The memory of my fingers deep inside of her haunted me. It had been a few days, and I couldn’t even bury myself in another warm hole because every time I went to Badlands to look for one, all the other women in the vicinity came up short in comparison.

At least none of them had stirred anything below the belt.

“Oh, Sam …” Gerald rubbed his face tiredly, flipping through his books.

“That’s the point where I’m supposed to ask how you’re doing, right, Gerry?” I sat across from him, lighting a cigarette.

“It is.” His chin quivered. “And the answer is terrible. I am beside myself. I moved out of my marital bedroom.”

“Ah, the old doghouse,” I said dryly, unable to scrap an ounce of pity for the man.

“The doghouse is better than sharing a bed with a bitch. I don’t want to be anywhere near her. She goddamn nearly killed me, Sam. And the worst part is she is still denying it. Trying to poison me. Damn woman.”

The fact that everyone suspected Jane Fitzpatrick was the person who poisoned Gerald was a new development to me but one I welcomed nonetheless. I wanted to toy with the man, to mess with his psyche.

“Have you made the list yet?” I probed. “The faster we get to the bottom of this, the quicker we can move on from this.”

I was referring to the list of mistresses he’d kept over the years. I’d insisted on him confessing to every single one. For research purposes, of course. “Jealousy and desperation for money are key aspects in trying to mess with someone,” I explained.

“I did.” Gerald puffed his cheeks. “Three nights it took me. Doing this made me realize something, you know, son? It made me see that I’ve been spending most of my time with women but none of it with the woman I was married to. Such a sad state of affairs. Ironically, I won’t be giving Jane more attention now, after what she put me through.”

“Hand me the list.” I ignored his little speech. I wasn’t in the mood for his fucking TED talk. If he needed to sit down and write the names of all the women he’d slept with while married to figure out his marriage was a sham, he had the IQ of the room temperature.

Reluctantly, Gerald opened the drawer in his desk, throwing me cautious looks. He clutched the papers—all fucking three of them—to his chest like a maiden protecting her virtue.

“There’ll be some names you might recognize on the list. I trust everything in this room is confidential.”

“Sure,” I spat out. I was a professional, yes, but this man fucked my mother. Then killed my brother inside her. Then convinced her to leave me.

I was professional but not a dumbass.

He dragged the list across the desk, and I snatched it, my eyes roaming, looking for the name I was waiting to see.

I recognized some of the women. A news anchor, a congresswoman, the former Secretary of State’s wife, and the daughter of a baseball legend.

But I did not see Catalina Greystone’s name.

I skimmed again. And again. And a-motherfucking-gain.

Still. Nothing.

I looked up from the pages, scanning him silently while my blood hummed. Anger was a potent spice. Too much of it dulled your senses. But I couldn’t help but feel irrationally cross. Why didn’t he put her name in there? Ah, but I already knew. He must be privy to the fact she died not too long ago and figured she couldn’t be behind the sex scandal leak and the poisoning since it was a little difficult to haunt a man when you were six feet under.

Truth was, Catalina posed no threat to him now, and I had no reason to call him out on it without outing myself as knowing about him. If I wanted a confession out of him, I needed to up my game.

I folded the pages and stood up, smiling.

“I’ll have a look.”

“Let me know if something pops up.” He rubbed his forehead, looking like a less-alive version of a roadkill. “I just want this nightmare to be over. I put extra cameras around the house to make sure I am protected. I want to believe it is not Jane, but with our history …” He shook his head, heaving a sigh.

Making my way out of his office, I wondered why the fuck I was so invested in making Gerald’s life a living hell. I didn’t care one iota about Cat. Sure, Gerald wronged me on a fundamental level, maybe even killed my half-brother, but did he really do something to throw my life off course in a negative way? If anything, I should thank my lucky stars Cat had left me with the Brennans when she did. Hell knew where I’d be if she stuck around to “parent” me.

For the first time, as I sauntered across the shiny marble floors of Avebury Court Manor on my way out, I wondered if maybe there was another reason why I enjoyed hating Gerald so much. Perhaps the excuse to hate the Fitzpatricks and everything they stood for was just too much temptation. Or maybe I always wanted to fuck Cillian and Hunter over—these two boy-men, who had everything handed to them on a silver platter from the moment they were pushed into this world.

I stopped by the door, shook my head, turned around, and made my way back into the house. I ascended the stairs to Gerald and Jane’s room. Jane was in her bed, sleeping soundly in the middle of the day. And by asleep I mean knocked the fuck out.

I strolled into his walk-in closet, took a safety pin from my pocket, unlocked his jewelry box, and went straight for the jackpot. The thing I knew Gerald valued the most.

The Fitzpatrick cufflinks he’d inherited from his dad. Seventh-generation Fitzpatricks, made of gold and engraved back in Ireland, where the family had nothing to their name other than these cufflinks.

His precious heirlooms. The cufflinks he’d refused to donate to a local museum in Boston, he loved them so much. I pocketed them, smiling.

“I put extra cameras around the house to make sure I am protected.”

Now he was sure to think the traitor was within.

On my way out, I spotted Aisling parking her modest blue Prius by the fountain. Snowflakes gathered over her head like a crown.

I could easily avoid her by getting into my Porsche and driving off, but where would be the fun in that?

She got out of her car wearing scrubs, flipping me the bird in one fluid movement, somehow still managing to look graceful as she stomped her way to her house.

“Nice scrubs. Shame you only put them on so your family buys your hospital story.” I chuckled. She froze for a nanosecond before resuming her walk to the front door.

I might not know every detail of her secret, but I knew enough to be able to make her life very miserable indeed.

Unsurprisingly, I made it a point to not want things that didn’t want me. It was a given, considering my life experience and history. And Aisling may have wanted me, but her family was going to keep us apart at any cost. Not that it was going to help them if I, indeed, wanted Aisling. But as it happened, I rejected things and people who thought they were too good for me.

“Have a nice evening, Miss Fitzpatrick.” I tipped an imaginary hat her way.

“Burn in Hell, Brennan.”

“If there’s a God, that’s definitely His plan for me.” I ducked my head, entering my car.

“Oh, there is a God, and trust me, when He gets His hands on you, I’ll be waiting with popcorn.”

“Uncle Tham! Can I ride you?”

Rooney, Sailor and Hunter’s daughter, not even three, flung the door to Troy and Sparrow’s house open, throwing herself at me like a missile. She wrapped her pudgy arms around my leg then proceeded to crawl her way up to my torso like a mini soldier, until I scooped her, tucking her under one arm and holding her like she was a helmet. I waltzed inside the house where I’d spent my teenage years, kissing Sailor on the cheek then Sparrow.