Overture (North Security, #1)

Liam looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Is it the Red Team?” I ask. Those kinds of things are top secret, but you hear bits and pieces when you spend hours outside the office every day.

“Maybe,” Josh says. “But I think more than that, it’s the wedding.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“So much happiness and love in the air,” Josh says in agreement.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that the brothers had a rough childhood. Even this violinist knows that much. Only the details are hazy. “So he doesn’t believe in happily ever after?”

“He believes in it for some people. Just not for himself.”

The man in question looks this way, as if he can feel my regard. His green eyes burn as he stares at me from across the room. “That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You want my advice?” Josh asks.

“Not really.”

“You got a hard-on for your legal guardian? Go for it. You want to work out some good old-fashioned daddy issues with Liam North, be my guest. I’m not the goddamn morality police, and Lord knows he could use the relief. But don’t expect anything more from him.”

My cheeks flame. Is my lust for his brother that obvious? Even more than embarrassment I’m furious that he would presume to warn me away. “Maybe you’re not giving me enough credit. Someone might be interested in me for more than just sex.”

He looks vaguely surprised. “Of course he wants you for more than sex. That’s not the issue.”

Liam must see something on my face, because he starts heading this way. People stop him as he goes, catching his arm. He turns to give them a few words before continuing toward us. “I know I’m not experienced enough for him—”

“He doesn’t think he has it in him to love someone.”

My heart aches for what could have made him that way. “He’s wrong, of course.”

“No, sweetheart. That’s the problem. He’s right.”

Liam reaches us in a few long strides, his expression hard. The tan of his skin contrasts sharply with his white shirt. He’s removed his tux jacket, which only serves to emphasize the hard, lean line of his body. Silver cuff links glint from his wrists. He’s as well-formed as any piece of art, a feast of shape and texture for the eyes—but undoubtedly his eyes are the crown jewels. A deep green like malachite, with darker striations running through them.

Josh stands. “How are you, dear brother?”

The question is asked in a mocking tone, but Liam rarely rises to the bait. Instead he studies me, his green eyes questioning. “Are you all right?”

I press my hands to my cheeks, feeling the warmth raging. You want to work out some good old-fashioned daddy issues with Liam North, be my guest. It’s hard to find my composure with those words still ringing. “I’m fine,” I say on a squeak.

A low laugh from Josh as he wanders away.

“Do I need to kick his ass?” Liam asks, looking grim. It’s not an idle threat. In the ways of male siblings, they have been known to throw a punch in an argument. And I have the sense that their past was more violent than most, which may make it worse.

“Absolutely not,” I say, keeping my voice light. “He’s too hard-headed to learn this lesson anyway.”

You got a hard-on for your legal guardian? Go for it.

Somehow I don’t think the rest of society would view it in such a light. Things between Liam and me would always be taboo. Always forbidden. It makes me wonder if that makes it sweeter. Then I see the concern in Liam’s expression, the wry humor in his eyes, the depth of feeling, and I know I would have wanted him no matter what.


LIAM

There’s something strange about the way Samantha looks at me. Almost… nervous. Is she afraid of me? Jesus. “Well,” I say. “You’re probably right. But I’d feel better.”

She gives me a droll look that says I’m all talk—which is mostly true. I don’t go around beating up people because they say shit to me.

Then again, if they say shit to Samantha, that’s a different story.

And her forced casual expression can’t quite hide the way her cheeks are pink, her eyes wide as she looks up at me. Definitely nervous about something.

I find Josh outside the tent with one of the bridesmaids, about two seconds away from bringing her to orgasm with the crowd of revelers inside. I clear my throat, which makes him growl his annoyance. “Go away.”

He rocks her against his thigh until she comes, biting his shoulder through his tux jacket. Then he whispers something in her ear that makes her giggle, and sends her away on unsteady legs with a pat to her ass.

“God, you’re such a bastard,” he says without heat.

“You have a bedroom.”

“And taking her there would mean giving up on the buffet early.”

Naturally he doesn’t mean the food buffet. “What did you tell Samantha? She was acting strange after you talked to her.”

He rolls his eyes, which is something most men at North Security wouldn’t do. That’s the thing about working with your brothers. “I told her about the baby bird.”

Fury stiffens every muscle inside me. “You did not.”

“Oh yes, big brother. Remember that little bird? It had such soft feathers. You wouldn’t think feathers could be fluffy, but they were. It had fallen out of its nest.”

I have to fight to keep from throwing up on the grass. Wouldn’t that be the perfect way to end the day? It’s been pure torture watching the happy couple, listening to Samantha play songs about forever and always. And now this.

“Don’t,” I say, my voice harsh enough that even my brother should know better.

He grins the same way he did as a kid—full of bravado. He would rather get the shit kicked out of him than admit defeat, and in our house, our father was happy to oblige. “You kept her in your closet, feeding her little bits of bread and peanut butter.”

“You did not tell this to Samantha.”

“So what if I did?” he says, laughing. “She was so sad when I told her about the peanut butter.”

I grasp him by the lapels and slam him against a tree beside the tent. “You had no fucking right to do that. You fucking bastard.”

He leans his head back, still laughing. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. I didn’t tell her about the baby bird, or about how Father found out. Or how he locked you in the closet with the bird for days, until you’d practically died of starvation and the bird had died in your hands.”

I shove Josh against the tree and push away, breathing hard. “You’re a sick fuck.”

“Yeah,” he says a little sadly. “I come by it honest.”

He’s still fucked up over what our father did, and I wish I could help him, I really do. All I can do is give him operational command of North Security. All I can give Elijah is the chance to shoot at assholes when they shoot first. That’s what our family has come to.

“There’s no point talking about the past,” I say. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“Doesn’t it?” Josh says, following the path the bridesmaid took toward the entrance to the tent. “Sometimes I think you still haven’t let go of that baby bird.”


SAMANTHA

I’m the first one who leaves, slipping into the house with my violin case like a shadow. The faint clatter of dishes comes from the kitchen—the caterers hard at work feeding men who are never really full. I put my violin away with the same care a mother must show her infant child. It might seem extreme to some people, but the violin can’t protect itself. It can’t wipe away the rosin or polish its wood, so I do it.

In the cool, conditioned air I realize that I’ve been sweating. The linen of my pale pink dress clings to my skin. Upstairs I take a shower, washing away the scent of the outside, turning my face to the hot spray until I run out of breath.