Page 79 of Arranged Scars
I hear them in Dad’s office. I hate that room so much it repulses me. I have to force myself to take one step after the other toward it.
Too many bad memories in this place.
But Finn’s nearby. He’s sitting around the block in the car in case I need him. I touch my phone to reassure myself. All I need to do is tap his name and he’ll come running, guns blazing.
I knock on the door lightly. They usually make me wait, but this time it suddenly wrenches open with so much force I have to take a step back in surprise. Mal appears with a gun pointing at my face, and my mouth opens to scream, but nothing comes out.
“Oh, it’s you.” He lowers the weapon. “Get in here.”
I groan and put a hand over my heart. “Holy shit, you almost gave me a heart attack.”
He grins at me. It’s lopsided and manic. “I almost blew your fucking brains out, actually.”
The office is cramped. Dermot’s there on a couch typing on his computer. He barely looks up at me. Dad’s behind his desk, standing with his back to us. He’s wearing rumpled clothes and looks like he hasn’t shaved for a few hours. Mal’s about the same. They all smell like a farm.
“There she fucking is,” Dad says, looking over his shoulder. He seems pale and twitchy. “I wanted her here days ago.”
“She was on some stupid vacation.” Mal sneers at me and shoves his gun back into his waistband. “I told you that already.”
“Did you? I have more important shit to keep track of than my worthless daughter.” Dad grabs a glass and slams it back. He’s drinking whiskey this early in the day? I frown to myself and realize they’ve all been smoking too. The place stinks like an ashtray. Dermot’s got energy drink cans at his feet.
“Want me to fill her in?” Mal glances at me. I stay near the door, not sure what the heck I’m seeing right now. My family is usually put together and very proper. They’d never smoke indoors and drink before noon. But here they are, like they’re going insane or something.
“Fill me in about what?”
Dermot looks up for the first time. His stare is haunted. “I was right. Shane and Redmond were murdered.”
I have to act surprised, but it’s not hard. I really am shocked he’s just saying it out loud like that. I shake my head like that can’t be true and turn to Dad for confirmation.
He glares back at me. “Listen to your fucking brothers,” he murmurs.
“Dermot’s right. Shane and Red were likely killed.” Mal begins to pace. He lights a cigarette as he goes without bothering to look at Dad for approval. It’s so bizarre I don’t even know how to handle it. “Dermot came to me after Red died. He had some issues with the whole accident theory.”
“Didn’t make sense,” Dermot says, tapping at his laptop.
“That’s what he insisted, anyway, but I tried to reassure him. Who would possibly want to kill our family? We’re at the height of our power. Our enemies are weak and our allies are strong. There’s no way they could get two of our own damn brothers.”
“But they did,” Dermot adds, pausing for a moment. His eyes are hollow. “And they tried to get me, too.”
“This is a lot to take in.” I shake my head and rub my face. “Who did it? Did you go to the police?”
“God, listen to her,” Dad says disdainfully. “The fucking police. As if they could do anything.”
“No, Caroline, we didn’t go to the police. We’re dealing with this in-house.” Mal takes a drag and flicks ash into an empty whiskey bottle. “We don’t know who did it, but Dermot was smart. He seeded some rumors. He put himself out there and set a trap.”
“He paid for shooters without family approval,” Dad snarls, clearly not happy about it.
Dermot ignores them both.
“The attack looked like a robbery. Those happen at high-stakes poker games, especially the shady ones. Except Dermot swearsit felt all wrong, and the survivors of the attack all corroborate his story. The robbers weren’t there to steal shit. They were there to kill him.” Mal finishes the cigarette and lights another. He’s practically twitching. “We have assassins coming for us. They poisoned and beat Shane to death. They used a bomb to finish off Redmond. What are they going to do next? Drop a fucking piano on my head?” Mal resumes pacing, faster this time. “Our brothers were fucking brutally murdered, and we don’t even know who did it.”
Two feelings hit me. First, there’s relief. I believe him when he says he doesn’t know. There’s no way they’d put this bit of theater on for my sake. If anyone suspected me, they’d just beat the shit out of me until I confirmed it. But second, a cold, sick, creeping feeling tickles the back of my neck.
This room reeks of paranoia.
Dad’s watching the windows like someone might attack at any second.
Dermot’s smashing at his computer as if he can hack his way into fixing the problem.
