite the fact that he’d probably dropped everything and flown straight here, and I felt bad, it was nice to see him. I’d missed him. “But you came all this way for nothing.”
Conall took a long moment to set his fork down and settle his blue eyes on me. “No. I came because you were scared. Something happened. What?”
“He found me.”
“He found you?”
I nodded. “He did. I don’t know how. I’ve been so careful, but he was here.” I took a deep breath. “I called you because I was scared.”
“Now you’re not?”
I didn’t know how to answer that. I was still terrified, but I believed Declan when he said that he would protect me at all costs. “I think I’m always going to be scared. I’ve spent the last decade looking over my shoulder, waiting for him to find me. I think I’d just started to get comfortable, these last six months. It was more of a shock than anything.”
Conall nodded. “Why won’t you tell me what happened? Let me give you the peace of mind of knowing he’ll never hurt you again.”
I shook my head. “I can’t.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
“Both.” I lifted my fork, picking at my egg. “It’s my problem. I’ll handle it.”
“It’s not just
your problem though, is it? Fiona was targeted yesterday. You say he was here. What’s going to stop him from coming back? It’s only a matter of time before Grady is next. What are you going to do then, Litt’l One? How are you going to handle it then?”
The idea of Mark hurting Grady made me feel physically ill. I dropped the fork, shaking my head. “Declan will never let that happen.”
“Declan might not always be around to stop it.”
The words weren’t a threat but a reminder. Declan had made enemies, powerful and terrifying enemies, when he’d admitted to killing his brother. Men who should have been after me, because I was the one who had pulled the trigger, were after Dec because of his lie.
“You can protect him.”
“I have been.” He ran a hand over his cheeks and down his beard. “There is only so much I can do.”
I knew that of course, but I still hoped for a miracle.
Dustin, even though he had moved up at CI and was running his own divisions, hadn’t been satisfied. He’d wanted more. More money, more power, more everything.
He started small, selling drugs on the side. Using the connections he’d gotten through CI, he gathered a small clientele. A few dozen people he did business with regularly, mostly his own employees, who bought directly from him.
It took a few months, but once he realized how easy it was to have both businesses, he decided to grow. He encouraged each person who bought from him to take a little more, to try to sell on their own. Within the first year, his suppliers couldn’t keep up with the demand—he needed too much product.
People became curious. The Callaghans were known for many things, including staying away from the drug market. No matter how Dusty tried to sell it, he was seen as a liability. Every time he tried to branch out and expand the business or merge with other distributors, he was told that if he got his father’s blessing, or if Colin came to negotiate, they’d have a deal. No one wanted to cross Colin.
Then the perfect opportunity fell in Dustin’s lap.
