But really, what had I expected? That he’d tell me he loved me after knowing me for only five days?
I covered my face with my hands and relived the day my mother died, the day my kidney failed her, the day I was declared unable to ever give life, the day my father declared me useless.
Somehow, amidst my sorrow, I fell asleep.
Clementine was the only joy I had in my life now. I wouldn’t lose her.
Sometime later during the night I heard my phone ring.
I didn’t answer.
He left a message that if I needed anything, I should contact Declan at Mulligan’s Cup or Frank at Molly’s.
Obviously, that was his way of telling me to leave him alone.
Wish granted.
DAY 7
LOGAN
I knotted my tie and looked in the mirror.
In my black Dolce & Gabbana suit, the Martini stretch wool—one that my grandfather insisted I buy five of—a crisp white shirt, and a red tie, I was the epitome of high-society class.
Just the way my grandfather liked.
Although he preferred everyone who worked for him to wear gray, it was never my nature to truly conform, and if I did that today he’d know something was up.
I had, however, gotten a haircut and given myself a close shave.
He liked the clean-cut look.
A test smile showed that I’d brushed my teeth properly. They were white and gleaming.
I looked good enough.
Good enough to charm Grandpa Ryan, I hoped.
All he would see tonight was Logan Killian Ryan McPherson—the golden boy he had high hopes for. The man he hoped to groom to take over his empire.
That was never going to happen.
Under the appearance I wore so well, I wasn’t the man he wanted me to be. I’d never be that man. I had too much of Killian, the Killer, McPherson in my blood. And I’d never felt more like him than today. I had fire in my belly and steel in my spine.
I was determined.
Tomorrow was Friday, and I had yet to figure out why Michael wasn’t shitting his pants by now. A call placed to him from my father earlier today only confirmed that he was planning on delivering.
What—he didn’t say.
And we had no idea.
The information we’d gathered on Tommy had led us nowhere so far. I needed a backup plan. The details of how I was going to get the money to Michael were sketchy, but I’d work that out tomorrow once I had the funds secured. No matter what Patrick wanted, I knew if what Michael had wasn’t enough, offering more money would at least buy time.
Not much, but it was still time.
Disappearing with Elle was my only other option, and I knew she’d never go for it. So this had to work. Either way, it had to.
Declan had been able to track down a lead on at least one drug deal that went down at the hotel. He found the buyer, but getting him to talk, getting the details, was a different story. He was working on it.
With nothing else to go on, I had to visit my maternal grandfather in New York City. Tell him everything he wanted to hear so that he’d release his hold on my trust fund. Loosen the strings attached to it. I’d have to deliver on my promises, of course. But it didn’t matter. Selling my soul to him to get the money would give Elle the reprieve I needed to bring Patrick and Tommy down.
It would be worth it.
My grandfather would never see the blood in my eyes or the hatred in my veins. He was oblivious to anything but conformation. And besides, he thought it was for my own good for me to be like him.
How could he not see that I never would be?
What he also failed to see was that what he was doing to me was just as binding as my ties to the Blue Hill Gang.
Sighing, I buttoned my designer suit jacket.
Trust fund baby.
Blue blood.
Silver spoon
Heir to a fortune.
I was more than that but today, I would pretend I wasn’t.
Shoes on.
Watch on.
One last look and I was good to go.
Game time.
On a mission, I hopped in my SUV.
I-90 was a bitch.
I waited as long as I could to leave, but I needed turnaround time. It didn’t seem to matter if it was seven A.M. or seven P.M., as was the case, because the pavement was always jam-packed.
Exhaustion had crept into my bones and it wasn’t going anywhere, so another night of only a few hours’ sleep didn’t really matter.
It took over an hour to reach the I-84 exit.
Just as I was about to take the ramp, my cell rang. My dash lit up with a number I didn’t want to see. “Yeah,” I answered.
“We have a lead,” Agent Meg Blanchet said.
“What kind of lead?” I asked, extremely curious.
“We got that warrant to tap O’Shea’s office landlines early this morning. He got a call a few hours ago from a female, we’re guessing his wife, telling him his delivery had arrived.”
Like a crazy man, I swerved all the way into the right lane and zoomed off the interstate to turn around. “What were his instructions?”
The woman I knew as the she-devil cleared her throat. “He didn’t. He hung up without a word, like he knew his phone lines were being monitored.”