The Villain (Boston Belles, #2)(101)

Feeling like I, myself, was on the verge of an attack of sorts, I forced myself to keep my voice calm. There was no need to scare Tinder any more than he already was, but the violent urge to take him away from this family left me gasping for air.

“Is this the first time your daddy has done this to you?”

I couldn’t let go of the memory of Andrew shaking his son when the latter had trouble explaining himself.

“No.” Tinder picked off the salt from his pretzel absentmindedly. “One time, after we came back from a party where I embarrassed him, he put my head in a si-si-si-sink full of water, in and out, in a-and out. He-He-He said that he would only stop if I stopped a-acting like a weirdo. Bu-but it worked because I stopped for a whole week.”

I couldn’t blink.

Swallow.

Breathe.

My world collapsed under the weight of the unspoken truth that landed on my feet, and suddenly, everything became crystal clear.

I stepped onto a mine Cillian was trying to keep me well away from. Unraveling a secret that wasn’t for me to find.

“Does your daddy treat your mommy and brother this way, too?”

“No. He loves Tree and tells him he will send him to a fancy school in England. I th-think he loves Mommy, too. Even if sometimes he pushes her around. He never pushes too hard.” He paused, contemplating his words with a frown. “Other than the time he pushed her off the railings, and she fell downstairs. But she fell to the couch and was-wasn’t hurt. And she laughed about it so maybe it was a joke.”

Or maybe she didn’t want her sons to know what a piece of work their dad was.

I knew I had three problems to deal with.

One was to keep Tinder safe.

The second was to execute my plan as soon as today while I was still welcome in the Arrowsmith household.

And the third was to confront my husband about what I’d suspected all along.

I checked the time on my phone. It was two o’clock. The Arrowsmiths weren’t going to be home until at least six. I had a key, though I was expected to pass the time out of the house with Tinder.

They did trust me enough to give me a key in case of an emergency. After all, I was in their camp. Supposedly. Living separate lives from my husband and despising him as far as they were aware. The different bank accounts, the strategic complaining about Cillian, and letting them in on our separation had paid off.

Now it was time to kick my plan into third gear.

To save Tinder.

To save Cillian.

And who knew? Maybe even my marriage.

I typed a quick text message to Sam Brennan. The first time I’d ever contacted him. I asked Sailor for his special access code shortly after I’d been hired by the Arrowsmiths, knowing there were some things I simply wasn’t equipped to do. Once the message had been sent, read, and replied to, I looked up and smiled at the little boy.

“Hey, Tin-Tin, feel like baking some cookies at home while watching Peter Pan?”

“S-Sure do!”

I stuffed him into his booster in my Tesla with burning eyes and headed to the Arrowsmith residency for the very last time.





The cookies were going to be almost as bad as the meal I’d tried to cook Cillian on our first “date.”

I knew that when I tore open the ready-made mix without bothering to read the instructions. I dumped the powder into a bowl and grabbed the ingredients on the package hurriedly. Tinder protested when I didn’t take the time to do everything together with him—crack the eggs, measure the milk, count each drop of vanilla. I kept glancing at the overhead clock, waiting for the doorbell to ring, feeling like a criminal. I was a criminal. What I was about to do was against the law. But it wasn’t just about saving my husband’s company—it was also about Tinder.

We scooped uneven balls onto a pan, shoving it into the oven before it reached the right temperature. Tinder’s irritation morphed into confusion. I’d always been the one person he could count on for patience.

“W-What’s happening?” He frowned. “I-I don’t like doing everything quickly. Are you going anywhere?”

“Not before I make sure you’re okay,” I muttered, frantically throwing a bag of popcorn into the microwave. I put Peter Pan on Disney Plus and sat Tin-Tin in front of the movie with his popcorn and juice.

“I’m going to be a little busy in the next few minutes, okay? But when I’m done, we’ll sit down with cookies and some chocolate milk and we’ll have a talk. I need to tell you a few things. Don’t worry, you are not in trouble.”

But his father sure was.

When Sam knocked on the door, I jerked him inside at the speed of light. He was wearing a black dress shirt, jeans, and his usual no-bullshit frown.

“His laptop is probably going to be password protected,” I warned, still holding the doorjamb, my heart in my throat.

I never broke the law. Ever. For anything or anyone. Hell, I didn’t even jaywalk. My obsession with my husband was turning me inside out.

Sam passed the living room, not sparing the young boy a look, and ascended the stairs. I followed him, pointing at Andrew’s study. He slipped a pair of elastic gloves on, produced a foldable door lock opener from his backpack, and opened the locked door effortlessly.

We both entered the room. I was hyperaware of Tinder sitting in front of the TV downstairs, waiting for me. Guilt wrecked me. I was going to turn his life upside down, and even though I knew it was the right thing to do, considering his abusive father, I also knew Tinder might never forgive me.