Page 18 of Ballrooms & Blackmail

Most people think the Lyons are organized crime.

They aren’t.

Or they aren’t just organized crime.

They’re a business. They’ve built infrastructure. They have influence. They have so much fucking power, it’s terrifying.

But above all else?

They demand loyalty.

How do I know this?

Because I was part of it.

Because I lived it…

Until I couldn’t take it anymore.

So, what do I tell her? What can I tell her?

Because the truth is simple—the farther River stays from my past, the safer she remains.

Or at least that’s what I’ve been trying to convince myself of.

“Thorn,” she says and I blink at the sudden thread of kindness in her voice. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

I exhale and shift closer, freezing the moment tension enters her body. I pull out a chair, sink down into it. “There’s a lot to tell,” I admit. “But also not. Pascal and Brooks are still working to track down specifics, same as I am, same as Jean-Michel and Jace and Marie are. But no matter how many businesses we all own, no matter how much money we have, how much power…” I sigh. “No matter how hard Attie and her team at the FBI work, the Lyons keep managing to slip free.”

She’s watching me intently, concern rippling across her face. “Is Briar in danger?”

I hesitate, wondering whether to give her the truth or not.

But that hesitation costs me.

Because she reads it for what it is.

“She is,” River whispers. “Damn.”

“We’ve got her covered,” I hurry to say. “Pascal’s team is on it and you’re already aware of the extra security on the building. It’s not fun for her, but until things are locked down, she’ll stay put.”

“Poor Briar,” she murmurs, opening the container and dishing up two bowls of soup. She sets them in the microwave to heat then starts slicing some bread and lathering it with butter. “Thank you for telling me that.”

I nod.

“Do you want something to drink?” she asks. “I don’t have beer?—”

That floats through my chest, wraps around my heart.

She knows I prefer beer to wine.

“—but I have a bottle of red from Oak Ridge or some lavender iced tea.” A hesitant shrug. “And water, of course.”

Sweet.

Even though I scare her, put her off, she’s still so damned sweet.

And the Lyons would love to exploit that soft spot. They wouldn’t see it like I do—like something wonderful, something to be protected.