Chapter 25
Aidan
The second the words leave her mouth, something cold settles into my bones.
Violence. I do retribution. I do the part where men make mistakes, and I end them.
Dad or not, he gets within a hundred feet of her, and I’ll fucking do humanity a favour and wipe him out of existence.
I crouch in front of her and take her face in my hands. Her skin is icy. Her pupils are blown wide. She looks like she’s about to leave her body again, drift off somewhere I can’t reach, and I refuse to let it happen.
“No,” I say, sharp enough to cut through the panic. “Listen to me. He’s not coming to murder you.”
Her lips part. “Those messages say otherwise.”
My thumbs press lightly into her cheeks, forcing her focus to stay on me. “He isn’t, because he’d have to get through us first, and that isn’t happening.”
She stares at me like she wants to believe me and hates herself for it.
Ethan and Call are still. I know the thoughts going through their minds. They want to tell her.
Maybe we should.
Maybe we need to tell her that it’s our father who murdered her mum, our mum, countless others and is apparently now coming for her.
But it will make her run.
Of that, I have no doubt.
She pushes me away and gets up, moving to the drinks cabinet to grab the nearest bottle. An expensive Scotch. She unscrews the cap and presses it to her lips, guzzling it back.
“Whoa there, little bell,” I say, going to her, “Slow down.”
“No! You aren’t about to be murdered! I’d rather be pissed off my tits than know about it, if that’s okay with you!”
“It isn’t okay,” I say, keeping my voice level because one of us has to. I reach for the bottle, but she moves quickly.
“No, I said no. Or don’t you understand that word?”
“Ouch,” I mutter, holding my hands up. “But okay. Get blind drunk. It won’t solve anything.”
“It will solve the panic that I’m about to be killed the same way my mother was.” She knocks back another mouthful, and I wince.
“Annabelle,” Callan says, moving forward slowly, like he’s approaching a scared rabbit. “Drink as much as you want, but don’t do anything rash.”
“Rash?” she squeaks.
“He means like running out onto the street by yourself to try to escape,” I say, and the corner of my mouth pulls up despite everything.
“I’m not stupid!”
“No, you’re spiralling,” Ethan says, moving to her other side so we are effectively boxing her in. “You need to think, Annabelle. Has anyone been creeping around?”
“Apart from you three? I don’t know! I’ve been walking through my life lost, not caring, trying to escape. I haven’t stopped to think about cars driving past my house or weirdos following me. We should call the police.”
“Why?” I ask. “So they can help you like they helped your mother?”
“Don’t,” she grits out. “Don’t use her like that.”
“It’s the truth, though, isn’t it? They never found him. They call it a cold case. They won’t help you.”
Her eyes flash. “You don’t know that.”
I do. I know exactly what they won’t be able to do when the man behind this decides to move. Uniforms and reports mean fuck all against the kind of monster that made us.
“Don’t let this rattle you, Annabelle,” Callan says, being the voice of reason as always. “That’s what he wants. He wants you to panic, make a stupid move. Don’t give that to him.”
“So what? I’m supposed to carry on as normal?”
“Sort of. We are watching you anyway; now we just watch a bit more closely. Looks like Margaret is going to have to get used to us.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “You can’t sit around in the library all day every day.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“Because… because…” Her shoulders slump.
“Yeah, you got nothing, little bell.”
“Fuck you,” she grits out. “This is my life we are talking about.”
“Yes, your life that we gave back to you. If you had received those texts without being as strong as you are today, you would be doing something insanely stupid right now. He would probably even already have taken you. Don’t you get it yet?
We protect you. We brought you back. You are ours. No fucker will ever get near you.”
“Aidan,” she whimpers.
The sound tears through me.
Not the word itself, but the way she says my name. Like a plea. Like surrender. Like she hates that I am the one she reaches for when the ground opens beneath her.
I step in and take the bottle from her before she can fight me over it again. This time, she lets me. Her hand drops to her side. Her fingers tremble.
I set the Scotch down on the cabinet and bring both hands to her face again. “Look at me.”
Her eyes lift to mine, wet and furious and wrecked.
“You are not dying today,” I say. “You are not dying tomorrow. You are not going anywhere without one of us beside you. Do you understand me?”
Her throat works. “You can’t promise that.”
“I can.” I can know one thing. If anybody gets close enough to hurt her, they die before they get a second breath. “I know what I’ll do to stop it.”
Ethan moves nearer, quiet as ever, but his presence changes the room. Steadies it. “Sit down, Annabelle.”
She laughs, jagged and wrong. “You all keep talking to me like I’m a fucking child.”
“No,” Callan says from near the sofa. “We’re talking to you like someone in shock.”
That lands. She presses the heels of her hands into her eyes, then drops them. “I can’t think.”
I guide her back toward the sofa. She comes without arguing. She sinks into the cushions like her bones have gone soft.
I sit beside her. Ethan takes the chair opposite. Callan stays standing for a second, then moves to the window, watching the street below like he can drag a threat out of the air by force of will alone.
“He’s out there,” Callan mutters.
“No shit,” I grit out.
“No,” Callan says, turning. “He is out there right now. He knows where she is. He knows we’ve got her.”
I narrow my eyes. He isn’t being paranoid, he’s being factual. Callan doesn’t do hysterics. Exchanging a glance with Ethan, I rise and cross over to the window. Callan turns and points down to a car, a white hatchback, parked up across the road. A man is leaning on it, looking up.
Dad.
“That fucker,” I mutter, quiet enough that only Callan can hear me. Every muscle in my body goes tight.
He is twenty storeys down, but I’d know that fucker anywhere. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He wants us to see him. He wants us rattled. He wants her afraid.
Dad lifts two fingers in a lazy salute.
A sick, murderous calm drops over me.
“Move away from the window,” Ethan says behind me, his voice low and flat.
I already am. Callan steps back at the same time. My jaw aches from how hard I’m clenching it.
Annabelle’s voice comes from the sofa, thin with panic. “What is it? What did you see? Is someone down there?”
“No, just Callan being dramatic,” I say as Ethan nods slowly.
He’s on the same page. We can’t reveal this to her just yet. She will bolt straight into Jack’s arms.
Literally.
Out of the door, and he will grab her.
“I want to go home,” she whispers.
“That is the last place you are going. You don’t think he hasn’t been staking the place out?” I say, going back to her.
“Then what? What do I do? If I can’t go home, can’t go to the police, then what? Stay hiding in here for the rest of my life?”
“No, you go about your life, Annabelle. Taunt him. He won’t get close to you because we won’t let him.”
“You can’t be next to me all day, every day,” she protests.
“Watch us,” Ethan states.
My pulse thuds in my neck. I want to go down there. I want to tear the life out of that man’s throat and leave him on the pavement for the crows. Instead, I stay. I have to stay. If I leave this room, the wall between her and the abyss vanishes.
I sit back on the sofa and pull her toward me. She resists for a heartbeat before her strength fails. She collapses against my side. I put my arm around her, holding her tight. She’s trembling.
“He’s just words on a screen, Annabelle,” I lie. “Words can’t hurt you when I’m standing in the way.”
“You’re fucking delusional,” she whispers. Her voice is tiny.
“Maybe. But I’m the one who will kill anything that threatens you,”
Ethan moves to the kitchen, his movements sharp. He’s looking for something to do with his hands. I see the way his fingers twitch. He wants blood as much as I do.
Ethan pulls a glass from the cupboard and fills it with water. He brings it over and presses it into her hand, his eyes never leaving mine. There is a silent conversation happening over the top of her head. We need to make sure the bastard knows the price of his curiosity.
“Drink,” Ethan commands.
Annabelle takes a sip, her teeth chattering against the glass. “I don’t want to stay here like a prisoner.”
“You aren’t a prisoner. You’re the prize,” I mutter, rubbing my palm up and down her arm. The heat of her skin is the only thing keeping my temper from redlining.
Callan stays by the wall, his gaze fixed on the door. He doesn’t look at the window again. He doesn’t have to. We all know the white car is still there. We all know the man inside it is waiting for a crack in the foundation.
I pull her closer, burying my face in her hair. It doesn’t matter who he is. It doesn’t matter that he shares our blood. I’ll burn the city to the ground before I let him get near her.
“He’s not getting you, Annabelle,” I whisper against her temple. “I’ll carve the heart out of anyone who tries.” Even him.