Chapter 6 Flynn
FLYNN
She’s bold, I’ll give her that. Kaia’s very real attempt on my life leaves a hot sting against my neck that tingles as I stride through the manor toward the south wing.
I’ll need to report her attempt to Frank and tighten security a fraction, but it’s good to see she’s willing to fight.
There’s nothing more boring than a docile captive.
As I walk, I adjust my pants and try to shake Kaia from my mind as she serves as nothing more than a distraction.
A beautiful, curvaceous, hot distraction, but one all the same.
Am I so intrigued by her because she’s the enemy or because she was seconds away from slicing my throat?
For some fucked up reason, that turned me on harder than I’ve been in months.
Something’s wired wrong somewhere in my mind, clearly.
Reaching the linen room, a fresh shirt spills out of the basket like it’s waiting for me, so I pull it over my bare shoulders and am in the process of buttoning it up when the door swings open into my face and cracks me right on the forehead.
“Fuck!”
“What the—Flynn? Oh god, I’m so sorry. What are you doing hiding in here?” Florence, my most trusted maid, flaps her hands at me in shock then grabs me by the arm, dragging me out of the linen room with surprising strength. “You know I don’t like it when you get in the way.”
“I was just looking for a clean shirt.” I rub the subtle lump growing on my forehead. “I thought everyone was asleep.”
“Yes, well. I have lots to do and I was up with—Flynn!” Cutting herself off, Florence is back in my face and this time she has me by the collar. “What happened to your neck?!”
“It’s nothing—”
“It doesn’t look like nothing. Honestly, what is it with your men and your ability to bleed all over my hard work minutes after I’ve just finished cleaning up, hmm? Come with me.”
Despite only being a couple of years older than me, the fire in Florence’s tone has me hurrying after her as she strides down the long, dimly lit corridor toward the small lounge at the far end.
Once inside, she points to a seat and joins me a few seconds later with a small medical kit.
“Honestly,” she mutters under her breath.
“If it’s not Frank slicing his hand open while working on that blasted bike of his, it’s you and this…
” She casts one narrow eye at me, then busies herself with whatever she needs from the kit.
“And you’ll need another clean shirt, you’ve bled all over the collar. ”
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” Her head snaps up and her eyes remain narrow as her bangs fall across her eyes and she applies a cold, damp antiseptic-soak cotton ball to my throat. “How did this happen?”
“Shaving.”
If looks could kill, Florence would slay me where I sit. “Were you trying to shave off your skin?” she snaps, then her tone softens slightly. “This is a little deep.”
“Okay I lied. I pissed someone off.”
“Flynn!” As she cleans, her foot snaps out and collides with my ankle. “You’ve got to stop doing that.”
“It was worth it,” I assure her. “Trust me.”
After cleaning my neck, she covers the wound in a small, brightly colored floral Band-aid and sighs deeply as she scrunches the trash in her palm. “I trust you, Flynn. But you promised me you were going to be more careful.”
The anger lacing her words fades and is replaced by something else, a deep concern that pulls my heart deep down into my gut.
Suddenly, the reckless dancing around Kaia with my life doesn’t rest as well in my mind.
It’s not until a cold, familiar weight resettles on my shoulders that I even realize my time with Kaia removed it.
“Angie,” I say softly as a crushing sharp sensation sweeps through my chest and reminds me of my guilt. “How is she?”
“Sleeping,” Florence replies shortly. “She had trouble going down for the night, but I managed with hot milk and medicine.”
“You drugged my daughter?”
She lifts her head and fixes me with a tired smile. “You know it’s the only thing that works right now.”
“I know.” I reach out to Florence as she starts to pack up and lightly grasp her wrist. “Thank you.”
Despite the glare in her eyes, she nods and warmth seeps back into her words. “You should say goodnight.”
Wishing goodnight to my daughter is the simplest thing in the world, but as I walk down the corridor toward her bedroom it’s like the very fibers of the carpet are rising to grasp the bottom of my shoes and delay my steps.
I may as well be facing down an entire room full of armed goons with how hard my heart pounds when I touch the door handle and very gently ease it open.
My seven-year-old daughter Angie sleeps tucked up in a nest of pillows, with one arm firmly holding her plushie giraffe so it will never be able to breathe again.
Both her little fists tuck up underneath her chin and her dark, wavy hair spills over several pillows while she balls up her entire body.
It gives me plenty of space to gently ease down on the edge of her bed and watch her sleep.
I should watch her with love and admiration, with pride and affection, but the only emotion that sits like a sharp rock in my chest is guilt.
I did this to her.
Gone are the nights when she would sleep spread-eagled in the middle of the bed or fall asleep in the playroom and have to be carried to bed.
Gone are the nights when she would wake me in the early hours because she’d snuck her way through the wing and crawled into bed beside me for warmth.
I miss it and just the thought is enough to bring a sting of heat to the back of my eyes.
I promised her I would fix our family, that I would fix everything, yet I sit here without a single thing to offer her other than the countless apologies she barely understands and the weight of grief that will never fade.
Slowly, very slowly, I reach out to her and place my hand over what I guess to be her ankle.
That moment of contact lessens the pain in my chest for a moment until, even in sleep, Angie recognizes me and curls tighter in on herself, thus removing her ankle from under my hand.
The weight of sorry will never be enough.
I remain in Angie’s room for over an hour just watching her sleep and replaying all the ways my attack on the Yudkin manor should have gone differently.
It should have been the end of everything and instead I’m caught in a net, prolonging the pain of those around me.
If Antov won’t meet my demands within the day, I’ll burn his empire to the ground until he has no choice.
Sleep comes after a large glass of Scotch and fifty pushups before bed, where I fall into a dreamless pit of exhaustion and wake with the same tiredness clinging to me.
Sleep hasn’t been restful for weeks.
After showering, I’m halfway to the garage when Florence sweeps down the hall and catches my arm.
“Angie’s in the dining room.”
I stop dead in the middle of the hallway. “What?”
“Mhm. She’s taking breakfast in there.”
“But she hasn’t eaten in there since—.”
“I know.” Florence nods quickly. “Go.”
I don’t need telling twice.
Abandoning all my morning plans about calling a meeting to plan exactly how to smoke Antov out, I head toward the dining room that overlooks the garden with an almost bird’s-eye view of the pond.
Inside, Angie sits on her regular seat with her legs swinging back and forth, still clutching her giraffe under one elbow and holding a slice of buttered toast with the other.
“Angie?” I approach her slowly and my heart lifts as she turns to glance at me. “Good morning.”
Her large blue eyes remain on me as she munches.
While she doesn’t speak, she does hold out her giraffe to me as I sit next to her.
Behind me, a servant darts about at the food cart and brings me a cup of coffee while I smooth out some wrinkles on the giraffe.
“Good morning, Mr. Giraffe. What are you having for breakfast this morning, hmm?”
Angie slides her plate toward me where three blueberries sit in a neat line.
“Blueberries?”
She nods and the yellow bow in her hair bounces quickly.
“I love blueberries. You’re lucky, Mr. Giraffe. If you weren’t here, then I’d gobble them all up one by one. But someone,” I say with a knowing glance at Angie, “told me once that without your blueberries, you become really grumpy and we don’t want that, do we?”
Angie continues to watch me, her eyes wide and her mouth void of the smile I ache to see there once again.
Another bite of toast passes her lips, and her eyes narrow slightly as I move the giraffe to the table, positioning him carefully next to the blueberries.
“Just coffee for me this morning though,” I say, filling the silence between us with conversation.
I was told it was the best way. Talking and acting normal without drawing attention to Angie’s silence is supposed to encourage her to engage, but she doesn’t show any signs of wanting to as she returns her focus to her toast.
My little girl was once so full of life. The halls echoed with her laughter and running footsteps, and more than once I’d find a guard run down to his limits from trying to keep up with her.
Now she sits quietly, swinging her legs back and forth under a weighty cloud of sadness that reflects in her eyes.
“Frank told me that he wants to get back into painting. I told him he should come and talk to you because after you painted all the walls in the hallway next to the conservatory, I think you’re the only one in this family with the artistic talent to direct him.
” A soft smile crosses my lips. “He’s got the talent of a toad. ”
Angie doesn’t reply, but she stares at me with her big, hollow eyes and eats quietly.
Until her eyes drop to the Band-aid still covering my neck and her brows pinch together.
“I’m okay,” I say immediately, touching the Band-aid with the back of my knuckles and then rubbing up to my chin. “My own fault. You know how Daddy always cuts himself while shaving.”
Angie sets her toast down and reaches for her giraffe, pulling it into her lap and gazing at me without a sound.
Sometimes, the intensity of her gaze gives me the sensation that she’s trying to tell me a hundred things and I just can’t quite decipher them.
It adds to the guilt resting under my ribs and I force a smile.
“Flynn?” Frank’s voice drifts from the doorway, and Angie looks toward him first, tightening her hold on her giraffe. I follow her line of sight and meet his gaze.
“What?”
He tilts his head toward the hallway while keeping a light smile on his face. “Morning, Angie.”
She doesn’t reply, but she does lift one small hand and wave.
“I’ll be right back, sweetie.” Rising, I lean down and kiss the top of her head.
As I straighten back up, she suddenly thrusts her giraffe up toward me and holds it there until I give him a kiss on the top of his fuzzy head, then she returns to her toast.
Out in the hallway, the majority of my attention remains focused on her. “What’s up?”
“How is she?” Franks asks quietly, his voice a low rumble. “Any changes?”
“No.” My tongue lifts to the roof of my mouth as a warm pull of nausea moves through my gut. “The doctors and the psychiatrists all say that it will take as long as it takes but I—.” The words catch in my throat. “Never mind. What’s so important?”
“Antov.” Frank rests a hand on his waist as he speaks. “He finally responded. I guess that call with Kaia gave him a little perspective because he wants to meet.”
My brow’s twitch up. “He say when?”
“Yep. Sent an address too. If we head—”
“Flynn!” My name flies through the air like a gunshot, fired from Kaia, who storms up the corridor toward me with her hair flying and a furious glint in her eye.
Searching behind me for the door handle, I’m unable to find it before Kaia barrels toward me and stabs two angry fingers into my chest. “Kaia, this—”
“Was last night some kind of joke to you? Do you really think that your fucking dick is impressive enough that I would just forgive you? That everything you’ve done to me and my family, to any other family that got in your way, I would just forget all of it?”
Beside me, Frank’s brows jerk up to his non-existent hairline.
“Because I’m awake now, do you understand?
Whatever drugs you shoved in my system are gone and I see clearly because you had your chance last night to kill me and you should have taken it.
I’m not going to stop, do you hear me? Forget sleeping peacefully, forget trusting every bite of your food or savoring a glass of water.
You’re underestimating me because you think kidnapping someone means they’re no longer a threat, but I know you, Gallagher.
If there’s any hint of truth to the rumors about you and your family then you should know that all the rumors about the Yudkin are true, and telling me to aim higher the next time I try to kill you?
I don’t need your advice, okay? I got you to lower your guard once and I can do it again, so don’t think for a second that just because you fucked me that I’ll roll over and forget how to kill because I’m going to kill you, you hear me?
When you least expect it, I’ll kill you as slowly as you deserve and everyone else even remotely close to you will die—! ”
Kaia’s furious rant screeches to a sudden halt as her words collapse into a whine and her eyes widen like saucers.
The cause makes itself known a second later as a small hand latches onto my pant leg and tugs.
Angie stares up at me with wide eyes, trailing her giraffe by the neck and she tugs at my pants again.
Nothing in the world stops me from crouching down and scooping her up into my arms.
As soon as I do, she shoves her face into my neck and buries there, clutching at me with her free hand while her giraffe dangles from her iron grip.
Once she’s tucked against my hip, I turn back to Kaia and meet her horrified gaze with a small smirk.
“You were saying?”