Dirty Love (Dirty Girl Duet #2)(6)

It’s a low blow, and Creighton knows it.

“Maybe I decided it was time to start living? Maybe I realized that work isn’t the only thing I have to look forward to in life.”

“Then f*cking act like a responsible adult. I have a pregnant wife and a multi-billion-dollar empire to run, and I can’t keep chasing after you to clean up your messes.”

Ouch. Another direct hit.

“Look, I’m sorry. This . . . hasn’t been the most normal time in my life. Everything shifted and I can’t keep a grip on it.”

“Then how about you lay off the booze while you’re plotting world domination with Banner. That’d be a start.”

I nod. I have nothing further to say because he’s right. I’ve f*cked up royally, and I have no explanation for my actions other than emotional terrorism and alcohol.

“I’m sorry.”

“Come here.” Creighton pulls me in close and hugs me hard. “You’re my baby sister, and I want nothing but the best for you. We’re going to clean this up, and then we’ll find you some decent guy who isn’t going to cheat on you or lie to you. Maybe even someone you can build a life with. I know you’re looking for the same thing I was, Greer. Our childhood was f*cked. Our sense of family was completely screwed up. But when you find the right person, that shit all fades away and the future becomes a hell of a lot brighter.”

The idea of my brother finding me a guy straight up terrifies me, but I decide to keep my own counsel on this one. Besides, I don’t want to talk this close to his face because I just puked up a lot of vodka.

“Thank you,” I say instead, aiming my words at his chest. “Consider the stunts done, especially if you can get me to a bed where I can pass out for the rest of my natural-born life.”

Creighton squeezes me tighter before releasing me.

“You got it.”




Holly’s gran’s house is cute and welcoming, but I don’t spend much time poking around before I head up the creaking stairs and spot the bed Creighton directed me to. I climb under the covers fully clothed and force my brain to quiet. I just want sleep and to forget this entire day.

It can’t be real. None of it can be real.





“What the f*ck do you mean, she’s not here?” My voice is low, humming with rage. I’m fresh off the jet and determined to find Greer and set things straight.

From the way his face pales, I’m scaring the shit out of the doorman, and I couldn’t care less.

“I mean that Ms. Karas hasn’t been in the building in several days. I’m under orders to keep collecting her mail and locking it up until further notice.”

Where the hell could she have gone? Or, the better question is—where the hell did her big brother stash her this time? To find an answer to that, I have to dig deeper than this doorman. I have more resources at my disposal than Creighton Karas gives me credit for, and it won’t take me long to find her.

I walk out of the building, heading for my past.




Dominic Casso holds court in the same building now as he did when I was a kid. Ma would take me there sometimes when she was dropping stuff off.

Everyone knew she was the mistress and I was the bastard son. Why the man couldn’t manage to produce a kid with his wife, I have no idea, but my suspicion is he didn’t spend enough time in her bed to get the job done. As far as I know, I have at least one half sister and maybe another half brother, but Dom has never confirmed or denied it. Probably because I never asked and I don’t plan to.

The small brownstone sits on the edge of Hell’s Kitchen, and I’m surprised he’s never upgraded. Then again, Dom didn’t get to his current position by being flashy or stupid. No, he’s calculating and ruthless. Information doesn’t flow from him unless he wants it to, and anyone who steps out of line is knocked back with the force of his will—or the back of his hand.

I’ve often been on the receiving end, and one time in particular stands out clearly in my memory . . .




“You had one job. One f*cking job.” Dom’s tone was quietly menacing. “Watch her. Protect her. Never let her know you f*cking exist.”

His fist slammed down on the desk, and the bronze paperweight in the shape of an apple-sized globe jumps with the force. He killed a man with that paperweight once. In front of me. I was fifteen, just being brought into the family business. Dom had decreed it was time for me to earn my keep and stop living on the money he paid my ma.

“But you couldn’t even do that. You just had to cross the goddamned line.” He grabbed the paperweight off the old wooden desk and tossed it back and forth between his hands.

Would he lob it at my head? My boxing lessons from Franco gave me good odds that I could duck quick enough, but I didn’t want to bet on them.

“No explanation?” He scowled at me. “You’ve got nothing to say for yourself?”

I never let my expression change during his tirade. Nothing I could say would change what I’d done . . . disobeyed the king.

“Open your f*cking mouth, Cavanaugh, and say something. Did you f*ck the girl?”

Now he was edging closer to my personal line. He might be the king, but I wouldn’t let him say a damned word against Greer. I’d snatch that paperweight out of the air and hurl it back at him before he realized what was happening.