Page 37 of The Brat: Prequel

She smiles at him, fake and bright and big. “Now, I think you should toddle off, my man. No idea who you are, no desire to know either. You don’t want that to change. The moment you become of interest to me is a moment to regret.”

His expression morphs into a smarmy mask worthy of a politician. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding here. But no worries. It was time for me to be leaving anyway.”

He does this half-bow thing that’s kinda weird for a guy his age, but when he yanks on Ciaran’s arm and hauls him toward the exit, I release a relieved sigh.

“What was that about?”

“I—” I pause. “I’m not sure. He mentioned Maxim.”

Her eyes round. “To you?”

“Yes.”

“What else did he say?”

“He said something about a group called the Veronians? Or—” Her sudden stillness draws my attention. “You know them? Who are they?”

“Not here,” she rumbles.

Because she’s using that voice, the one Katina, her daughter, calls her ‘spy’ voice, I whisper, “Then where?”

That earns me an eye-roll. “The car later, duh. Now, go and make Conor work. He’s been languishing in the bushes for too long, and I want to get home some time this century.”

She actually pushes me toward him, and this time, thankfully, no one gets in my way.

Conor, glancing away from his cell, peers around the miniature Japanese maple he’s been using as a shield. “What did Star want?”

Considering it’s likely he was on his phone this whole time, that he knew Star’s location comes as no surprise to me. Shay and I think he has Star-radar. Probably a wise evolutionary development if he wants to survive their relationship intact.

“For you to get busy so we can go home.”

His face falls. “Why did I choose to be the governor of this team again?”

I shrug. “To clean up the family sins through America’s favorite pastime—sports?”

“Ah, Victoria. A cynic after my own heart.” He studies me. “I saw you with the Kirklands. Are you okay? I’m surprised you survived that toxic death breath.”

“I nearly vomited,” I agree, shuddering at the memory of that weird-ass conversation. “Have you heard of the Veronians, Uncle Conor?”

“Where did you hear that name?”

“Kirkland.” I clear my throat. “Sr.”

“Interesting.”

“Why?”

“Rumor says they make their approaches early. I was half-expecting them to reach out to Shay.” He frowns. “I wonder why you.”

“Why me, what? Are you purposely talking in riddles?”

He hums. “Curious.”

“What is?”

“Nothing. We’ll talk about it later. Come on, let’s meet and greet so we can go home. You must be dead on your feet. You were here early to help set up the room, weren’t you?”

“Yes, and miserable it was too. Why did I want to intern with you again, Uncle Conor?”