He wouldn’t.
He needed me. I’d seen to it that it was a fact. That I was the best.
Indispensable.
Didn’t mean he liked me for it.
Redness colored his ears and hatred darkened his eyes. “You’re standing here today because of me. Don’t forget that.”
I leaned in closer, spitting the words, “I’m standing here because you need me. I never asked for any favors. Don’t pretend like I did.”
My position was the one thing my pathetic mother had offered. She’d done it out of guilt. I’d jumped on it, salivating at the mouth as I’d plotted for revenge.
Venom fueled his smile. “So angry, aren’t we? A hothead getting ready to snap.” He tsked like the smug old bastard that he was. “Maybe they should have left you locked up after all.”
I grinned. All teeth. “You never know. Maybe they should have.”
Air huffed from his nose, and he rocked back in his chair.
I cocked my head. “Are we done here? Because I have work to do.”
He gave me a tight nod, and I turned on my heel, my dress shoes echoing on the marble floor as I left him sitting there.
“Don’t come back here until it is finished.”
I froze when his voice hit me from behind. I tossed a glance at him over my shoulder, anger seething in my blood, disgusted that we both wanted the same fucking thing though it was for entirely different reasons.
“Trust me. This deal is as good as done.”
“That’s my boy.” He said it with a derisive gleam in his eye, like he’d ever given two fucks about me.
Without giving the prick the credit of a response, I turned and strode out into the foyer.
I stumbled a step when I saw my baby sister, Maggie, pacing at the bottom of the stairs. Mahogany hair, two shades lighter than mine, swished from the ponytail she wore it in, the girl petite and oozing a fear that I would give anything to hold for her.
She took two steps in my direction.
Rage that would never abate thrashed in my spirit when I saw the scar that slashed across her chest. Permanently as red and angry as I was.
Hugging herself, she angled her head, an innocent petition written into her expression. “I don’t know why you fight with him. You know it’s not going to change anything.”
I went right for her and pulled her into my arms, pressed a kiss to her forehead. “There are some things I can’t seem to control.”
Hating Karl Fitzgerald was one of them.
“You’re so angry. So sad,” she whispered into my heart, the girl so short she barely came to the middle of my chest.
“I’m not.”
“You’re a liar,” she returned. “I can hear it. Feel it.” Affection tightened my chest, the love I had for my sister the only love I had left. The rest used up. Burned to ash. Scorn in its place.
I hugged her tighter. “I’m the last person you should be worried about.”
“I want you to be happy.”
“You make me happy,” I murmured against the crown of her head.
Fists in my suit jacket, she edged back and blinked up at me. “You know that’s not enough. Not when I was responsible for you losing everything.”
I gripped her by the outside of her arms. “Bullshit.”
Tears gathered in her eyes. “You know it’s true.”
Violence flashed across my skin, and I struggled to hold it together. To stop myself from marching back into my stepfather’s office and making him confess whose fault it was.
To end this now.
I had to remember my purpose. That attack I’d been setting into motion for the last four years.
“No, Maggie, it’s not. None of the blame is yours.”
The greedy bastard who was her father made sure the one responsible didn’t have to pay.
I touched my baby sister’s cheek, wiped the tear that had fallen. “I won’t fail you again, Mag-Pie. I won’t. I promise you that.”
“I just want to be safe. For this all to end.”
I pressed my lips to her temple, whispered, “The end is near.”
Then I turned and strode out the door to my car waiting for me in the circular drive. I slipped into the backseat.
“Mr. Reilly.” My driver glanced in the rearview mirror, waiting for instruction.
I sat back in the seat. “Airport, please.”
Releasing the button of my suit jacket, I blew out a sigh and roughed my hands through my hair, trying to calm the riot that was pounding my heart into mayhem.
My driver weaved down the long drive of Karl Fitzgerald’s estate before maneuvering the winding road that led to the bottom of the hill. He headed directly to the airport, taking me to the private hangar where the jet was waiting.
I slipped out of the car, and the concierge gathered my bags from the trunk.
I climbed the stairs, nodding my head to the pilots and flight attendant who were waiting to welcome me aboard. I took a seat, accepted the tumbler of whiskey I was offered, pulled my phone from my pocket when it buzzed with a message.