The Hellion (Wicked Wallflowers #1)(4)

“And isn’t that precisely what you want for you and yours?” Adair called over to her. “Pretending ya are different from what ya, in fact, are,” he taunted, deliberately using those Cockney tones as a reminder of just what she and her kind were.

The young woman laughed, and the droll, derisive edge to it sent heat climbing up his neck. People, regardless of station, size, or gender, hadn’t ever dared laugh in his face. As a boy, he’d beaten another boy for it. There hadn’t been a girl brave enough or stupid enough to attempt it. That a bloody insolent Killoran now should grated.

“Men without loyalty, I didn’t suspect should have a brain in their heads, either. Polite Society turns an eye to their men marrying our sort. Black was pardoned because he’s a duke’s bastard. But you”—she jabbed a finger at Niall—“and you”—she pointed to Calum—“marrying duke’s daughters?” She chuckled. “The arrogance of you whoresons marrying as you did. It’s one thing for a lord to sell himself for a title . . . but you, binding yourselves to their kind? You may as well have struck the torch to your building the day you signed your marriage documents.” She paused and looked between them. “That is, I take it, if Black can read?”

Ryker’s cheeks went red, and he glanced to Calum. Together longer than any of their brothers, those two had always served as the one and two of their family and club. Calum puzzled his brow and looked helplessly to Niall and Adair. Bloody hell, the chit had confounded them all.

“Am I to take that as a no?” the relentless Cleopatra Killoran posed to Calum.

Niall whistled. “Your sister is mad, Killoran,” he said, with a shockingly pitying glance for the other proprietor.

Killoran stiffened. “As one whose mother-in-law landed herself in Bedlam, and you who found yourself in a family given to madness, I expect you’ve a good grasp on insanity, but I assure you Cleo is far cleverer and stronger than you or the rotters you call brothers.”

All earlier commiseration faded as Niall launched himself across the desk at Killoran. The room descended into a flurry of shouts and curses as Adair’s brothers gripped Niall by the legs and dragged him back.

And through it all, Miss Killoran stood on with a wide, smug smile. She jerked her hand at her brother. “We’re done here, Broderick. I told you they’d renege on their pledge.” The young woman marched toward the door. The surly guard instantly sprang into movement.

Broderick Killoran, however, remained resolutely fixed to his spot. “I’m not leaving,” he said with a smile. He reclaimed his seat. “They promised me something, and I’d have them honor their word.”

A little growl escaped Miss Killoran, and she wheeled back. With jerky movements that would never be considered even a hint ladylike, she stomped back over, jerked out the chair alongside her brother, and sat. She glowered at Killoran, but he gave no indication that he either saw or cared about her displeasure. With his usual casualness, Broderick Killoran drew off his leather gloves and beat them against each other.

Ryker hesitated, and Adair silently willed his brother to turn this trio out on their arses. To have them thrown into the street for what they’d done and for what could never be undone. Ryker, however, sat.

Cleopatra Killoran leaned back in her seat, her small frame lost in those large leather folds. She glanced over, lingering her gaze on his still-extended pistol, and the young woman snorted. “You can lower your pistol, Thorne.” She winged a thin eyebrow up. “That is, unless you’re afraid? Then I advise you to carry on as you are.” Killoran’s sister lingered her gaze on the head of his pistol. “Remember, you’ve just one shot. I’d choose wisely.”

He blinked slowly. By God, she’d called out his family’s honor, laughed at him, and now questioned his courage. If she weren’t a damned Killoran, the woman would have earned his appreciation. As it was, he’d sooner choose the one shot she referred to on himself than admit as much. “You tart-mouthed—”

“Well, get on with it,” Niall growled, silencing Adair with a sharp look.

Again, Adair went hot. A person didn’t lose control . . . to do so and show that weakness, particularly before one’s enemy, had the potential to destroy a man. What was it about this sharp-tongued vixen? It was not only her Killoran blood but also the effortless way in which she wielded her tongue like a sharp blade.

Killoran steepled his fingers and rested his chin atop them. “I didn’t set fire to your club.”

“You’re as responsible as those under your control—”

Cleopatra Killoran sat upright in her chair. “Our family isn’t controlled.”

“I can see that,” Calum muttered under his breath.

The bear of a guard who’d taken up place between the Killorans choked on a laugh. Both Killorans quelled him with a look.

Ryker’s mouth tensed. It was the mark he’d finished with the discussion. “Your people . . . your”—he grimaced—“family, answers to you.” What an odd concept. These vile foes they’d battled for years were also one another’s family. But then, everyone born to the streets ultimately found others to help one survive, and the ones who didn’t, perished. “Just as when you were tied to Diggory, you owned that man’s crimes.”

“And you own what he did to my wife,” Niall said tightly, stepping up behind Ryker’s left shoulder.