Patrick had abandoned Gabriel. No, not abandoned him, because he’d always been in Cainsville, like an old family friend—and that somehow made it worse, made it colder. He’d seen the hell that had been Gabriel’s young life, and he’d stood back and watched, then dared to claim it was for Gabriel’s own good. Tempering steel, he’d said.

“Take a deep breath,” Patrick said.

My fists clenched.

“You can hit me if it’ll make you feel better. I promise not to hold it against you. It won’t do any lasting damage.”

“Then why would I bother?”

The son of a bitch smiled.

I forced myself to continue. “I would appreciate it if you could see fit to at least acknowledge what is happening with Gabriel the next time you see him. At least say you’re sure it will all be fine.”

“But he will be fine. He obviously didn’t kill the man, and he’s an excellent lawyer. He’ll fix this.”

“And if not, well, hey, what better way to toughen him up than twelve years in maximum security?”

“I’ll acknowledge the situation and express my certainty that it will resolve itself.”

“On second thought, don’t bother. You’ll only screw up that, too.”

He met my gaze with a cool look, one of the few times I could see a resemblance to his son. “I might suggest you moderate your tone with me, Olivia.”

“You don’t like it, bòcan? Then curdle the cream and get me fired. Oh, wait, no . . . I have another job.” I headed for Rose’s. “And stay away from Ricky.”

“I was simply talking to him,” he called after me. “I have no issue with him being here. In fact, I find it an intriguing set of circumstances.”

“No, you find it an amusing set of circumstances. You love seeing the elders squirm, and what’s better than this? They’ve pinned all their hopes on me, certain I’ll hook up with their golden boy and save them from extinction, and instead, the competition is sharing my bed, in their own town, and there’s not a damn thing they can do about it.”

His lips quirked. “It is rather amusing.”

“For you. Not so much for me. Or Gabriel. Or James. Or any of us caught up in this mess. I’d think you’d be less amused, given the ending if I ride off with Ricky. I hear it would be your ending, too.”

“Hardly. They’ll go down with the ship. I’ll bail. I’ve done it before.”

“Like a rat.”

“An apt comparison.”

“Then none of this concerns you, so unless you can help, stay the hell away from Ricky. From both of them, in fact. And speaking of helping, if you know anything that can assist Gabriel’s defense—anything at all—you’d better—”

“I would let you know. You don’t need to threaten me. In fact, I daresay you’d better not.”

“And again, I don’t give a flying fuck.”

“You’re angry with the elders, but you’re furious with me. They lie to you. They deceive you. They’ll use you if they can. But my crime is greater because you believe I’ve wronged him.”

I followed his gaze to see Gabriel at the end of the passageway, standing back on the sidewalk, out of earshot, but waiting and watching.

“Can I leave now? I have pizza waiting.”

He smiled. “Pizza. That’s very important. You can leave anytime you want. But you aren’t foolish enough to turn your back on me. Remember this, bychan. I’m no threat to you. Or to him. I can be an ally, if you can put aside your anger long enough to ask for help. If not for your sake, then for . . .”

He nodded toward Gabriel, and fresh rage whipped through me.

“Yes, I’m exploiting your weakness,” he said. “I’m not above that. In fact, as you might imagine, I’m extremely pleased by it. Gabriel doesn’t need my help or my support. He has more than enough of yours.”

I glared at him.

“You think I mock you,” he said. “I don’t. You might not be sleeping with my son, but sex is only sex. If a choice were to be made, I have no doubt who it would be. It’s the Cwn Annwn who should be worried.”

“No, it’s both sides that should be worried, because I’m not playing your little game.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have that option, bychan.”

“Oh, I think I do.”

I turned and strode back to Gabriel.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Ricky and I were back from Rose’s, lying in bed after sex. TC was perched on the foot of it, staring at us. Ricky was on his back, eyes half closed, arm around me as I traced the Celtic crown tattoo on his upper arm.

“That one is for my dad,” he said. “Since you’ll never ask me to explain. The triskele is for my nana and the asklepian for my mom. Obviously, the patch is for the Saints.” His gaze shifted to my hip, his fingers tracing the dip of my waist. “I want to get one for us, like we discussed. But I don’t want to without . . .” He frowned. “Your permission? Does that sound right? Sure, it’s my body, but if you get a tattoo because of a girl and she doesn’t want you to, then it’s kind of awkward. And a little creepy.”

“A big ‘Property Of’ sign would be fine with me.”

He laughed, so loud it startled the cat. “I’m tempted to do that, with a Sharpie, just to see the look of horror on your face.” He sobered. “Is that a yes? Or are you kidding in hopes of changing the subject?”