Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
LEON
The iron gates come into view and they’re wide open. Bailey’s grip around my waist tightens as she must see what I see.
I slow the bike to a crawling pace, almost like there’s a repelling circle around the perimeter. Everything in me screams to go back.
“This feels like a trap,” I say loud enough for Bailey to hear me. I don’t know Alfred well but I know he’s obsessive about security.
“Of course it’s a trap. He wants us here.”
I love how Bailey cuts through the bullshit to the heart of the problem. I usually do the same, but when it comes to the people I love, it’s harder to stay focused.
“I’m going to check everyone’s locations,” I say, pulling out my phone. There’s three missed calls from Damon, two from Falin, and a string of increasingly creative text threats from Jasper about what he’ll do to me if I get Bailey killed. Fair enough. “They’re still thirty minutes away.”
I type out a quick message: At the estate. Gates open. Going in.
“So what’s the plan?” Bailey asks.
I glance back at my phone as it rings with a call from Damon. Oh, he’s going to kill me. “I say we drive straight in. There’s no point in sneaking around when he’s clearly expecting us.”
“Bold choice, but I get it. He’s practically rolled out a red carpet for our arrival.”
“If Alfred wanted us dead, we’d already be dead. He wants something else.” I rev the engine. “Besides, I’m so fucking done with skulking around in the shadows.”
Alright, you old psycho bastard, let’s see what your game is.
I ride through the open gates and up the long, tree-lined drive. It’s such a shame that this place is owned by that man. Objectively, it’s a beautiful estate. Except now it’s tainted by his legacy.
The main house comes into view as I round a bend. Lights glow from the open windows, another sign that this is exactly what he wants.
I pull the bike right up to the front entrance, the gravel crunching under the tires as I park next to a stone sculpture that probably cost more than my college education.
“Well, this is subtle,” Bailey says as she climbs off the bike.
I pull off my helmet. “He wants us here, so here we are.”
“There’s no missing out on that fact,” she says.
I shake my head, marveling at her ability to still find some twisted humor in this crazy situation.
“How are you doing?” I ask quietly.
She takes a deep breath and scans the front of the house. “Trying not to think about the last time I walked through those doors.”
I reach for her hand, squeezing gently. “This time, you have the power.”
Her answer is a nod and hand squeeze. “It’s weird that we haven’t seen anyone else. No security. No Ms. Harrington. It’s eerie.”
My phone buzzes again, but I ignore it. I have worse things to deal with than a pissed off Damon.
I check my gun one more time, making sure there’s a round in the chamber. “Stay behind me, and if anything goes—”
“Sideways, I run,” Bailey finishes with a hint of sass. “I know.”
We step forward both realizing at the same time that the massive front door is halfway ajar. Every muscle in my body tenses as we cross inside. I can’t even imagine what Bailey must be feeling.
Our footsteps echo along the marble floor of the foyer. This place is no different than when I was a child—cold, stuffy, for show. No wonder I blocked it out.
“There you are.”
The voice drifts from the shadows near the grand staircase, completely calm.
Alfred steps into the light, looking as polished and professional as always in pressed slacks and a navy blue cashmere sweater.
But the circles under his eyes give him away.
His silvering hair might be perfectly styled, but he’s thinner than when I last saw him up close, more haggard.
“You made good time,” he says, checking his Rolex. “Though I expected you earlier.”
Behind me, Bailey’s breathing has become shallow and audible, but she stays strong.
“Where is she?” I keep my voice level and my hand hovering on my gun.
“Your mother is quite safe, I assure you.” Alfred’s eyes shift to Bailey, and his expression softens in a way that makes me want to kill him here and now. “Hello, darling. You’re looking different. Not sure I care for the haircut. Longer suits you… How it was before you left me.”
“I didn’t leave,” Bailey says quietly. “I escaped.”
“Semantics.” He waves a hand. “You’ve learned to speak up for yourself. I’m pleased. All that refinement wasn’t wasted.”
The more he speaks, the stronger my pull to end him here and now. But I need information. Violence can wait.
“What do you want, Alfred?”
“Want?” He seems genuinely puzzled by my question.
“I want what I’ve always wanted, Leon. Family.
Legacy. The satisfaction of seeing my work come to fruition.
” His gaze moves between Bailey and me like he’s admiring an art collection.
“You two represent everything I’ve been building toward.
It didn’t work out with James—he was always too coddled, too stupid to get anywhere. But not you, my greatest achievement.”
“Your greatest achievement is human trafficking and murder,” I say. “You’re a monster.”
“Now that’s harsh.” He fusses with a speck of dust on the banister, then studies me. “I prefer to think of myself as a curator. I find broken things and make them beautiful. It’s charity, really. Take your mother, for instance.”
My hand inches closer to my gun. “What about my mother?”
“Sweet Ada. She was so damaged when I found her. Barely eighteen, running from an abusive boyfriend, scared to go back home, of what her parents would think. I gave her purpose. Stability. Love.” The way he says the word makes me nauseous.
“Even after she left with you, I never stopped caring for her.”
Bailey touches my back in a show of solidarity that I desperately need. It keeps me focused, keeps me calm.
“What are you saying?” I seethe. “I thought my mother worked for you as a housekeeper? Why would she be afraid to go back home? My grandparents loved her!”
He shoots me a condescending smile, like I’m nothing but a naive child. “Your mother was never just a housekeeper. She was my first real success story. I’d say she even started me on the path to helping so many more broken women.”
There’s no way. My mother would have told me—someone would have.
“She was special from the moment I found her,” Alfred continues, his voice taking on that dreamy quality again.
“So broken, so lost. But I saw her potential. I took her in, cleaned her up, taught her how to speak properly, how to carry herself with dignity. How to be grateful for what she’d been given. ”
“You’re lying,” I say, although a small alarm in my mind is blaring that it has to be true.
“Am I? Why don’t you ask her yourself? Though I suspect our stories might differ in details.
See, she remembers our relationship quite differently than it really was.
Head in the clouds, that one. She always believed I loved her, even when I married Jeneva.
In her mind, she had to leave because I was being forced into an arranged marriage.
That I wanted her to have you, to be with her parents again. ”
The pieces are falling into place in the worst possible way. I can barely breathe from the tightness in my chest.
“She was eighteen. A teenager.”
“Legal age,” Alfred says dismissively. “And far better off with me than on the streets, or with her penniless parents. I gave her everything—shelter, food, education, refinement. She was grateful for it all. The beautiful thing about Ada is that she never stopped trusting me. Even after all these years.” He picks at an invisible piece of lint on his shirt.
“She calls me for advice about you, you know? Shares your achievements, worries about your well-being. She has no idea she’s been my most valuable asset. ”
“What do you mean, asset?”
“How do you think I knew exactly when you’d arrive in London?
Where you were staying? Who you were working with?
” His smile widens. “Your devoted mother has been keeping me informed every step of the way. All she wants is her baby boy to grow up like his powerful, wealthy father. It hasn’t taken much convincing to get anything I want out of her. ”
“But why now?” I ask. “Clearly, you enjoy ruining the lives of innocent people. Why bother to put in all this work in my honor?”
Bailey’s touch on my back becomes firmer. Silently telling me she’s there, that I’m not alone.
His expression shifts, and his eyes almost darken. I can tell he wasn’t expecting my question, and I’m glad I struck a nerve.
“Time is a finite resource, Leon. And mine is running shorter than I’d prefer.”
I let his words linger in the air, while I read his body language. This is why he’s paler than normal. Thinner. Like he’s aged years in the span of months.
“You’re sick.”
“Dying,” he says. “Six months left. Maybe eight, if I’m fortunate.
Pancreatic cancer. Quite ironic, considering it’s one of the most vicious ways to go.
” He clears his throat and adjusts his voice so he’s all business again.
“Which is why I’ve been working to ensure my legacy continues.
The charity, my work with The Brotherhood…
I need someone overseeing that brute, Orlov.
I’ve known for years that he’s a live wire. ”
“And you think I’m that person?” I point to my chest. “If I didn’t want in years ago, then why the hell would I want in now? You’ve kidnapped and tortured the people I love. I want no part in your sick empire.”
Alfred gestures vaguely around the estate.
“All of this could be yours—the properties, the offshore accounts, the network of contacts across three continents. Senators, judges, police commissioners, customs officials… they’d all answer to you.
You’re making a mistake if you throw this offer away.
I’ve watched you, I know you have the stomach for this.
You’re more like me than you think, son. ”
“I’m nothing like you,” I spit.
“Well let’s have a test then? What if I told you, you could only save one of them… Bailey, or your lovely mum. Difficult choice, I know. What would you do?”
I pull out my gun and aim it at his head. “How about I kill you and walk out of here with both of them?”
He throws his head back and laughs. “I was right about you having the stomach for violence.”
“This isn’t a game. I’ll fucking kill you right here. Where is she?”
“Oh, I know you’d kill me, which is why I made it so you need me to get to her. Reconsider my offer, and I’ll make sure she remains unharmed.”
It’s times like these that I wish I had Jasper’s smooth talking skills, or Damon’s ability to get out of situations. I can see that Alfred’s losing his patience, and now, knowing he has such little time left on this earth, legacy or not, I have no idea what he’ll do.
So I do the only thing I can. Lie through my teeth.
“You’re right,” I say, forcing my voice to stay level. “I do have the stomach for violence. And I’m starting to see what you mean about making hard choices.”
Alfred’s expression shifts, interest flickering in his eyes. “Go on.”
I glance at Bailey, hoping she’ll understand what I’m doing. I can’t hurt her. “All these months searching for her, I’ve done things I never thought I’d do. Hurt people. Destroyed lives. Broken laws.” I pause, letting that sink in. “Maybe I am more like you than I wanted to admit.”
Bailey’s eyes go wide but she stays quiet, observing every detail.
“I knew it,” Alfred says. “I could see it in you as a child. That spark of something special.”
“But I need to know she’s safe first,” I continue, lowering my weapon. “Before I agree to anything. I need to see my mother, make sure she’s unharmed.”
Alfred studies my face, searching for some sign of deception. I force myself to meet his gaze steadily, channeling every ounce of acting ability I’ve ever possessed. Bailey’s grip on my back lowers, until she’s holding the loop of my jeans.
“Very well,” he says finally. “I suppose a good faith gesture is in order. Follow me.”
Once we’re behind Alfred, Bailey takes my hand and squeezes once, a silent indication telling me she’s here, she understands what I’m doing.
But as we follow Alfred deeper into the estate, toward whatever fresh slice of hell he’s prepared, I can’t stop thinking that we’re prey walking right into his web.
And this time, there might not be a way out.