He hesitated. “Are you goin’ to go around to your mates?”
“Probably.”
“Will you talk to them about what’s botherin’ you?”
It was my turn to hesitate.
“You won’t, will you?” he asked, seemingly shocked. “No matter how much you doubt them, you won’t confront them … will you?”
“Confront them about what?”
He was confusing me more than I already was. I thought he was going to answer my question, but Morgan started to laugh. Not like an amused laugh, more like a manic laugh. One that kept on building and building and had no end in sight. It frightened me. Morgan, at that moment, frightened me.
“Your shift is over,” I said, reminding him he had to leave. “I don’t wanna keep you any longer than necessary.”
“You aren’t keeping me from anything,” he assured me. “You are why I’m here.”
His voice changed slightly, and he pronounced his words clearer, which drew my brows together.
“Are you talkin’ about work?”
“No, Alannah, I’m not.”
Apprehension shot up my spine.
“I’m confused.”
“I know.” Morgan nodded. “I planned on keeping you confused and in doubt for as long as possible, but I pity you, angel.”
Angel?
“Okay, Morgan, you aren’t makin’ any sense.”
He sighed, long and deep.
“I can’t keep this shit up anymore.”
I stared at him, raising my brows.
“Morgan, what are you talking about?”
“My name isn’t Morgan Allen, angel.”
I stared at him, then I laughed.
“Ha-ha, you’re hilarious.” I shook my head. “Can we get back to work now if you aren’t leavin’?”
“I’ll gladly get back to work once we have a little chat.”
I looked up from my sketchpad.
“Why are you talkin’ in that accent?” I asked, perplexed. “I don’t get the joke if you’re makin’ one.”
“Alannah,” he said, his lips twitching. “You’re a sweetheart. Honestly, babe, a true sweetheart. I wanted to use you to hurt him, to hurt them, but fuck, you don’t have the backbone required to stand up to the lying assholes. No matter what I say to make you doubt them, you won’t confront them or leave them.”
I hurriedly began to pack my supplies away.
“I’ve no bloody idea what you’re talkin’ about. None.”
“I’m going to be straight with you, angel, because someone in your life should be.”
I paused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” he pressed, “that your friends all lie to you, your boyfriend lies to you, and even your old man lied to you at one point about his affair. Your mom kept her cancer from you, but only until she and your dad decided on when to tell you. And since I’m part of your life, you should know that I lie to you, too.”
What the hell is he talking about?
I swallowed. “How did ye’know me ma had cancer, and that me da had an affair? I never told you any of those things.”
Morgan shrugged. “I hacked your phone.”
“You … You hacked me phone?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To see if what I was doing was working.”
I blinked. “Morgan—”
“My name is not Morgan Allen.”
My head pounded.
“If it’s not Morgan Allen, then what is it?”
“Carter Miles.”
“Carter Miles?” I repeated.
“Yup.” He nodded. “I’m from New York, not Dublin, that was a lie.”
I frowned. “You’ve given me a really bad headache.”
Morgan, or Carter, laughed. “Baby, we haven’t even come close to the headache yet.”
“Okay, Carter,” I said, placing my hands on my hips. “If you’re really who you say you are, why lie to me?”
“I knew if I told you my real name, it would pull up a red flag with the brothers.”
“The brothers?”
“Yeah, the Slaters.”
I had to sit back down.
“What has this got to do with the Slater brothers?”
“Fucking everything, angel.”
I lifted my hands to my face and rubbed my eyes.
“Okay,” I said tentatively. “Just tell me why you’re here, and why you said you planned to keep me confused.”
“The Slaters … your boyfriend … they’re not who you think they are.”
“What? They have fake names, too?”
Morgan’s lips twitched, and I decided then that I would still think of him as Morgan, because calling him another name didn’t feel right.
“No, smartass.”
When he chuckled, I felt like he was playing some sort of massive joke on me, but then I remembered what he said about hacking my phone and the fact that he knew information about my parents that I hadn’t shared with him. That put me on edge and made me very wary of Morgan and how close he was to me.
“Who are they then?”
“People with a dark past,” Morgan answered. “A past they’ve neglected to share with you.”
I raised my brows.
“You, a complete stranger, know about their past?”
“I’m not a stranger to them, angel.”
“Stop callin’ me that,” I scowled. “And get to the point of all this.”
“I knew the Slaters back in New York. I grew up in the same compound as them.”
I sat back, shocked.
“You did?”
“Yes.” Morgan nodded. “I did.”
“Was the compound like, a street, or somethin’?”
“No, it was a compound.” He shrugged. “You know, a cluster of buildings surrounded by a big wall.”
“Damien said he grew up in a small community.”
Morgan snorted. “The compound wasn’t small and neither was the community. People came and went every day, but only a certain amount of us called the place home, though.”
“I don’t feel like you messin’ with me anymore.”
“Good, because I’m not.”
Sickness swirled in my abdomen as I realised the person sitting across from me, a person I let into my home, wasn’t who I thought he was.
“Are you goin’ to hurt me?”
“No,” he answered, and he sounded sincere. “I’d never hurt you. I’d never hurt anyone … once upon a time I probably would have, but not now.”
“Then who were you referrin’ to when you said you wanted to use me to hurt them?”
“The brothers,” Morgan answered. “I wanted to use you to get to them but not physically.”
My heart pounded in my chest as fear overcame me.
“Mentally?”
“Bingo.”
“But … why?”
“Because they killed my family.”
My lips parted with shock, and my breath left me in a strangled cough.
“Wh-what?”
“As I said, angel, you don’t know the Slaters like you think you do.”
I swallowed down the bile that rose up my throat.
“Then tell me what I don’t know.”
Morgan grinned, and leaned back in his chair.
“Sit back and relax, angel. Because shit is about to get real.”
“I’ll start from the beginning,” Morgan said, clasping his hands behind his head. “Just to give you a bit of backstory.”
I didn’t answer him; I only waited.
“How much do you know about the mafia?”
My heart just about exploded.
“Excuse me?”
“The mafia,” Morgan repeated. “How much do you know about that circle of people?”
“Absolutely nothin’.”
Morgan snickered. “I figured as much.”
“What has the mafia got to do—”
“The compound where I grew up, where the brothers grew up, was a mafia base, so to speak.”
My mouth went dry.
“The boss of the compound, my uncle Marco, worked with the mafia from time to time, different drug cartels, too. Wherever business was good and there was money to be made, my uncle dabbled in it.”