Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 174544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
I expect someone else to sit, but my ass is the only one in a seat. Am I on trial? I’ve tried not to think long about Connor’s feelings towards me after all this shit has transpired. Shit that I created, really.
His second-born son came way too close to being assaulted. I’m at fault. He should hate me.
But sitting here, I can’t really read his expression. Not as well as I can Loren Hale’s. Lo just looks aggravated while he’s scrolling through his own tablet.
“Whatever you need me to do,” I say, opening a floodgate I can’t close.
“Before you go to lunch, we need to verify some of the information we have,” Connor says.
Lo lowers the tablet. “When the hell did his family tree get updated? And why is it on an infinite scroll?”
“The PIs missed two of his grandfather’s brothers,” Connor says. “They’ve been fired.”
Damn.
“You fired my uncles?” I joke.
Connor skips over my weak shot at humor. Tough crowd. “You call them uncles?”
I shift forward on the chair. It squeaks. “They’re my dad’s uncles.”
“That’s not what I asked,” Connor says casually, calmly.
I scan him, waiting for the dark signs of hatred to appear. “Uh, yeah. I call them my uncles.” I watch Lo join Connor near the desk, facing me, but he checks Connor’s electronic tablet, making sure they’re on the same page, probably.
Connor looks to Akara and Price. “You both should have the updated report.”
“Got it,” Akara says, on his phone.
Price nods, using his cell too. He’s in a black designer suit, so I’m realizing why Akara dressed to impress and stand on par with the Triple Shield owner.
Thatcher and Farrow hang back near the fireplace with Connor and Lo’s bodyguards on Alpha: Tony Ramella and Bruno Bandoni. Do not want Alpha here, but at least Epsilon—like the Wreath brothers and Novak—aren’t around anymore snickering in the corner.
O’Malley is recuperating from his injuries, and I’m glad I don’t have to see his bruised and battered face this morning. Counting my few lucky stars, thank you and all that gratitude.
“How many great uncles, that you apparently just call uncles, do you have?” Connor asks. I must hesitate too long because he reminds me, “We’re verifying our information is accurate.”
I nod. “My great-grandpop had six sons.” So that’s five great uncles and my grandpop. But I don’t say that part out loud. I figure Connor can do mental math.
“No daughters?” Lo makes a face like it’s odd.
I didn’t think much of it when I was younger. “You’re gonna struggle to find a lot of girls by blood in the older generations. The ones that I do know of, they died pretty tragically, but that’s not what you’re asking, so…” I trail off.
Connor meets my gaze, and I don’t shrink beneath his penetrating stare. “Whatever you think is pertinent, please share.”
“I don’t know what could be pertinent,” I admit.
“Anything you can share,” he amends. “We’ll start broadly.”
I nod again, but a knot twists tighter in my chest. Alright, gonna have to spell out the math then. “One of the six sons is my grandpop Bobby—was Bobby. He’s dead. Died when I was a baby. I was told by pneumonia, but I don’t know if that’s true. Bobby’s brothers are my dad’s uncles, so I have five uncles—great uncles, technically.”
My family history is even murky to me at times, but my great uncles were mentioned so frequently it’d be hard to forget that branch of the crooked tree.
The (Great) Uncles:
Marty, the firstborn. Dead.
Bobby, the favorite child. Dead.
Paddy, the troublemaker. Alive. Incarcerated. He’s Colin’s grandpop.
Kerry, the free-spirit. Dead.
Finley, the follower. Alive. Incarcerated?
Raff, the baby brother. Alive. Incarcerated??
“I don’t care about technicalities in this instance,” Connor says swiftly. “Good PIs can give me that. We need what can’t be found in records.”
I try to breathe. “Which two uncles were missing from the report?”
“Rafferty and Patrick,” Lo says.
“They go by Raff and Paddy.” Makes sense why the tree grew. “Uncle Paddy had ten boys, and those boys have countless kids of their own. I don’t know most of ‘em.” I scratch the back of my head. “Paddy, I think is still in prison. Raff, I dunno.”
“He’s been recently let out,” Connor confirms.
I stare off. “Yeah, I didn’t know that.”
“What’s that look?” Lo asks me, his frown deepening. It causes bodyguards to step around my chair and examine my face. I can tell Thatcher follows Tony like he’s keeping a close eye on him.
The only person behind me is Farrow.
Heat gathers under my AC/DC shirt, but I force myself not to tug the collar. “I don’t like him.”
“Why not?” Connor questions.
“I don’t like most of my family,” I say, my pulse racing in unnatural ways.
“Do you feel like Rafferty could be more involved with the assault?” Connor asks.
“Maybe. It’s not impossible.” Gears click strangely in my head. “How’d you even miss Uncle Raff?”