Page 177 of Brutal Collateral

And then: “Aye.”

“Mr. Miller, Kyle, votes Aye.”

His answer punctuates the silence in my living room like a gunshot, and the tension is shattered. Ava’s shoulders sag with relief. I turn to her, and cupping her face with both hands, I kiss her fiercely. Her lips part against mine, soft yet strong, grounding me in a way nothing else could.

The wayno one elsecould.

When I pull back, I press my forehead to Ava’s and whisper, “It’s done.”

Her smile is small but triumphant. “Can I kill Rand now?”

I laugh and pull her head against my chest. “We’ll see, siren.”

Connor and Shane hug, their faces split into matching grins. I join their huddle, clapping them each on the back.

“Jesus, we’re going to be rich,” Shane says, his tone lighter than it’d been in hours.

“And busy,” Connor acknowledges.

“We’re already rich. And we’re already busy,” I say, glaring at Ares who needed this more than we did.

Across the room, he rises slowly from his seat, ever the stoic statue. His brothers aren’t here. Either he didn’t invite them, or they passed. He watches me with mine, and I detect a hint of jealousy. I thought I’d be ridding myself of him when I let Ava go.

If I’m keeping Ava, I guess I’m keeping him as a brother-in-law.

Ares crosses the room and extends a hand to me. I look down at it and pull the fucker in for a hug. I whisper in his ear, much like I did on New Year’s Day when he thought he had me cornered.

“We’re family now. We don’t shake hands. We hug. If you can’t bear my arms around you, fine. But my wife needs that warmth from you. You better learn how to show her some damn affection.” I release him.

The pro tempore still calls the votes, but it’s a formality now. The project will be funded.

Shane looks up from his phone and rings out in a surprised tone, “Put on CNN.”

I change the channel and see reporters chasing Kyle Miller down the corridor. He turns sharply, and a camera’s light shines on him.

“Sir, is it true about your son?” a female reporter asks.

I squeeze Ava’s hand as we exchange looks, and I want to say,‘Did you kill him already?’

“Shane, what is it?” I mutter instead.

“I don’t know,” he says, shaking his head.

Kyle Miller stares at the crowd, glancing from camera to camera, his face pinched as we wait to see what the hell he’s going to say. He reaches inside his suit jacket and takes out a pair of reading glasses. A young, thin man in a suit hands him a piece of paper.

He’s going to read from a written statement, and not make some impromptu speech an aide just whipped together for him.

Kyle Miller leans into the bank of wobbly microphones thrust at him. His skin pale, his cracked lips part to speak. “I would like to address a recent speculation regarding my son, Rand Miller.” Kyle’s voice is steady, but his expression betrays his discomfort of having to own up to what’s coming for his son. “Rand has battled an addiction to painkillers for years since his tragic accident training to be a Navy SEAL. It has taken a toll on all of us. I am pleased to share that he will be entering a rehabilitation facility immediately. We ask for privacy during this time.”

“Rehab, huh?” I stiffen, my fists clenching at my sides. “More like a convenient hiding spot.”

“Bastard is covering for his son.” Ava looks livid. “Miller’s not just an addict. He’s a violent liability.”

I take a breath, forcing myself to stay calm. “Rand Miller never faced consequences because his father has been cleaning up after him for years.”

Shane arches an eyebrow, his expression cool. “And now he’s putting the kid out of sight before the skeletons get loose.”

“Exactly,” I say. “Rehab isn’t about healing. It’s about buying time.”

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