55. Chapter 50
As my feet hit the bottom step, I’m greeted by a blast of cold air from the open front door. I pause, irritation heating my neck. It’s so careless, but then I have to remember they are just men with emotions and bad habits, like everyone else.
I shift the stack of Cora’s books in my arms, debating crossing the foyer to shut and lock it, but a stern voice from the library snags my attention. My stomach flutters. I’ve not seen any of them since last night, except for Striker this morning, and the thought of walking in there sends desire crashing through my belly.
When I woke up in that room just over three weeks ago, I never could have imagined how my life would change so drastically. Instead of fearing the men who took me, my pulse thunders, my body sore, yet electrified at just the thought of just being in the same room as them.
Another grating command echoes through the house. I adjust the stack of books and take the last step off the stairwell, unease making my jaw tighten. They sound like they’re arguing.
As I enter the library, my gaze lands on the four men standing in a row, their backs to me. They all seem to tense, sensing my presence. The four step aside, parting to reveal an unfamiliar face in the center of the room.
My heart skips, my gaze instinctively falling on Reaper, then Striker next to him. My stomach drops as I notice the mask covering Striker’s face. Uncertainty gnaws at me as I hesitantly take a step forward, searching for any signs from Reaper that I should be concerned.
His black eyes tell me nothing. His tense shoulders and fisted gloved hands tells me I need to tread lightly.
The man’s polished shoes click against the wood floor as he steps forward, drawing my eyes. “Delilah Gavin,” the man says, voice like velvet. “What a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”
In person.
My grip tightens on the books and I hug them to my chest, heart hammering so hard it’s making it difficult to focus. I tilt my ankle in my boot, but remember my knife is gone. Viper never gave it back to me. As he steps closer, my eyes dart up his body, from his shiny black shoes to his face.
It’s so strange to see a face after so many weeks of just seeing my own and Cora’s, and Strikers barely two days ago, that I stare at him, taking in his features. He’s tall—almost as tall as Reaper—lithe, dressed in a charcoal three-piece suit that accentuates his lean, athletic build. Silver hair, styled elegantly, long on top, but shaved on the sides. High cheekbones and a sharp jawline chiseled to perfection.
He’s striking in a way that’s intimidating, but it’s his eyes that make my skin prick with alarm. Piercingly clear, cold. Like ice, reminding me of Breaker, but lacking in depth or emotion. Like all color bled from the iris, leaving them empty.
“Who are you?” I ask before I can clamp my mouth shut, years of training on how to interact with cold, calculating men fleeing my body in this man’s presence.
This. This is a predator.
His lip curls, revealing a flash of white teeth, as his smirk cuts through me. “How impolite,” he says, his voice smooth and controlled. The instinct to back away is so strong I nearly do it, but I plant my boots on the hardwood floor and set my jaw, tracking his movements as he takes another step toward me. “No tact, but beautiful. I can see why my sons have become so enchanted with you.” He offers a large hand with thin fingers. “I’m Fallon Byrns. Their father.”
His words crash through my head, paralyzing me.
Sons.
Father.
“You’re their father?” I ask, my brows knitting. I glance at Reaper. When he spoke of their father, I’m not sure what, if anything, I pictured, but I certainly couldn”t imagine the man before me. The four men flanking either side of him are all of a different ethnicity from what little I’ve seen of them, and maybe in some remote part of my mind I knew they were adopted after Reaper said they were all brothers, but I never would have pictured this man before me as their father. Or anyone’s, for that matter. My gaze moves back to the man Reaper said used to be friends with Rune. “How do you know Rune?”
His perfect silver brow arches. “I see Reaper has told you.”
I swallow the unease trying to choke all the air from my lungs. “He’s told me some, but I would still like to know why I’m here.”
Fallon turns his head to the side, looking over at Reaper. His profile is something an artist would weep over. He’s older than my father, but so handsome, so stoic and cold, that he looks years younger.
“She knows,” Reaper says, and his deep voice makes my nipples pebble.
“I’m aware of what Rune is doing,” I say, gathering all my courage to keep my voice from trembling. I refuse to show any weakness around this man. He is someone to fear. Someone to watch carefully. My instincts scream, telling me to be wary. This man, their father, is here for a reason after all these weeks.
Their father who lost a son.
The son Rune killed.
I guessed from the moment I woke up, my father knew who was taking us. He said as much when the four stormed into the lobby. That means he’s known all along who’s had us.
Did he send you?
He’s doing this…
He’s come to collect.
He’s known, this entire time, that this man in front of me took Cora and me, and Rune’s known this entire time why we were taken.
And he didn’t try to get us.
Fallon is the reason I’m here. He has to be the one who told these men to take us. Even though they explained, even though I know why they did what they did, having the man responsible for giving the order to use me standing before me, sends sparks of rage through my head.
I know why they did it. And I also know they were incapable of going through with whatever their father ordered them to do. I’m not angry with them. I understand them now.
But this man ordered them to manipulate me, and do god only knows what in order to get my cooperation. This cold, calculating man standing before me.
“Why am I here?” I ask, leaning over to place the books on the sofa I was fucked on last night. I push the thought away and meet Fallon’s cold eyes. Part of me wonders if he told them to fuck us that night in the club or if they did that on their own.
Does it matter? I was willing every single time.
I certainly was last night.
“Revenge,” he says, tucking his hands into the pocket of his slacks.
“Not good enough,” I snap, irritation clawing up my back. “I’m aware of your thirst for revenge. Kindly explain what it is you want me to do. It’s my understanding you need my cooperation.”
Fallon’s lip curls again, and it reminds me of Reaper”s smirking mask. He’s got that same slightly arrogant, wholly brutal air about him that puts me on alert. “It’s a bit more complicated than that, Delilah.”
Goose bumps prick the back of my neck the second my name slips past his lips. Dread snakes up my arms, slithering around my neck. The way he says my name is too familiar. Too sweet, like candy coated violence. Like he knows a secret about me, but will never tell.
“You collected all that evidence against Rune,” I say, glancing briefly at Reaper. “It’s safe to say that you plan to use it.”
“Indeed,” Fallon says, rocking back on his heels, cocking his head to the side as he eyes me. The man tries to have a casual air about him, but he’s too…. hard and polished to pull it off. “Our source has provided us with years of evidence. Enough to take it to the right people and have him removed.”
“This is the second time I’ve heard about a source. Is it someone close to Rune? On the inside?” I ask. Reaper mentioned this when he showed me the files, but it didn’t register. When Fallon smiles coldly, I know he’s not going to answer, not that I expected him to, so I say, “If you take this evidence to the authorities, they’ll cover it up for Rune. He pays too well and knows too many people for them not to.”
“Which is why we haven’t,” he says. Fallon backs away, passing between the four men. He stops by the large windows overlooking the lawn at the front of the house. Pulling a black phone from inside his jacket pocket, he glances at the screen, then tucks it back.
“What do you want us to do?” I ask, growing impatient. I’ve waited weeks for answers and they are finally in front of me, yet I’m still being denied. “We’re here, willing to listen. Willing to help. Now, what do you want us to do?”
Fallon raises his brow. “We?” He turns to face me fully, eyes boring under my skin, to my bones. It feels like he’s seeing all the way down to the blood in my veins, and the unease curling around my ribs. “There is no we. I just want you, Delilah.”
My stomach twists.
“It’s a shame,” their father says. “But we must abide by the code.”
“Father,” Viper breathes and I glance over to find his pretty blue eyes gleaming with… Fear? Dread?
God, I want to see their faces so I can read them better. Learn their tells.
Fallon spins on his heel to face Viper. “I heard you, my son, but I’m not sure if it was a question or a defiance.”
Viper’s eyes drop and my stomach hits the ground with a sparking crash. My fingers curl into my dress at my sides, gathering it in fists as Viper takes a step back.
Jesus.
“Why are you here?” I ask, my guts churning with rage. How dare this man come in here and make Viper… make him retreat.
Fallon looks over his shoulder at me. “My sons have defied an order. I’m here to correct this.”
“What order?” I snap. “I said I was willing to help. I said I was will—”
That’s when I hear it.
It’s distant at first, just a faint thump, thump, thumping pulse like a heartbeat, but as it moves closer, I know exactly what it is.
No.
My fingers unfurl. My heart slams into my chest. I slide my foot back, shaking my head, and I turn, running for the foyer, fear ripping at my throat. I skid to a stop, frantically scanning the entry like she’ll suddenly appear and I can wrap my arms around her, when my eyes land on the partially open front door. I stumble forward, my legs weak with panic.
“Where is she?” I scream, the pulsing of the chopper blades growing louder and louder. My chest squeezes, like someone’s reached into my chest and has my heart, my lungs, my soul in a death grip, ready to rip them all from my body.
My boots hit the hardwood with loud thuds, and I reach for the door. But before I can grab it, before I can fling it all the way open and run to her, a strong arm wraps around my waist and pulls me back into a solid chest. My fingers slip off the rough wood and it swings open.
A black mass, like swirling shadows, descends from above and the chopper lands on the lawn. Several men rush from the side of the house just as two more jump from the helicopter, their black uniforms blending into the night.
Suddenly, a dark figure materializes from the left side of the mansion. In the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of a white dress and flowing dark red hair.
I kick back, connecting with a shin, a feral scream ripping from my throat.
“I’m sorry,” Striker grates, trying to keep me still, but I claw at his gloved hand, kicking out wildly. “I’m so sorry.”
But I don’t care about his apologies. Nothing matters but getting to her.
Cora jerks in the soldier”s grasp, her hair wild around her face from the chaotic wind of the helicopter. She kicks the black-clad soldier, but he flings her forward and she falls to her knees.
“Cora!” My scream tears from my throat. I kick back again, but Striker shifts, and we both fall to the ground. “Cora!”
She must hear me over the roar of the blades because she looks back over her shoulder, scrambling to stand as she tries to crawl away. Tries to run. But he grips her by her waist and shoves her through the black mouth of the chopper. The two men follow her and the door slides closed. It isn’t until the whipping noise of the chopper blades begins to fade that I can hear it.
My screams.
No. No. No.
You promised.
“I”m so sorry. We”ll get her. I”m so sorry.” Striker chokes on the last few words, like they”re ripping his throat to shreds. He lets me go and I wrap my arms around myself, rocking forward. My fingers furl into my chest, clutching at the open wound where my heart was just ripped out.
They promised.
I feel someone drop next to me, then large hands pull me to his chest. I slap him away because he’s a liar. He promised her. She was his. She’s ours and he just let her go. They all did. They stood by and did nothing as she was taken from me.
They did nothing, knowing what she was being sent back to.
I hit him again and again, my cries growing more hysterical. But he refuses to let me go. Reaper grips my shoulders, pulling me against him. I crash into his chest, burying my face in his shirt.
Cupping my cheeks, Reaper pulls me up to look in his eyes and leans in, whispering in my ear, “Don’t worry, Kitten. We’ll get her back. I never let go of what’s mine.”
Next to him, Breaker crouches, brushing hair from my face, his light eyes watching the sky. I grip Reaper”s shirt, barely able to breathe around the agony in my chest.
“No one takes what’s ours.”Breaker”s says, and his winter eyes meet mine. They swirl, icy with something I”ve never seen in them before. Utter violence.