“No more write-ups?” I ask. Lachlan has a history of a hair-trigger temper the boy would do well to quell.
Malachy grimaces. “Four instead of eight.”
I frown. “Still too high,” I say. “I want to see him personally at the weekend.”
Malachy nods. “It’s fair,” he says. “I’ll not tell them you’re coming. You’ll see them at their most candid.”
I nod. I’ll arrange it so Caitlin can accompany me on this trip. I wonder how the boys will react to her.
He gives me the update on the rest of the boys, the staff changes, and the dedicated curriculum they’ve instilled with focus on martial arts. The faculty’s made up of Clan affiliates, as well as the wives, sisters, and cousins of our members.
“You’ve got marks for me to look at?” Malachy nods. The marks include both academics and additional skills the boys are taught. They’re kept in peak physical shape and trained like the soldiers they’re meant to be.
“What shall we do about teacher retention?” I ask.
“I’d recommend a solid bonus and raise,” Malachy says.
“Note that,” I tell Carson, who nods and makes note. We discuss a few more items on the agenda, when my phone rings. It’s my father.
“Got to answer this,” I say. “It’s dad.”
I answer.
“Keenan.”
“Yes, sir. What is it?”
“What did she tell you?” I clench my jaw. I told him I’d question her and answer him this evening, but he’s obsessed. He wants answers now.
“My gut says she’s an innocent in this. She found the records in the shed on her property, and insists she knows nothing about her father’s affiliation with any of this.”
“She’s lying.”
Heat flares across my chest at his accusation. I made the very same accusation to her myself today, but I can’t abide it coming from anyone else but me.
“I’m not sure she is,” I tell him.
“What sort of tactics did you use?”
My body tightens. We had a battle of wills this afternoon, and I’m holding my ground. “Do you trust me to do this right?” I ask him.
He pauses and doesn’t answer at first.
“Do you?” I insist, my voice growing steely. My father’s never been one to micromanage any one of us, and I can’t have him starting now.
“Of course I do.”
“Then please, let’s keep this as we had it this morning. I’ll interrogate the way I see fit and update you this evening.”
I swear I can hear him grind his jaw on the other side of the phone. “Fair enough,” he says. “You’re usually bang on, so I trust you here. Do what you have to. I want to know tonight. Something’s afoul, Keenan.”
“Don’t need to tell me that,” I say grimly, with an air of resignation. “I agree. Trust me, and I’ll find out what I need to.”
“Right.”
He hangs up the phone, and I look up to see Carson and Malachy looking at me curiously.
“What?”
“The girl’s got you addled,” Malachy says, shaking his head.
“She most certainly does not, ya wanker,” I say, my temperature rising.
“Most certainly does,” Carson says, his brows raised in surprise. “You haven’t even questioned her yet?”
“I have,” I protest, but I know what they mean. Have I tortured her, demanding answers? No. But they don’t know what I do, that she’s never been in the company of men. Her innocence paints her expression. I’m not sure she’d know how to lie if she tried.
Christ. I have to answer to my men tonight, and they’ll expect answers.
She’s had enough time alone and with mam. I’m going home.
“I’m going back to my place,” I say, rising. “If there’s anything else you need from me, you know where to find me.”
On the way out, Catrina stops me. “You’ll have a full report this week, sir,” she says. “I’ve been promised.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
I’m going back to Caitlin.Chapter EightCaitlinI sit on the bed, my wrists still bound, trying to observe anything and everything I can until it bores me. I manage to wriggle off the bed and walk about the room, noting as many details as I can.
There’s a small bookshelf filled with books, though they look like they’ve never been opened. If I didn’t have my wrists bound, I’d peruse them. I hope I get a chance before they send me home.
There’s a massive bathroom, with a large, round, circular tub in it, an intricate vanity and mirror, and an enormous shower. Our tiny bathroom consisted of a stall shower and tiny toilet, the mirror old and streaked, so I could hardly see myself.
But this one… this one takes my breath away. I stand in front of it, staring at my reflection. I’m tall and thin, and it shocks to see the tattered, threadbare clothing that clings to me in the bright overhead light. Clearly too small, clearly outdated, and practically disintegrating.
And for the first time in my life, I’m ashamed of how I look. Keenan looked so fine when he was preparing to leave, so put-together, wearing a suit and tie and shoes that shone, reflecting the overhead lighting. And I look like a street urchin. Like an overgrown child.