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“Did you get into a fight?”

He turns and looks at me harshly. “No. Why?”

“Because you look like you’ve been walking on your knuckles,” I say.

“One of the younger guys got ahead of himself and had to be put in his place,” he says.

“How far away was his fucking place?”

He laughs at that, sounding surprised to hear himself being amused. “A ways,” he says.

I get up, go to the kitchen, and get him a couple of bags of peas for his hands. He’s changing his shirt when I get back, so I do the sibling thing and throw them at his head.

“Fucker,” he curses, getting hit by the first one, but managing to catch the second.

“Thanks,” he says after a minute. “You’re alright sometimes. Dress up a little when you go to see Kyle. You’re representing the business.”

“You want me in a pantsuit? I don’t have any of those.”

“Just something that doesn’t have the blood of your most recent victims on it,” he says.

“Killjoy.”

“Seriously, sometimes you stink of death.”

I give a little shrug. “Seems on brand for this family.”

“Go,” he says. “The meeting is at two. You have time to shower and do your hair.”

“Am I taking a meeting with Kyle, or fucking him?”

“With you? Who knows,” he says. “But you look like a fucking mess. So clean up.”

I flip him off, and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I do. My hair is a mess, and my jimmy jams have seen better days. Okay. Maybe he has a point. It’s been a while since I tried to look presentable. Most of my outfits lately have been things I wouldn’t mind if I had to discard because they have someone’s blood all over them.

I have a quick shower, put some lipstick on, brush on mascara and even go so far as to put on a wing with eyeliner. I look good. Well, good enough for Kyle, who was one of my father’s closest associates and would have to be in his sixties now. I’m not out here trying to impress old men, especially not now that I know Rick is trying to marry me off to them.

None of my clothes say business casual. I got rid of everything Christian ever touched when he died. It felt contaminated, and it felt like it wasn’t me. It all belonged to a girl who was forced to marry too young and who had no idea who she was. I’m only twenty-one now, but I feel decades older than I did when I married that man.

I go to my mother’s wardrobe, which is mine now that she no longer has any use for any of it.

She wasn’t big into pantsuits either, but she did have some nice dresses that transferred to corporate type arrangements. I pick something in a royal blue with a slight sheen to it.

All of my mother’s dresses were tailored to fit her. And all of them fit me like a glove. I feel tears coming to my eyes. She’s been gone so long. I was barely a teenager when she passed. I don’t have to wonder if she’d be proud of who I have become because I have become something entirely feral. She’d hate it. She’d be disappointed. She’d wish that I was still married to Christian, probably. She’d wonder why I hadn’t given her pups yet.

I dab my eyes and look at myself in the mirror. I’ve paired the dress with white pumps and a matching handbag—also not mine. I look classy. My hair gleams because I haven’t washed it in a week and for some reason hair loves that until it doesn’t.

Once I’ve gotten ready, I go downstairs and report to my brother. Hate doing this. Hate treating him like he’s the alpha. I know he is technically, but he has the energy of a whining beta at the best of times.

“Good enough?”

Rick gives me a swift up and down. “You clean up well,” he says.

“Thanks.”

“I’ve got a car waiting for you,” he adds. “It’s outside now.”

“Oh. Thanks.”