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Valentina laughs and signs, “Now?”
I sign back, “Right fucking now. I’m not wasting any more time, wife.”
Valentina Bruno will be an O’Brien by the end of tomorrow.
28
BRIAR
My car pulls into a small parking lot beside a decrepit brick building. A high black fence surrounds the property, with overgrown weeds winding through the bars. Overhead, the full moon peeks out from behind thin, gray clouds, and the stars shine against the black sky.
Valentina shifts next to me, signing, “Here?”
Ducking my head, I glance around. It’s deserted; not even a plastic bag scampers through the grounds. A chill racks my spine.
“He said to meet here,” I confirm. Pulling up my text thread with Killian, I reread his last message.
Kill-joy: 9PM. Off Hancock.
This is it.
Standing from the car, I scan the surroundings. It’s a bit too eerie for an elopement, but I did ask a known killer to plan it. A shadow emerges from beside the building, and my hand goes to my back pocket—to my knife.
Shit. Two shadows.
Wait.
Sighing, I release the knife. It’s not who I was expecting.
“What are you—”
Maeve holds up a hand, eyes narrowed, stomping through the grass. “You really thought I wouldn’t be here for this?”
Killian stands over her shoulder, almost smug.
“You told her?” He’s a right bastard.
He rolls his eyes, slipping a cigarette from his pants pocket. “You seem shocked.”
I guess I’m not. I knew it was too much to ask Killian to keep more secrets from my oldest sister.
She walks around the car, heels clacking against the ground. Maeve’s not in her typical business clothing, but a smart black dress that stops mid-thigh, high enough to cover her neck. Her hair is curled, her makeup is fresh—hold on.
I look back at Killian. He’s in a suit. Black, as well as a dress shirt, no tie, and a green pocket square. He’s clean, refined. His hair is expertly mussed and… I sniff him as he gives me a weird look.
“Are you wearing cologne?”
“It’s a wedding, kid,” he drawls. “Did you expect me to come covered in blood?”
“Kind of.”
Maeve holds out her hand to Valentina, helping her stand from my car. Her wedding dress is crumpled in her hands, still in the black bag from when we bought it.
Her wide eyes stare at my sister—who is at least half a foot shorter than her—and she swallows. Fear paints her cheeks red, and she clutches the bag to her chest, almost like a shield.
Understandable. Valentina only knows the whispers about Maeve. If I didn’t know her, I’d be scared shitless. Hell, I know her, and she terrifies me. Maeve tilts her head, assessing my bride. I tense—every instinct in my body telling me to interfere, to put Valentina behind me, and face Maeve’s wrath head-on.
Which seems trivial. I would lay down my life for my oldest sister. I’d cut off my arm if she asked. But for Valentina? No. I won’t let anything happen to her—and I’d take whatever punishment Maeve doles out.
