The eldest of all, Keenan resembles my father, his dark brown hair showing signs of gray at the temples and beard. He isn’t as large as Cormac, but he still dwarfs the small desk. It’s his wife Caitlin with the new colicky baby.

“Hire a nurse, brother,” Cormac says.

Keenan shakes his head. “Caitlin won’t hear of it. Says it’s her job and the time will pass.” He smiles. “So I let it go.”

Though Keenan’s the stern, fearless leader of The Clan, he adores his wife Caitlin. He’ll let her have this one thing.

“And anyway, you know mam’s over the moon, helping with the grandbabies.”

“Of course. Granny’s in her glory.” Cormac grins.

Carson takes a glass from the sideboard and pours himself a drink as well. Christ, I miss the drink, the social part of having a bevy together.

“Shouldn’t you be celebrating your anniversary, Keenan?” They married the day my father died.

“Aye,” he says. “We’ll celebrate at the weekend, though.”

I look around the room, Boner and Carson in one corner, having a drink, Cormac beside them and Keenan at the desk. Sometimes, Keenan only calls the inner circle, and sometimes he calls the larger group in as well.

“Is this it tonight?” I ask Keenan, kicking back in an overstuffed chair and propping my feet up on the ottoman.

“Lachlan’s on his way in,” Keenan says.

The door opens, and Lachlan enters as if summoned.

“Speak of the devil,” Cormac says.

Lachlan grins. “What?”

He’s large and strapping, but barely over the threshold of boyhood. With his dark brown hair cut short, he looks a bit more mature than when we first met. Back then, he had the look of a damp, freshly-birthed puppy with paws too big for his body. He’s come into his own now, a real man of The Clan, though his bright hazel eyes are still full of mischief. I was the youngest member of the Clan until we recruited Lachlan from St. Albert’s, our finishing school. As he’s learned to curb his temper, he earned his way into our Clan with his sharp eye and quick wit.

“Alright, boys,” Keenan says. He shuts off his laptop, leans back in his chair, and props his fingers together. It’s a gesture so like my father’s. I wonder if the others remember this is the anniversary of my father’s death. “Got something to discuss.”

We joke and kid like the brothers we are, but when Keenan speaks, the room falls silent.

“Father Finn’s been to see me,” Keenan begins. “Had a few things to say this morning. Seems the parishioners of Holy Family have some concerns.”

Father Finn was my father’s younger brother, the local parish priest, and our most valued informant.

Cormac sits up straighter.

“Concerns?” Cormac asks. “About us?”

“Aye,” Keenan says. “At least, that’s what it appears to be.”

We keep our noses clean with the locals. We keep crime off their streets and amply fund their churches and charities. We’ve got half the police force in our pocket, and the other half doesn’t care what we do as long as we keep the peace and the money flowing. It’s unusual for any of the locals to question us.

Keenan frowns. “Seems there were some articles, and it seems there was a certain reporter who got their bees in a bonnet.”

All eyes come to me. I know exactly who they’re talking about.

“Why’s everyone looking at me?” I ask. “I’m not her keeper.”

“Maybe you should be,” Lachlan says, and by the way the others nod, it seems they share the sentiment.

Jesus.

Sheena goddamn Hurston.

“Honest to Christ, haven’t even seen her in a month or so.”

“Maybe that’s part of the problem,” Keenan says.

For fuck’s sake.

“How about you, Lachlan?” I say. There’s something about the lass that spells danger for me. She tastes like the pull of liquor. I went there once, and it dragged me under. My gut says if I go there with her, I’ll suffer the same demise. She’s a drug, that woman, beautiful and dangerous, and her mission in life is to bring us down.

“Me?” Lachlan scoffs. “She doesn’t look at me with doe-eyes, brother.”

“Oh come off it. Doe-eyes? What is this, feckin’ Disney?”

The men laugh, but they’re still looking at me. I swing my gaze to Keenan.

“Keenan, what do you want from me?”

“Answers,” Keenan says.

“Then I’m not the man for the job. She hates me. Doesn’t trust me at all.” And I don’t blame her, not with how I’ve treated her. I don’t regret it, but we hardly have a working relationship.

“Hate’s just the start of a relationship,” Cormac says with a smirk. “A very good start, and one you can work with.”

He ought to know. His first encounter with his wife left her ready to kill him. One year later, she adores the very ground he walks on.

“Not all stories end in a fairy tale happy ever after, brother.”

“Of course not,” Keenan says. “But Cormac’s right. Ask mam.”

Tags: Jane Henry Dangerous Doms Erotic
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