Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
LUCIAN
I don’t go to Isobel immediately.
That is my first victory.
Small, perhaps. Invisible to anyone who does not understand the particular violence inside me. But it matters.
I dress slowly while Erin fixes her sweater, cheeks flushed, eyes still swollen from crying, body wrapped in a blanket like she can hide the fact that I know every inch of her. She sits on the sofa watching me as if waiting for the old version of me to return.
The one who storms out.
I want to find Carlos and carve Caleb’s name into his bones. I want Marina Vale dragged here by her hair. I want every file burned. Every man who looked at Erin’s pain as leverage put in the ground.
Instead, I button my shirt. One button. Then another.
Erin notices. Her mouth softens.
“You’re doing very well,” she says.
I look at her.
She blinks. “What? I’m being supportive.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am.”
Despite everything, a laugh almost escapes me. Almost. I walk to her and cup her face. Her skin is warm now. I like knowing she’s warm.
And mine because she chooses it. The distinction still feels unnatural in my head, but I am learning to respect it.
“Tell me what it’s time for,” she demands. Her eyes narrow.
She’s not going to like it.
I take a breath. “I need to speak with Isobel. I need to know what she knows. And I need to go alone.”
The room goes deathly quiet.
“You need to trust me, Erin.”
“Lucian.”
I inhale through my nose. “I need ten minutes to hear it without worrying about how every word lands on you.”
She stares at me. “What does that mean?”
“It means when you are in the room, I can’t think clearly because I’m only thinking about wanting to kill anyone who has hurt you or threatens your safety.”
Her eyes search mine. “That sounds almost reasonable.”
“I am suffering through significant personal growth,” I say. “How am I doing?”
“Better.” She smiles. “Ten minutes.”
“Fifteen.”
“Ten.”
I lean down and kiss her. Long enough to remind myself she is here. Alive. And choosing me.
When I leave the room, Rafe is waiting in the hallway with the expression of a man who thinks I’m wasting too much time.
Maybe I am.
But I have to make sure Erin is okay every step of the way.
Rafe hands me a tablet. “The Caleb message that Carlos sent was wiped moments after we viewed it. Our people pulled a hidden packet from the audio metadata. It wasn’t meant to be difficult to find.”
My fingers curl around the edge of the tablet.
“It references a route marker tied to Marina Vale. Old Bachman communication format,” Rafe says. “Pre-fire.”
The old codes again. Never thought we’d see the day that tradition could protect secrets better than technology. The Morettis used invisible weapons to attack us.
“What route?” I ask.
“Still decoding. But Isobel recognized part of it when I showed her. She claims Marina used similar markers when moving messages between Carlos and someone inside Bachman Village.”
“Someone.”
Rafe’s expression remains neutral.
That means he suspects more than he has proved.
“Say it,” I tell him.
“Isobel really might not know the final name.” He looks at me. “I believe her when she says she doesn’t.”
I stop walking.
Rafe stops too. “She didn’t say she knows who opened the gates. She said she knows who can prove it,” Rafe says. “Those may not be the same thing.”
My temper sharpens. “And you waited to share this—why?”
“You were,” he clears his throat. “Otherwise engaged. We gave you as much time as we thought safe.”
I continue walking.
“But she’s ready to talk. And she’s asking for you.” Rafe opens the library door for me.
The room has been cleaned. Curtains drawn.
Bayne stands near the window, staring through an exposed slice of the window.
Blaze sits in a chair with one ankle crossed over his knee, knife moving idly between his fingers.
Rafe looks ready to deliver information.
Mack stands at the door and makes sure everyone survives.
Isobel stands at the fireplace. No fire has been lit. A small gesture from my men.
They are Team Erin all the way.
She looks cold. It feels wrong to care. And, to not care.
When she turns, her gaze moves over me.
She sees something.
I know because her expression shifts.
I wonder if Erin’s mouth is still on my skin. If her touch has marked me in some way, Isobel can read. It would be fitting, I suppose. Erin marked me where no one could see long before I admitted it.
“You’re calmer,” Isobel says, a secret smirk as if she knows why.
I say, “I’m focused.”
“That was always worse.”
“Let the old intimacy die with the men you killed.”
Her face loses color. She’s the first to break our gaze.
Rafe perches on the edge of the table by Isobel and the cold fireplace. He looks at her. “Tell him what you told me.”
“I need a moment.” She turns away from us.
Blaze wants to give a smart-ass remark. My glance makes him hold his tongue.
He gives me a look, telling me he might, for now.
It throws me back to another time. When we’d disagree for days, then I’d finally ask him if he’s ready to talk.
“Do we ever talk?” he’d say, giving me that grin of his. The one to remind me how good-looking he is. “All we ever do is yell.”
And I’d say something like, “We only yell when you won’t agree with me.”
Another time, just as stressful as this one, but somehow now feels much simpler than it did back then.
Now, Isobel stares into the emptiness where a warm fire should be flicking and crackling.
She wraps her arms around herself.
It’s a defensive gesture. And the way she does it looks a lot like Erin’s.
I correct myself. No, a woman. Women do this. Close themselves off when no one else is protecting them.
A flicker of warning heats the back of my neck; do not compare these two.
Carlos wants that. He wants the two women turned into blades.
But even Carlos doesn’t know the explosive secret that only Isobel and I share. Now she crosses her arms over her midsection, holding herself tight.
Holding on to a memory.
One that only belongs to her and me.
The past threatens to drag me back. I need to move forward. Now more than ever.
“Isobel,” my voice tightens more than I want.
“Marina handled messages,” Isobel says, turning slowly. “Before our fire. And after. For years.”
“Messages that helped the Morettis with their attack on the Village,” Rafe adds.
“Did she work directly with Carlos?” I ask.
“Anyone with enough to offer her,” she says. “And yes. Carlos was one of her best customers.”
I go for the obvious. “Money.”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“What then?”
“Information.” Her mouth tightens. “And revenge. Before he even met Lucian.”
“You’re talking in circles, woman. What did Carlos get from Marina?” Blaze leans forward. “Who did he want revenge on?”
“He was young. It was his first time tasting crime.” Isobel looks at me. “And his vengeance was aimed at Lucian.”
Blaze’s knife stops moving.
Bayne shifts slightly near the window.
Another dagger pierces my chest.
“What do you mean?” But I know already, don’t I? The creeping, crawling, sick feeling of being betrayed crawls up my spine. “He didn’t meet me by accident? Did he?”
She confirms with a silent shake of her head.
My gut twists like a blade’s been plunged into it.
I was born into the Bachman bloodline, but it’s still a choice one must make to be in the Brotherhood. Before I joined, and after my parents were killed in a car crash, Carlos pulled me into his world while I was still young enough to be shaped, used.
At the time, I thought he was looking out for me.
I remain standing. Barely. “I was his right-hand man. He took me under his wing after my parents died. He showed me the ropes while I was grieving. Before I was ready to join the Brotherhood.”
Isobel stares at me, years of sadness curving her shoulders inward.
I only have one question. “Why did he want revenge on me before he even knew me? And then, why wait till the fire to take it?”
“A friend of Marina’s was an accountant for the Bachmans for over thirty years.”
Stash is a man named for his meticulously cared-for handlebar mustache.
“Of course she’s going to give us the long version,” Blaze murmurs impatiently.
“Let her speak,” I say, hardly able to breathe.
Blaze doesn’t back down. “It’s not a theater camp, Lucian. Tell her to spit it out.”
Rafe diffuses, “Can you shorten the story, Isobel?”
She looks at Rafe. He’s the only one of us she seems to trust since her arrival. “I don’t know any other way to tell it.”
Blaze’s voice is just below a roar. “What are we going to do next? Get on our knees and beg her?”
Bayne stares at Blaze.
“You all have some damn short memories.” Blaze stands, tossing the blade onto the tabletop. It spins twice before coming to rest.
We know what is coming.
Blaze is the easy-going one.
Until he’s not.
You can push him and push him.
When he’s been pushed too far, we listen. Then we give him space and let him cool off.
“I couldn’t even speak the first time I set foot in the Village.” His voice tightens.
“It was so beautiful. Home. Heaven. I couldn’t find words to do it justice.”
Right now, the air is charged. No one speaks.
“I came from a run-down, forgotten corner of the city. The place the government put kids like me so they could forget we existed. You don’t know what it’s like to go from that to the Village.
Then lose it all.” He points a threatening finger at Isobel.
“And she was helping the man who blew it all up. And we’re supposed just to sit here and play hostess to her. ”
Isobel pales. I feel emotions I can’t process. If Erin were here, she would name them with one glance.
Bayne moves in. Slightly. Enough to shield Isobel if necessary.
I don’t. I’ve known Blaze much longer than our Scotsman. Blaze would never touch a woman. Not like that.
“She’s our enemy.” Blaze slaps the top of the table with a heavy palm. The sound makes Isobel startle. “And she should be treated as such. This should be a real interrogation.”
Rafe says. “Let her finish.”