Owned

BRAELYN BISHOP

“How long have you been in the area?”

The question came from the handsome, if not a bit plain, man sitting across from me, and now that I thought about it, it was possible this was the second time he’d asked me that tonight. Maybe the third.

Question was: did he not believe me? Or did he just not listen?

Either way, I offered a smile, said (again), “All my life.”

Matthew “my friends call me Matty” Sandusky, my date for the evening, had been interrogating me with mundane and unimaginative questions ever since we sat down for dinner at one of the most popular restaurants in Chicago. And while the food was exquisite at this particular establishment, I wasn’t sure how I felt about it for a first date.

If Matty–nope, can’t do it. He’s a grown man for heaven’s sake.

If Matt had known anything about me at all, he would’ve known I wasn’t fond of pretentious, and this place had left pretentious a few rungs down on the ladder. This was one of those linen-and-candlelight venues, the kind you selected when you had something important to celebrate like a graduation, or an engagement, or most definitely an anniversary. Not a first date. Not with me, anyway.

But the wine was good, and Matt was paying, so who was I to complain?

“Well, you should consider yourself lucky,” Matt said kindly before taking a sip of his wine.

Ha! Lucky? That would be the last word I’d use when describing myself.

“Well, I do love it here,” I admitted. Just trying to play my part.

But it wasn’t a lie. I couldn’t imagine myself living anywhere else.

I was born and raised in Chi-town. Granted, there was no record of that. Not for Braelyn Bishop, anyway. That name belonged to the identity I’d taken when I was nine, back when my brother had decided it was time we escaped our family’s sadistic clutches.

Not that I would share that with Matt. Or anyone else, for that matter.

When Ransom chose to hide us in plain sight, changing our names so that we could remain within the same city as the parents we were desperate to evade, I hadn’t asked questions. Not because I was too young to know what was going on because that certainly hadn’t been the case. Having the parents I had, I’d been forced to grow up early. Rather, I hadn’t needed to question Ransom’s reasons. I trusted my brother with my life. Even to this day, he was the only person I truly trusted.

“Where’re you from?” I inquired in an effort to be polite.

“From here, of course.”

Of course. I smiled because it was obvious he expected it.

Having met Matt just a few days ago at the coffee shop near my house, I knew nothing about him aside from the fact he favored long sleeves, odd ties, and cold brew, plus a few tidbits I’d picked up tonight—only child, asshole father, graduated with honors. And while he seemed more than willing to divulge more, I couldn’t seem to get out of my own head long enough to enjoy the food, much less the conversation. I was still hung up on the fact I’d encountered him every morning this week at roughly eight, which, until I’d seen him three days in a row, I hadn’t realized had become my routine. One I would be discontinuing immediately because if I’d learned nothing else in my life, I knew that routines were what could get you killed. A lesson my brother had browbeat into me since I was nine years old.

“I left for a bit,” he said, continuing to carry the conversation. “Took a couple of jobs in D.C. but, like everyone who leaves here, I got back as soon as I could.”

I don’t think anyone had ever said that about Illinois, but hey, if Matt believed it, who was I to argue?

He laughed at his words, as though I was supposed to find them funny, so I plastered on a smile, asked, “What brought you back?”

“Unfinished business.” Matt waved me off, chuckling once more. “It’s not interesting, I assure you.”

My smile fell away as the hair on the back of my neck raised in warning. The way he said it wasn’t what concerned me. It was the words themselves. Unfinished business. When people used that phrase, it rocketed up my fear. After all, I considered myself someone’s unfinished business and everyday I expected to see my mother or father, or worse, their vicious henchman, ready to steal me away from this life I’d built for myself.

My gaze swept over Matt’s face, studying the soft lines of his jaw, the floppy, light brown hair that hung over his forehead, the almost feminine bow of his lips. Like I said, he was handsome, perhaps bordering a little too much on pretty. At least for my taste.

When I looked in his eyes, it was then I attempted to get a glimpse of his soul, to dig deeper into his psyche. Not that I could mentally ascertain his intentions, but since I hadn’t detected any deceit when I’d first met him, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was getting lax.

Not many people knew my history, or Ransom’s for that matter. It was out of necessity that we kept a low profile, trusted no one. When you were born into one of the most ruthless crime families in the US, and you’d since escaped their violent clutches, it was imperative that no one get too close so as not to risk revealing who you really were.

“When I got back, I vowed not to leave again,” Matt continued, still with that pleasant smile on his face. “Luckily, my job allows me to remain here most of the time. But I travel frequently.”

Doing my best to hide the nerves that were clanging loudly, I wiped my mouth with my napkin, set it gently on my plate. “You’ve never mentioned what it is you do.”

Matt leaned forward, and I instinctively leaned back but tried to hide the reaction by reaching for my wineglass.

His voice lowered when he said, “I’m an aid to Senator Abernathy.”

If that was supposed to put me at ease, it didn’t. Senator Marybeth Abernathy was close friends with my parents, a fact I was aware of because I made a point to keep track of where they were and what they were up to at all times.

Matt’s cheeks turned an interesting shade of pink. “I know, I know. Politics. Don’t worry, I’m not here to solicit your vote or anything.”

Absolute least of my worries.

I forced another bland smile, attempting to relax. I wanted to believe that I’d long ago learned to read people and my gut was telling me this guy was not a contract killer out to kidnap me and eliminate my brother. Didn’t mean one wasn’t sitting somewhere nearby, but for the moment, I wanted to believe I was in the clear.

​Something told me I wasn’t.