I wake early the next morning and watch Lucy sleep beside me, her golden hair spread across the pillow. Guilt feels like an anvil on my chest. The lie about who I am grows heavier each day.
She deserves to know who I really am. Not Flynn Tine, the undercover cop she believes me to be, but Flint Ifrinn, son of the family the Keans destroyed. The very family she’s investigating without realizing I’m at the center of it all.
My fingers trace the curve of her shoulder, and she stirs slightly but doesn’t wake. Every time she mentions my family’s name in her research, it’s like a knife in the gut. The way she talks about the Ifrinns, lumping us in with the Keans as just another crime family, makes me want to shake her, to tell her we were nothing like them. We had honor. We protected people.
Okay, so maybe we weren’t so squeaky clean. But we didn’t assault women. We didn’t kill for the thrill of it. Perhaps from her point of view, it doesn’t matter. But to me, there’s a big difference.
That’s the problem. She won’t see the difference between me and the Keans. And even if she did, she might not get past the lies. Lucy values truth above all else. It’s what drives her journalism, this relentless pursuit of facts. When she discovers I’ve been lying since the moment we met, will she ever trust me again? Will she see that everything else, my protection, my feelings for her, have been real? So real that it’s shifted my priorities. Not that I don’t want my revenge on the Keans because I do. But now my world doesn’t have just one, singular focus. For the first time, I can see what my life might look like once the Keans are dead and gone. The sooner that happens, the better. The sooner I can build on what I’ve started with Lucy.
I can almost taste it now, the moment when Hampton Kean realizes who’s destroying his empire. When his precious son Ronan watches everything crumble. When Marshall pays for covering up my parents’ murder.
The betrayer who let the Keans into our home that night is still out there, but when I find out who they are, death will be too kind.
My brothers and I swore an oath on our parents’ memory. The Keans thought they killed the Ifrinn family that night, but they just created something far more dangerous. Four sons with nothing left to lose. Now we have resources, and most importantly, they don’t see us coming.
As much as I’d like to lie in bed and use up the remaining few condoms I have left with Lucy, I have work to do. Work that will complete my mission but also open the way for me to be fully present with Lucy. If she’ll have me.
I slip from bed.
“What time is it?” she asks sleepily.
“Early. Stay in bed.” I lean over and kiss her temple. “I’ll call you later.”
She has a sweet smile as I leave her. I grab the list of the deceased from the fire that she compiled on my way out.
I stop at my apartment to shower and change and then head to Phoenix’s place. Blaise and Ash are already there.
“I’m just curious what the fuck you all are doing while I’m skulking around the Keans?” I ask, going straight to the coffee machine to brew a cup of joe.
Phoenix arches a brow. “You don’t think we’re doing our part?”
“Lucy has a list of all who died in the fire and was hoping that I, as the cop investigating the case, would know who is missing on it. Who would have been at the house but escaped.”
“So?” Blaise asks in a bored voice from where he lounges on the couch.
“So why don’t we know that? I mean besides us, at least one other person escaped. The person who let the Keans in the house and now works for them. Why don’t we know that?” I take a sip of coffee, not really needing the jolt of caffeine to wake me. I’m already keyed up, ready to finish this mission so I can move on.
“You’re the one skulking around the Keans. Why don’t you know it?” Blaise retorts.
I look at Phoenix, wishing he’d whap Blaise.
“What is the point of that?” Ash asks from the table where he’s drinking coffee and dealing with some sort of paperwork.
I stare at him wondering if he’s lost his mind. “Aren’t we still out for revenge?”
“Against the Keans, yes. Knowing who survived the fire doesn’t help—”
“The one who helped them deserves our wrath too,” I say. “So what are you doing about it?”
“We’re doing our part.” Blaise’s disinterested tone is now gone, replaced with annoyance. “You’re just pissed because doing your job is taking away from your hot journalist.”
“Let’s not devolve into children.” Phoenix rolls his eyes at Blaise. Then he turns to me. “We each have our roles, Flint. You know that. But we need to focus on the Keans, not dig up our past.’
‘Someone in the house betrayed us. Someone we all trusted.’
‘We know who betrayed us,’ Phoenix cuts in. ‘Hampton Kean—”
‘No.’ I lean forward, getting in his face. ‘Kean was the enemy. I’m talking about a traitor. Someone who knew our security protocols, the guard rotations, the layout of the house. The Keans couldn’t have gotten in without inside help.’
‘You’re obsessing,’ Blaise says. ‘A traitor, an informant, what’s the difference? They’re all marked for death.’
‘The difference is someone from our family is working with Kean. Think about it. Who’s not accounted for that night? They not only deserve our attention, but they could be a way in.”
Ash looks up at us. ‘He has a point, Phoenix.’
I grab the list Lucy compiled. ‘Look at these names. There must be half a dozen names missing or presumed dead. But what if they’re not? What if they’re helping the Keans maintain power right now?’
Phoenix’s expression darkens. ‘Then we find them. If anyone survived and sided with the Keans, I want to know.’
“I’ve been tracking everyone,’ Ash says, his tone measured as always, ‘and I don’t recognize any as being ours, but then again, I wasn’t looking for a traitor. I can cross-reference old crew lists with current Kean associates.’
Phoenix nods. “Do it.”
“Also, there’s Detective Marshall,” I say.
“We know he’s in Hampton’s pocket.” Blaise is back to sounding bored.
“Right, but is it because he switched when he saw the writing on the wall, or did he betray us too? Lucy has an article where he’s in front of what’s left of the house while the smoke is still rising, calling the fire a tragic accident.”
“The fire alone could make him change loyalties,” Phoenix says. “He’s no dummy. With Dad gone, he’d know Kean would kill him if he didn’t toe the line.”
“Or he could have been part of the plan all along,” I offer. “Just like whoever worked for us and betrayed us.”
“Either way, they’re all dead,” Blaise quips.
I take a moment to gather my thoughts so I can express them coherently. I don’t feel like they’re getting the full gist of what I’m trying to say. “Our focus has been on the Keans—”
“They’re the one who killed our parents,” Ash says.
“Right, but think about what took place. Kean’s men got onto the property and into the house completely undetected. The fire is ruled an accident before it’s even out. Once the Ifrinns are gone, it’s weeks, days even, before Kean is the head of the heap. Everyone loyal to Dad is dead too or under Kean’s thumb.”
“What are you saying?” Phoenix asks.
“I’m saying that Kean orchestrated all this. It’s not just a matter of him carrying out a hit on Dad and people fell in line. He planned this with help from someone inside our family, Marshall, and associates willing to turn on Dad. It’s the only thing that explains how seamlessly he destroyed us and took over.”
My brothers’ eyes are on me, and I can see that they understand just how much deeper Kean’s deception and betrayal run. It wasn’t a whim or a fit of anger that had Hampton killing our family. It was a well-planned, well-executed war.
“It doesn’t change our plan,” Ash says.
“No, but it does mean we need to be careful not to underestimate Hampton and his power and influence,” Phoenix says. “We need to be as methodical as him.”
“What do we do differently?” Blaise asks.
Phoenix puts his hand on my shoulder. “Well, let’s figure that out.”
I see it as a benefit that we’re considering Hampton’s methodical takeover of the Ifrinns’ business, but when we’re done going over everything, not much has changed. We’re still unsure how to get inside the Kean family to exact our revenge. As a result, I’m back to skulking about at O’Malley’s Pub. Against my better judgment, I ask Lucy to come with me. I can’t decide if it’s just because I want to see her or because I think she might be able to get answers.
Of course, she was eager to come because she lives for her job.
As we enter, I’m keyed up, second-guessing whether this is a good idea. If O’Brian or Connor are here, we’ll get served trouble, not answers.
As we walk in, I scan the place and don’t see anyone who immediately concerns me. I glance at Lucy, her eyes bright with that familiar determined glint that both thrills and terrifies me. She’s wearing dark jeans and a simple top, trying to blend in like I asked, but there’s no dampening her natural radiance. The men who are there take notice.
‘Remember what we talked about,’ I murmur, tugging her close so everyone knows she’s mine. ‘No direct questions about the Keans. Just listen and observe.’
‘I know how to be subtle.’
Lucy is far from subtle. ‘Hey.” I stop us both to look at her. ‘I mean it, Lucy. These people are more dangerous than you realize. One wrong word and—”
‘And what? They’ll rough me up?’ She tries to laugh it off. ‘I can handle myself.’
‘No.’ My voice comes out harder than intended. I force myself to soften it, but I need her to understand. ‘They won’t just rough you up. They’ll make you disappear. And I…’ The words catch in my throat. I can’t lose another person I care about to these monsters. ‘I can’t let that happen.’
Something in my expression must convey the gravity of the situation because her smile fades. She studies my face for a long moment before nodding.
“Okay. I’ll be careful. Really careful.’ She touches my cheek gently. ‘The same goes for you.’
I catch her hand, kissing her palm before letting it go, wondering if she’s truly worried about me, if she’s feeling for me even a fraction of what I feel for her.
We sit at the bar and order drinks. I recognize a few of Kean’s men, most low-level grunts. I’m almost relieved.
The door opens, and I give a sideways glance to check who’s entering. If it’s O’Brian or Connor, we’re fucked. Instead, my breath catches as I watch Detective Marshall—or I guess he’s Superintendent Marshall now—stride in.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” Sure, he’s dirty, but he’s smart enough to avoid the places and people that would reveal his corrupt nature.
“Who?”
I put my hand over Lucy’s. “Don’t look. It’s Marshall.”
Her eyes widen. “The superintendent of police?”
I nod as I continue to surreptitiously watch the man who helped cover up my family’s murder. My fingers clench around my glass so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter. Next to me, Lucy is saying something, but I can barely hear her over the roaring in my ears. All I can think about is Marshall pocketing Kean’s payoff money after closing down any questions about the fire.
I wonder just how deep the betrayal went. If Kean had someone on the inside, and Marshall, did he also have firefighters? Politicians? The precision of the attack, the way they knew exactly when to strike, how quickly they absorbed our territory afterward, it had to have taken months of planning a network of traitors to execute.
I watch Marshall laugh with a few men at a table he’s stopped to talk to, probably fellow corrupt cops, and my stomach churns. How many others helped destroy my family? How deep did Kean’s influence run even back then?
The truly sickening part is knowing some of those traitors had to be people my parents trusted. People who sat at our table, whom my father considered friends.
He makes his way to a table and sits. A waitress arrives with a drink he didn’t order. I get the sense that Marshall doesn’t come here a lot or I’d have seen him already. But the staff here know him, and they know who he works for. Is he here for a meet? Maybe Hampton or Ronen. If that’s the case, I’ll have to get Lucy out of here. The last thing I want is for her to be on their radar.
For now, Marshall is alone. I want to go talk to him, but he could recognize me. Sure, it’s been ten years, but still. My only option is Lucy. Fucking hell.
I catch Lucy’s attention and subtly nod toward Marshall. ‘Maybe you should say hi… not as a reporter. Buy him a drink, act interested in his war stories. But Lucy…’ I grip her arm, probably too tight. ‘Don’t push too hard about specific cases or names.’
I hate how much she perks up. ‘Just friendly conversation with a chatty cop. Got it.’
I watch her walk away, everything in me screaming to pull her back. Marshall isn’t just any corrupt cop. If he suspects she’s digging into the Keans…
Lucy slides onto the barstool next to him with practiced ease, ordering drinks for them both. Her body language is perfect, casual, open, just another young woman impressed by a distinguished older gentleman. He’s eating it up. Of course he would. No man is immune to Lucy’s beauty and energy. When his steely eyes stare at her tits, I want to beat his face in.
But Lucy handles him masterfully, laughing at his jokes, leaning in with apparent fascination as he launches into some story.
I down my whiskey, trying to quiet the violent scenarios playing through my mind. I have to trust her skill, have to let her work.
A burly man claps me on the shoulder, pulling my attention away from Lucy and Marshall.
‘That right hook you threw last weekend? Fucking brilliant, mate.’
I look up to see Patrick, the crooked-nosed patron who’s eager to recruit me into Kean’s crew.
I grunt noncommittally, trying to keep Lucy in my peripheral vision while appearing engaged. Patrick launches into a blow-by-blow replay of my fight, drawing two other patrons into the conversation.
‘You should’ve seen him take down The Beast.’ Patrick looks at me like I’m a fucking God. ‘Dropped him like a sack of potatoes.’
A few more men crowd around, offering to buy me drinks, asking about my training routine. I do my best to be affable, just one of the guys, but I can’t lose sight of my mission here.
I crane my neck to look down the bar for Lucy. The stool where she sat with Marshall is empty. My heart stops. I scan the bar, frantically looking for her. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I keep my voice light. “I seem to have lost my date, gentlemen.” I slide off my barstool. “Excuse me.” I push past my new friends and head back to the bathrooms. There’s no sign of her there, nor at any of the tables.
When I get back to the bar, I reach for the bartender’s arm as he grabs a tip. “The blonde I was with. Where’d she go?”
He shrugs, already turning to another customer. ‘Left about five minutes ago with someone else. I guess she traded up.”
Ice floods my veins. Lucy wouldn’t leave without telling me. Not after everything I warned her about. Would she?
Panic rips through me. Has she just walked into another ambush?
