Chapter 22
Annabelle
The steam in the shower is thick enough to choke on, but Aidan’s hands are steady as they slide over my skin.
He avoids the names. He avoids the ink that claims me, washing away the sweat and the scent of them with a clinical focus that doesn’t match the heat in his eyes.
My body feels heavy, a map of yesterday’s demands, but the water is a reset button I desperately need.
“You’re quiet,” Aidan murmurs, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw.
“Just thinking about Jack. And the woman.” I lean my forehead against his chest, the damp heat of him grounding me. “It never stops, does it? The dying.”
“It stops when we make it stop.”
“Your bandage is getting wet,” I say, instead of dealing with that comment.
He shrugs, the movement making him wince as the water sluices over his lean, muscular shoulder. “The tape is waterproof enough for a quick rinse. Don’t worry about me, little bell. Worry about what Ethan is cooking up in that head of his.”
“I’m always worrying about that,” I mutter, closing my eyes as the spray hits the back of my neck.
“I do love you,” he says, after a few seconds. “And Ethan is right. I couldn’t say it before.”
I don’t answer for a long heartbeat. The confession is a heavy weight, pressing against the air between us.
I’ve lived in a vacuum of grief for four fucking years, and now the world is suddenly too full of noise and needs.
I reach out and touch the ridge of his collarbone.
His skin is slick. My heart does a slow, painful roll in my chest.
“You’re a terrifying man to love, Aidan,” I whisper.
He doesn’t smile. He just reaches out and turns the tap until the water stops.
The silence that follows is thick. I shiver as the cool air hits my wet skin, the heat from the shower vanishing in seconds.
Aidan grabs a towel and dries me. He doesn’t treat me with the gentleness Ethan uses.
He treats me like a piece of equipment he needs to keep in prime condition for a fight.
“Get dressed,” he says, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous register. “I’ll have food and your supplements ready before we leave.”
He disappears, leaving me to walk slowly back into the bedroom, thinking about this plan.
Crossing to the dresser, I pull out clean underwear, a black tee and black leggings.
It’s already warm out, but if we are traipsing through God only knows what and where, I don’t want to do that in shorts.
My fingers are still a little shaky as I pull the fabric over my skin.
Scraping my hair up into a tight bun, I breathe in deeply and walk into the living room.
Ethan and Callan are huddled over the kitchen island, staring at a paper map.
Aidan is at the stove, the smell of frying eggs and bacon cutting through the tension.
He slides a plate onto the counter as I approach with a glass of orange juice.
My tablets are on the side. I stare at the herbal antidepressant and loathe it with every fibre of my being. Placing the tip of my finger over it, I slide it across the counter back towards Aidan. “Bin it.”
He stares at it as I remove my finger. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you need to wean yourself off them?”
“Not the herbal ones.”
“I’ll keep the bottle in case you change your mind,” he says and scoops it up, chucking it in the bin and closing the lid.
“I won’t, and thank you for not fighting me on it.”
“Eat,” he says, choosing not to remark further.
I pick up the fork and swallow a few bites.
Ethan looks up, his gaze raking over me. “We’re taking two cars,” he says, his focus shifting back to Callan. “Callan and Aidan in the first. Me and Annabelle in the second. We stay on the back roads.”
“And then what? What exactly are we going there to do?”
“We flush out the hunters and end this once and for all.”
“How? We don’t have evidence of the police’s corruption.”
He breathes in slowly. “This was never going to need evidence the way we do it,” he states, eyes on mine. “Do you understand what that means?”
“You’re going to kill them.”
“Yes.”
“How will we get all of them together?”
“It doesn’t have to be done together. We get one, the rest scatter right into our trap.”
“Which is?”
He exhales sharply. “Do you need every detail?”
“Yes.”
“It means he hasn’t figured that part out yet,” Aidan says with a snort.
Ethan cuts him a vicious stare. “I can’t figure it out until we are on site and we know what we’re dealing with and if Jack is even still alive.”
“Fair enough,” I say. “Just don’t keep me in the dark because you’re trying to protect me.”
He nods. “Finish breakfast. We’re going in five minutes.”
I force myself to finish the food so they don’t keep bitching at me. The names written on my skin burn through the fabric of my clothes. “What about Maeve?” I ask.
“We’ve already called her. She is in position.”
“Where?”
“The station. Let’s move,” Ethan says.
He grabs his keys from the counter. Aidan follows him. Callan is already at the lift. He doesn’t look back. He is the vanguard.
The lift ride is silent. When we reach the garage, the nerves kick in, and I clench my fists. I climb into the passenger seat of Ethan’s car, and he starts the engine.
“You okay?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” I say. I mean it. The grief is still there, but it has sharp edges now. A purpose.
The garage opens up into a city of grey and glass, and as we head north toward the farmhouse, I feel the reality of it settle somewhere deep and permanent in my gut.
The librarian who shelved books and swallowed her fear is gone, and what those men are going to find when they come for me is something the Deveaux brothers spent last night building—bait that learned to bite back, a girl who stopped running and started hunting.
The city thins out. Concrete gives way to green fields and sagging stone walls. Ethan keeps his hands on the steering wheel, his knuckles white. He drives with a focus that makes my skin hum.
“You’re staring,” he says without looking at me.
“I’m making sure you don’t drive us into a ditch.”
“I’ve got you, Tinks. Don’t forget that.”
“Hard to forget when I’m wearing your name.”
He lets out a breath. It’s a rough sound. “I’m going to kill Bennett for even thinking he could touch you.”
The lane narrows. Hedgerows scrape the sides of the car. We are getting close to Ludsbrook.
“What if we find Jack dead?” I ask.
“Then he’s dead.”
“What if we find Jack alive?”
“Then he can be useful for once in his life.”
“How? I still don’t know how we are planning to get Bennett and whoever else out here.”
He presses his lips together. He knows. Oh, he fucking knows, but he doesn’t want to tell me.
“Spit it out,” I say quietly.
“You are going to call him and tell him to meet you here.”
“Are you out of your mind?” I snap, but not because I’m scared. “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard! He won’t fall for it.”
“He will if you tell him you have evidence of who killed your mother.”
The silence is arctic.
“You’re baiting him.”
“It’s the only way to deal with fuckers like this.
We can talk all day long about luring him there to get in your knickers or taking you to him so he can move you somewhere else.
These aren’t amateurs. The only thing that will get them to move on our terms is the potential that it all comes crashing down around them. ”
“They killed my mother over this. They killed that woman Jack found and countless others.”
“They will come to kill you.”
“But instead, they will find you, Aidan and Callan.”
“And Maeve. She’s following us… white hatchback three cars back.” He rolls his eyes, but the smile tugs at his lips.
“You are diabolical,” I say, shaking my head with a short laugh.
“Why, thank you.”
It settles me more than anything else could.
He isn’t scared. He isn’t afraid. He isn’t doing this on the fly.
He knows precisely what is going to happen because any plan he creates doesn’t deviate under the terror it will piss him off.
It’s why he wanted me alone in the car with him.
He needed me to understand he’s got this down to the last second.
“Let’s do it,” I say grimly, even though I don’t really have a choice.
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, and pulls over into a country lane car park, which is basically a dirt patch with space for three cars, an overflowing litter bin and more nettles than you can shake a stick at. “We walk from here.”
“Good thing I put my leggings on,” I mutter as I climb and instantly squint against the harsh summer sunlight. “Where are Aidan and Callan?” I ask as the white hatchback Ethan clocked pulls up and Maeve gets out, dressed like she’s going to war.
“Shut up,” she says before anyone can say anything.
“Not saying a word,” Ethan says smugly.
Her blue eyes zero in on him, narrowed. “You dick. You set me up.”
“Sort of. Stay close. Annabelle is going to lure them out here with a convincing story of knowing too much.”
Maeve clenches her jaw but nods once. “Clever. Dangerous, but clever.”
“It’s not dangerous when I’m there to make sure whichever fucker they send doesn’t make it back to them. Aidan and Callan are approaching from the opposite side. We find Jack, we find the dead woman, and we make our next move dependent on what happens next.”
“Let’s go then,” she says and marches off, leaving us to follow.
The trek through the brambles is a total shit-show.
Briars catch on my leggings, pulling at the fabric, but Ethan doesn’t slow down.
He keeps his hand firmly on the small of my back, guiding me through the thicket.
Maeve is a few paces ahead. Her movements are sharp and deliberate.
She doesn’t look back. She knows we are following because we have no other choice.
“Stay low,” Ethan mutters.
“I’m trying, fuck’s sake.” My lungs burn. The air is thick and still.
We reach the edge of a clearing. The farmhouse stands in the centre, a skeletal ruin of grey stone and collapsed timber.
It looks hollow. Dead. I scan the perimeter, looking for any sign of Aidan or Callan.
We crouch down, and a whistle cuts through the air, low and sharp. I jump, but Ethan nods once.
“It is just Callan,” he murmurs.
I nod and keep my eyes trained on the farmhouse. “What now?” I whisper.
“Now we find Jack and the woman.”
I nod. It’s the plan. Find Jack. Find the woman. “How? Are we going stride across this open ground or what?”
“No,” Maeve says. “I’ll call him.”
I look at her. “You have his number?”
She gives me a look that I don’t unpack in the middle of a field with brush sticking in my arse. “Yes, dear.”
I stick my middle finger up at her while she pulls her phone out, and Ethan stifles his snicker. “She’s handy.”
“She’s a cunt.”
“Ouch,” Maeve mutters, unbothered.
She dials, and we wait.