Braden had a five-year plan. Surely in that time they could remove themselves from any illegal ties and slowly sever those bonds. The killings had to stop. That was the first order of business, but tonight, after seeing Shane manhandle Zara, Braden was almost ready to go back on his vow.
Death was nothing new to him. He’d witnessed his father give a kill order multiple times for reasons he’d always justified. Braden may not have always agreed with his father’s ways, but his father was an effective businessman and well respected.
Zara’s deep chocolate eyes shifted around the room before landing back on him. “Your brother is coming this way.”
Braden didn’t turn, didn’t relinquish his hold on Zara. The music continued, guests around them danced and chatted, but Braden paid them no mind.
“We need to talk,” Mac stated.
Braden stopped dancing but didn’t let go of Zara as he threw Mac a glance over his shoulder. “I’ll meet you in the study in five minutes.”
“Now.”
Braden resisted the urge to curse. He prided himself on control. “Five minutes,” he said, before turning back and focusing solely on Zara.
He picked up right where they’d left off dancing. He could still feel Mac behind him, so Braden maneuvered his partner toward the edge of the dance floor. Zara was his for now, and sharing their time wasn’t an option.
“You can go talk to him.” Zara smiled, a deep dimple winking back at him. The innocence of the dimple and the sex appeal of that dress were polar opposite. “I should be working anyway, you know.”
He was paying her to work, but that didn’t mean he didn’t like the feel of her in his arms, against him. There would be time for more later. He’d make sure of it. Gaining her trust on a personal level would lead him exactly where he needed to be.
Gliding his fingertips over her exposed back one last time, Braden stepped away from Zara and tipped his head. “I’ll find you when I’m done with Mac. If you have any more problems with Shane, you come straight to me.”
Zara nodded, clasping her hands in front of her and searching the room as if trying to get a location on the man in question. “I’ll be fine. Go talk to your brother, and thank you for the dance. I have to get back to work.”
Braden closed the space between them, picked up her hand and kissed her delicate knuckles. “I should be thanking you.”
Her mouth parted as she let out a slight gasp when his lips grazed her hand. Yes, enticing her would be no problem at all. He’d been waiting on the right opportunity, the moment he could get the greatest impact out of this game of seduction.
First things first, he had to see what the issue was with his younger brother. Braden excused himself and went in search of Mac.
The entire O’Shea family had come for the party despite the bad weather predictions for the Boston area, including cousins from Boston and down the East Coast, his brother, sister and Ryker.
What kind of celebration would this be for the O’Sheas if the whole Irish clan didn’t attend? Mac would be overseeing the southern locations, a job he was all too eager to take over and to get out of the cold winters for, especially since his best friend, Jenna, had moved to Miami about a year ago.
Once in the study, Braden closed the door behind him and crossed the polished wood floors. Mac leaned against the old mahogany desk, swirling bourbon around in his tumbler. Braden knew it was bourbon without even asking because the O’Sheas were simple men with simple needs—power, good bourbon and women. The order varied depending on the circumstance.
“You need to calm down,” Mac commanded. “That murderous look in your eyes is scaring our guests.”
“I’m calm.” To prove it, Braden flashed a smile. “See?”
Mac shook his head. “Listen, I know you hate Shane Chapman. We all do. He’s a lying prick. But, whatever his personal—”
“He’s harassing Zara.”
Braden stopped short just before he reached his brother and crossed his arms over his chest. Shane Chapman was the bane of the O’Sheas’ existence. A few years ago, he’d attempted to hire the auction house to acquire an heirloom illegally. Braden had made a valiant effort to get it, spending more time and money than he really should’ve, but to no avail.
Viewing it as a deliberate slight, Shane had attempted to blackmail the O’Sheas. His laughable threats were quickly taken care of by means nobody discussed. Shane was lucky he was still breathing because that had been during the Patrick O’Shea reign.
Shane was only at this party for one reason—the whole “keep your friends close and your enemies closer” wasn’t just a clever saying.
“Keep your eye on him,” Braden went on. “This can’t interfere with the plans. If Shane needs to go...”
Mac nodded. “I’ll let Ryker know.”
Ryker. The O’Sheas’ right-hand man, who may as well have been born into the family. Instead, he’d been unofficially adopted as a rebellious preteen, and he’d been with them since.
But damn it, Braden didn’t want blood on his hands. He wanted to concentrate on retrieving the heirlooms and relics their auction house was officially known for. They had an elite list of clients, and word of mouth always brought more on board. The timeless pieces the O’Sheas uncovered all over the world kept their business thriving. Several pieces were “discovered” by less-than-legal means, but they were paid hefty sums to be discreet. Smuggling in items with legal loads for big auctions was easy to do.
“I think your approach to Zara isn’t the smartest.” Mac sipped his bourbon. “You’re coming on too strong and not focusing.”
Braden narrowed his gaze. “That’s a pretty bold statement coming from the man who has a woman in every major city.”
Mac eyed him over the glass. “We’re not talking about me. Unless you’d like me to seduce the beautiful party planner.”
“Keep your damn hands off her.”
Why was he suddenly so territorial? Braden had no claims on Zara.
But he’d held her, felt her against him and seen a thread of vulnerability when Zara had been looking at Shane. He refused to see any woman harassed or mistreated.
His sister, Laney, was currently dating some schmuck, who could be demeaning at times. Yet another issue Braden would deal with now that he was in charge. No way in hell would he allow his baby sister to be belittled by anyone. Ever.
“Leave Zara to me, and you concentrate on your new locations,” Braden told his brother. “Is that all you needed?”
Mac finished off his drink, setting his tumbler down on the desk. “For now. I’ll keep an eye on Shane. Ryker will be a last resort. I know you want to move in a different direction, but Shane can’t interfere. We’re too close to finding those scrolls.”
Braden nodded and headed back out to the party. Those scrolls, all nine of them, were centuries old and held immense power over Braden’s family. He wanted them back, and at one time, during the Great Depression, they’d been in the home Zara currently lived in. Supposedly they’d been stored in a trunk that had been sold decades ago. Unfortunately, the trunk had been recently tracked down but as the scrolls hadn’t been inside, they were back to square one with Zara’s house as the last known location.
Just as Braden cleared the wide opening leading to the ballroom, he spotted Shane standing over Zara. She shook her head and started to turn when Shane’s hand whipped out and gripped her bicep, jerking her back to his chest.
Braden didn’t care about moving stealthily through the crowd. He felt Mac right behind him as he charged forward. His brother always had his back.
“Remove your hand from Miss Perkins’s arm.” Braden didn’t try to mask the rage in his tone. He waited a beat, but Shane still held tight and kept his back to Braden. “Remove your hand or I won’t need to get my security team. I’ll throw your ass out myself.”
Over his shoulder, Braden heard Mac telling someone, most likely one of their employees, to have security on standby. Braden knew Mac was only looking out for everyone’s best interest, but Braden could only see red right now. Thankfully, Shane had backed Zara into a corner, and the guests were still milling about, oblivious to the action.
Shane threw a glance over his shoulder. “This doesn’t concern you. Zara and I have a little unfinished business. Just a lover’s spat.”
The look on her face told Braden there wasn’t anything unfinished here and this sure as hell wasn’t a lover’s spat—she’d told him as much earlier.
Zara’s wide, dark eyes held his. Even though she had her chin tipped up in defiance, her lips thinned in anger, there was a spark of fear in those eyes, and Braden wouldn’t tolerate Shane one more second.
Braden grabbed on to Shane’s wrist, applying pressure in the exact spot to cause maximum pain. “Take your damn hand off her. Now.”
Shane gave Zara’s arm a shove. “You can’t keep avoiding me,” he told her, rubbing his wrist where Braden had squeezed. “Next time I call, you better answer or I’ll come by your office. I doubt you want that.”
Just as Shane turned, Braden blocked his exit. “If you ever touch her or any woman that way again and I hear of it, you’ll wish for death. Feel me?”