Chapter 14 Rhys
Rhys
Driving back up to London was a vastly superior experience to driving down from it. Rather than the chaotic, multi-day experience intertwined with murder attempts, Rhys was relieved to make the trip in a single day—just like it was supposed to be.
The only time they’d stopped was for petrol, and he’d picked up something that he thought Penny was actually going to appreciate.
“Are you sure this is right?” she asked as he finally pulled off the main road, turning down the music.
When they left Villa Scilly this morning—after hiring a garage to store his beloved Bentley in down in Cornwall—Rhys had handed over control of the radio to her as an apology for torturing her with his soundtrack of terrible songs on the way down.
As a result, they’d been listening to her favourite music for the drive, which he was surprised to learn was classic rock, of all things.
“It’s right.” The entrance to Roman’s parking garage was cut off by a pair of heavy roller doors. He stopped next to the freestanding intercom, pulling his driving licence out of his wallet and holding it up to the camera.
After a few seconds of silence, the roller doors opened.
It wasn’t the last check, either. A further three barriers greeted them before Rhys eventually reversed their poky little hire car into the space allocated to Roman’s flat. In some ways, he was actually quite relieved they weren’t going to his own flat.
At least here, his neighbours couldn’t see the absolute shitpiece he’d pulled up in. A noise of disgust escaped him as he stepped out of the car, having forgotten how hideous it was.
The French were fantastic at many things, but designing cars was not one of them.
“What’s wrong?” Penny asked, her eyes wide.
Unloading the luggage, Rhys simply gestured at the car, hoping it would speak for itself. “I’m just glad no one I know saw me driving this.” Even his first car had been better, and it had mostly been held together by duct tape.
“I saw you driving it,” she said tartly.
He shut the boot before walking over to her and dropping his voice. “And you will keep my secret, or I’ll tell people you listen to Rainbow. Willingly.”
Her jaw dropped as her eyes blazed with incensed fury. “'Stargazer' is the greatest song ever written, and I will fight you if you say otherwise.”
“It’s eight minutes long, Pen!” He led her towards the lift up to Roman’s flat. “And the only reason I know that is because we listened to it four times today.”
She crossed her arms as he scanned his fingerprint on the sensor. “Quite frankly, you’re lucky it wasn’t on repeat the entire journey. Clearly, you can’t appreciate a masterpiece when you hear one.”
“Please tell me you don’t actually do that.” He shook his head as they entered the lift, unable to stop a grin spreading across his face. “Please.”
Penny shoved at his shoulder with a laugh. “So what if I do? Leave me alone.”
“No, obviously you can’t be trusted on your own. Listening to fucking Rainbow, what year were you born again?” He leant against the lift wall, realising how light he felt—despite the threat to their lives.
Her eyes glittered like dark jewels as she looked up at him, her beaming smile a work of art he couldn’t look away from.
“Why have I never seen you smile like this before?” he murmured, biting back the urge to run his thumb along her bottom lip.
She moved in slightly, like she was about to impart some great secret. “I think that says more about your company than it does me.”
Rhys let out an exaggerated snort, noticing she hadn’t pulled away—nor had he. “I’ll have you know I’m fantastic company.”
Penny simply arched an eyebrow, that bewitching smile still sitting on her jaw.
He hauled in a breath, half a second away from clasping her face between his hands and seizing her lips with his own.
The elevator let out a high-pitched ding as they arrived at the correct floor, the doors sweeping open to unveil Roman’s flat.
Rhys sent Penny a flirtatious wink, trying not to show how close he’d been to pinning her against the elevator wall and devouring her. He led the way inside, his voice full of mischief. “It’s a lot smaller than mine. Obviously.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re such a child.”
He wasn’t wrong. The flat was smaller than his own—significantly so. But then Roman had bought it back before his relationship with Aldous and Bri; he hadn’t needed anything more than a single bedroom and an open-plan living/dining area.
“Excuse me, which one of us is wearing Crocs?” It was the single weak point in her outfit; an oversized t-shirt that almost overtook the dark skirt she’d paired it with.
Something about the combination made him think of the soft hours after lovemaking, when a woman would occasionally don her lover’s shirt.
She collapsed onto the Chesterfield sofa, the leather a rich chocolate.
Her long legs stretched out in front of her.
“They’re comfy. I won’t apologise.” Her attention landed on a large landscape photograph above the mantelpiece.
A crowd of people smiled at the camera, several of whom shared his amber eyes. “Is this…?”
Rhys understood the question, taking the seat next to her. Affection filled his chest as he glanced up at the photo. “That was taken at my sister-in-law Bri’s graduation party a few years ago.”
“She’s the one in the gown, obviously. I recognise Roman next to her, and I’m assuming the man standing next to him is your brother?”
“Because he’s just a less good-looking version of me?”
Penny studied the photo intently, her head tipping to the side. “No, because you’re a less good-looking version of him.”
His jaw dropped in outrage. “I beg your finest pardon?”
She turned to him with a grin full of mischief, like the Cheshire cat personified.
Rhys gave her a playful shove as she erupted in giggles, her knees pulled up high as she leant against the sofa. “I knew you were lying.”
“It was for your own good, honestly. If your head gets any bigger, it might actually explode.”
He stretched his arm out along the sofa, grinning as he settled next to her.
This side of Penny was a revelation to him, far from the terrified woman she’d been during her panic attack the night before last. They’d spent another night at Villa Scilly before departing, but he’d left some of the mood lighting on to prevent a second panic attack.
Not that either of them had mentioned it.
He wanted to bring it up. He wanted to know what had caused them. Where had she been locked? Who had locked her in?
But Penny was proud, and he didn’t want to risk pushing her away—not now he’d seen what lay beneath her tough exterior.
“You’re very kind to think of my well-being.”
She gave his chest a sympathetic pat, her eyes still twinkling. “So, who else is in this?”
“My mother is the woman dressed in blue, and the man next to her is her husband. The pregnant woman is Kate, who’s married to Warren, the tattooed guy next to her.”
“Which one of them is related to you?”
“Neither. Warren was my cellmate in prison, but he ended up being unofficially adopted into the family. Then next to him is Jensen, my cousin, and Talia, the woman with the long red hair.”
Pen nodded, her mouth tightening almost imperceptibly. “I recognise him.”
That was a surprise. “You do?”
“I remember seeing his mugshot in a newspaper article online,” she muttered quietly. She glanced up at him, but for once, there was no anger in her eyes. “He was injured, wasn’t he?”
“He was. Who knew using petrol to burn down someone’s house would be hazardous?” Without quite knowing why, Rhys voiced a question. “Do you know what we killed him for?”
For the first time, he wanted her to understand why. Was it because of the lack of judgement in her tone? Was it because he wanted to prove something to her?
He didn’t have an answer to either question.
Penny shook her head. “I don’t remember seeing a motive.”
“He was a child abuser, Pen. A prolific one.” Her eyes blew wide, but Rhys carried on.
“Graeme Friedman—search his name online if you need to, you’ll find everything listed in horrifying detail.
I didn’t kill him out of a love for violence or cruelty.
” He swallowed his rising emotions, his voice turning hoarse as familiar feelings of guilt crept in.
“I killed him because he abused someone I loved.” Someone I should have protected.
“He may have been my victim, but he was in no way innocent.”
Fuck. Rhys turned away. He hadn’t meant to get angry, but thinking of Friedman always drove him to the edge. It would have driven anyone to the edge if it were their loved one he’d abused. And even after he and Jensen had killed Friedman, Rhys had arrived at a harrowing conclusion.
It hadn’t been enough.
Nothing he and Jensen had done to Friedman that night had been enough. It never would be.
Her voice was so hushed it was almost silent. “Rhys…”
Her hand brushed against his, and Rhys grasped it like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth. “Friedman was a monster who received the death he deserved, but I’ll happily go to my grave knowing that I will always defend the people I love—even if the cost is my own freedom.”