There was no missing the threat in Adam’s tone, but Noah’s gaze was solid when he said, “I’m not going anywhere.”
Adam reclined once more. “Good.”
They finished eating and Adam paid the check. On the road, Noah synced his phone to the Rover’s sound system, sharing his love of eighties music with Adam, pleased when he was familiar with the songs.
“My dad was big on eighties music. He was raised on it, so we were, too,” Adam said.
Noah smiled. “My foster mom, Leslie, loved all things eighties. Her clothes, her makeup. Her hair was blonde and teased into a wave on top of her head. It was the same as it was in her high school yearbook picture. She taught me all about pop music and hair bands. Michael Jackson and Tiffany. Poison. Bon Jovi. I loved being at her house. It was always a party. Cake for breakfast, surprise road trips to the beach, skipping school to stay home and watch movies on the couch.”
“Why didn’t you get to stay with her?” Adam asked.
Noah looked out the window. “She died. Drug overdose. She was addicted to pills. Oxy, morphine, fentanyl. She had bipolar disorder but nobody knew until later. They said she was self medicating. I was too young to really notice how all over the place she was, barely twelve. I just thought she was fun, you know?”
Adam took Noah’s hand and squeezed. Adam really had made Noah’s life so much harder when he killed his father. Maybe Thomas should start paying closer attention to the collateral damage they left behind. It wasn’t the kids’ fault their parents were monsters.
When they pulled into the driveway of Adam’s house, Noah’s eyes bulged at the palatial estate with its enormous garage and sprawling gardens. “This is one person’s house?”
Adam chuckled. “It is now. For a while, it housed me and my brothers, three very specialized nannies, four housekeepers, a chef, a martial arts instructor, the occasional weapons expert, and, once, even a professional knife thrower.”
“Your dad ran a boarding school for assassins,” Noah mused.
Adam had never thought about it. He’d definitely had a bizarre upbringing, but, like Noah said, it wasn’t something he noticed until it became obvious. “Something like that, yeah.”
Adam took Noah’s hand before he pushed open the front door. They only made it about ten steps in the door when Noah’s footsteps slowed, his head on a swivel, as he seemed to take in the vaulted ceilings and ornate furnishings.
Adam dragged him along.
“It seems weird that you can just walk into a place this big without having to knock or talk to a person at a check-in desk. What does your electric bill look like? How do you even find your way around this place? Is there a map like at the mall or like the one in the Harry Potter books? Doesn’t it freak you out? Like, somebody could be living in this place for weeks and you probably wouldn’t even know it. Like, that doesn’t freak you out? This place looks haunted. Do you think it’s haunted? Have you ever seen a ghost?”
Adam grinned at Noah’s rambling, not bothering to answer the questions as he didn’t seem to need Adam’s contribution to the conversation.
“You have two swimming pools? Who needs two pools in one house? Your dad lives alone. Does he just get up in the morning and look at one pool and be like, ‘Nah, not this one,’ and go to the other? Two kitchens, too? And a kitchen outside? What does somebody do with an oven outside? Decide to bake a turkey poolside? Is that a golf course?”
Adam laughed. “There’s a bowling alley, too. And a shooting range.”
“Shut up,” Noah marveled.
“You’re welcome to use any part of the house any time you want. It’s my house, too.”
Noah shook his head. “No, thank you. This place is too big. It gives me anxiety, like I’d get lost and be doomed to wander the halls forever trying to find the exit.”
Adam wrapped his arms around him from behind as they looked out over the bigger of the two swimming pools. “How did I never notice how weird you are?”
Noah craned his head back to look up at him. “Your dad has a shooting range…in his house…and I’m the weird one? Maybe you’re just a spoiled brat.”
“Oh, I definitely am. It’s my job. Adam Mulvaney, spoiled youngest son of Thomas Mulvaney. Former model turned unrepentant playboy. Bedding actors and rich boys, wrecking cars, and spending money on dumb shit.”
“Sounds like a really hard life,” Noah mused.
Before he could respond, a voice rang out. “Adam.”
He spun around at his father’s voice, bringing Noah with him. His father wore a pair of tailored pants and a white oxford shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms. Even at close to fifty, Adam’s father was striking, with silver black hair, gray eyes, and tan skin. He stopped short as his gaze fell to Noah.
“Dad. This is Noah.”
Thomas flicked his gaze to Noah, then back to Adam. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing somebody with you.”
“I told Atticus. And it’s not just somebody. It’s Noah. I told you about him.”
His father shot another irritated look at Noah then turned on his heel. “Let’s go. You’ve wasted enough time. You were supposed to be here an hour ago.”
Adam stood, blinking, shocked at his father’s rudeness. What the hell was his problem? His gaze cut to Noah, who seemed sad at his father’s casual dismissal but looked almost like he’d expected it. Still, he squeezed Adam’s hands that were still wrapped around his waist.
“We should probably get in there. Unless you think I should wait out here?”
“No. You have every right to be here. I don’t know what my father’s problem is, but it’s his problem, not ours.”
The meetings always took place in the locked room downstairs, accessible only with the keypad at the door. His brothers were already gathered. Asa and Avi perched on the large table, and Archer, August, and Atticus sat in the chairs. There were several pictures tacked up on the board, faces only.