Chapter 41 Elizabeth
ELIZABETH
I wake in stages, pulled toward the surface by the need to use the bathroom. I sit up slowly, listening. But the bedrooms up here are well insulated, and I hear nothing. I’m not sure whether it’s comforting or terrifying. I do know that I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.
A deep throb pulses behind my eyes, my cheekbone is tight and hot, and my splinted fingers feel heavier than normal.
I close my eyes. Just for a second, I promise myself, even though I want to pull the covers over my head and hide.
No. Get up.
Opening my eyes, I swing my legs and gingerly rise, momentarily relieved that my feet are only mildly sore as I drag myself to the adjoining bathroom.
The mirror confirms what I already know.
My face is a map of bruises topped by a split lip.
My eye is swollen, but it’s not completely shut, so there’s that, I think grimly.
Attractive.
One look and I realize no amount of concealer on earth is going to hide the damage.
I stare at myself for a minute, refusing to give in to the urge to return to bed. “You can do this, Elizabeth. You are fine.” I glare at the woman looking back at me with defeated eyes. “They don’t get to win.”
The water from the shower stings the fresh injuries, but I attempt to soap myself one-handed, holding my bandaged hand out of the spray, sucking in ragged breaths to keep my composure.
I don’t understand why I still feel afraid. Weak. Helpless.
I fucking hate it.
There is no point in even attempting my hair. Using my good hand, I carefully rake my fingers through the wet strands in an attempt to make it look presentable.
“Do you need some help?” Brady’s voice sounds through the door.
“No.” I don’t want him to see me like this. On some level, I know it’s ridiculous because he saw me at my worst last night, but under the overhead lights, I feel exposed.
“The Blooms and the agents from the Justice Department and FBI will be here in about thirty minutes.” There’s a pause. “If you don’t feel up to—”
“It’s fine.” I swallow hard. “Just give me a few minutes.”
There is a quiet thud, and I suspect it’s Brady’s forehead against the door.
“Firefly—”
“I’ll see you downstairs.” My lip is trembling, and I worry he can hear the tremor in my words.
“I’ll wait for you.”
I sigh, not having the energy to argue, and look at the skirt suit I’ve hung on the door.
You can do this.
Getting dressed requires some painful contortions, and a one-handed battle with the zipper.
When I shrug into the blazer, I have to bite the inside of my cheek at the pull in my shoulders.
The idea of putting any makeup on my injuries makes me want to cry, so I only slick on some mascara as if it will distract from the bruises and hollows under my eyes.
Best I can do.
I feel like a fraud.
The sound of the door has Brady’s eyes snapping up and then widening in surprise when he takes in what I’m wearing. His dark brows bunch, and he takes a step toward me, his hands hovering over my hips like he’s afraid to touch me.
The boulder on my chest grows heavier.
Weak. Weak. Weak.
“I can handle it for you,” he offers. “You don’t need—” His gaze hasn’t left my bruises, and the look on his face like I’m about to shatter into pieces gives me a surge of strength.
“I do.”
His jaw flexes, but he doesn’t argue. Brady stays close as I walk through the hallway to the conference room where the others are waiting.
The table is full. I recognize Luke and James Bloom, but there are five other men at the table I don’t. I force myself not to hesitate in the doorway, striding to one of the open chairs on the opposite side of the group.
Just another meeting.
An older man with a Department of Justice badge clipped to the front of his jacket winces when he looks at me. There is only one other man sitting at the table not wearing a tailored suit, so I assume he’s the FBI agent.
The three large men sitting at the far end are some of the most intimidating individuals I’ve ever seen.
All three are extremely attractive but in a scary, darkly captivating kind of way.
I’ve seen pictures of Declan Bloom, but it’s the other two who practically radiate danger.
The tall, lean man with the piercing ice-blue eyes looks vaguely familiar, but the muscular man with black hair and dark eyes is a total stranger.
I don’t know who they are or why they’re here, but their expensive suits and watches send my anxiety into the stratosphere.
How do I know they aren’t Lapidarists?
Because you have a list, you idiot, the angry voice in my head hisses. Stop being pathetic. Do you think Brady would let a threat into the building?
I take a steadying breath as they go around the table making introductions. Alex and Liev Kovalyov—the men at the end—are the last to be introduced, and I jerk, recognizing the names. They’re Russian mafia. Bratva.
Then I remember. James Bloom’s wife’s best friend is married to Alex Kovalyov. My shoulders relax even as I wonder why Declan Bloom and the Kovalyovs are here.
“If you’re not up to talking to us, we’d all understand. Mr. Worthington can fill us in.”
I level a cool stare at the FBI agent and say in a tone that can’t possibly be misunderstood. “I’m fine.”
“Of course, you are,” Declan says matter-of-factly. “I would imagine it would take a lot more than a measly beating to take down a woman like you.”
I turn my hard stare on him, not sure if he’s mocking me. But he’s leaned back, his enormous frame relaxed in his chair. He seems sincere.
After that, no one else says a word about my face.
Luke begins. “We’ll keep this brief. We’ve got the overview, and we’ve been in touch with the former head of the task-force Brady worked for. These gentlemen…” He nods toward the two government agents. “Need your statement on the record. Mostly to fill in a few blanks.”
Over the next two hours, I give them the information they want while the two agents take furious notes.
Keith. The necklace. Anna. The party.
My voice doesn’t waver, but I’m aware of how detached I sound, like I’m reciting someone else’s nightmare. I zone out a little, the throbbing in my eye growing as they discuss what will happen next.
“…anyone connected to the defense contracts. If we find criminal activity…” the Justice Department guy is musing.
James cuts in. “You mean when. When you find it. Selling American-funded weapons to foreign terrorists isn’t just criminal—it’s treason.”
There’s a pause.
The agent nods. “It will be taken care of.”
My concentration is slipping. The room feels too bright, the air too thin. I try to sit still, but my splinted fingers ache.
Luke’s voice breaks through. “Seth and Anna are currently in the Atlanta Police Department’s custody for what happened last night.”
“I’m going to take Ms. Lindquist into FBI custody as soon as I leave here. She’s angling for witness protection.”
Declan scoffs under his breath. “They’ll find her.”
“Someone will,” Alex Kovalyov says with a slight smile.
Brady crosses his arms. “And the rest of the Lapidarists?”
The FBI agent shrugs. “If we can tie them to any actual crimes, we’ll press charges. But belonging to a secret club isn’t illegal.” He holds up the white velvet box, now in a labelled evidence bag. “However, I suspect this is going to prove to be the missing link to several open investigations.”
The DOJ guy gives a polite nod, saying something about keeping us in the loop, and then they are gone.
“What’s the plan?” James is looking at his older brother.
Declan stays silent for a moment and then stands, adjusting his cuffs. “Leave it with me. Their names will be publicly revealed… after that?”
He looks to Alex as he and Liev rise to their feet. Alex’s light eyes blaze with excitement. “A joint venture. We haven’t gone hunting in a while.”
“Already bored with changing diapers?”
“Never.” Alex scowls at Declan. “And you aren’t really one to talk.”
“Hunting is that what you call it?” Brady asks, sounding curious. “I’d like to be a part of it.”
Alex looks at him as if he'd forgotten Brady was in the room. “No. This is bestie stuff.”
“Did you just say, bestie?” Declan looks horrified. James and Luke are openly laughing.
“Dec has a bestie,” Luke wipes at his eyes.
It takes my sluggish brain a second to catch up with the banter being thrown around, but finally the pertinent information seems to fully puncture the fog.
“You’re going to… all of them?”
The man introduced as Liev speaks for the first time. He’d been smiling along with the others, but his expression sobers. “We really don’t like men who abuse women.” He cocks his head. “Or power-hungry assholes.”
“Um…” Luke stares pointedly at Declan and Alex.
Liev lifts his hands with a grin. “I stand corrected. Power-hungry assholes who use that power to hurt innocent people.”
The men continue to trade barbs, but I’m suddenly exhausted. I come to my feet. “If you don’t need anything else…”
“We should go, too. I promised Jax we could go to the playground,” Alex says, looking at his watch.
I shake my head trying to reconcile the idea of a gangster and a playground.
“Do you want something to eat? Coffee?” Brady asks, walking with me to the door.
Before I can answer, the door opens and Sera steps inside, her expression neutral. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the way Liev stands straighter, his gaze tracking her as she crosses the room.
Sera doesn’t look at him directly, but I notice how her gaze flicks to Liev before she leans down, whispering something into Rhodes’s ear.
“Elizabeth?” Brady prompts.
“What?” I shake my head. “I just need rest.”
“I’ll come with you.”
My throat feels tight. “No, I’m fine.”
Brady’s jaw flexes, but he doesn’t say anything about my word choice, and for some reason that makes me sad. “I’m sure you have things you need to take care of. I’ll see you later.”
I can feel Brady’s eyes on me as I climb the stairs, heavy with worry. He thinks I’m fragile. Maybe I am. But the thought that he’ll only ever see me as something broken scares me.