Chapter 47
Rhys
I’m brought back to the guest house and shoved inside.
“You leave at first light,” a guard tells me, and struts away like all of this is perfectly normal.
Someone threw a few hefty logs in the stone fireplace and got a blaze going. Even with roaring flames behind the grate, it does nothing to thaw me or my rage.
Or soften my pain.
Pacing the length of this cottage’s main room, I notice the efforts they’ve taken to make it comfortable in here for me. Too comfortable. A fire, a bottle of my favorite whiskey on the kitchen counter, and the sheets on the bed are turned down like this is a five-star casino and I’m a high roller.
I know better.
This comfort isn’t necessarily a trick. It’s compensation for my troubles, as they see it. Black made it clear, he doesn’t want Quinlan Empire as an enemy. It’s Ares he has a problem with for ordering the hit on David Sinclair. Maybe he wants Lourdes for his fifth wife!
That complication for Ares is not my concern. Especially with the image of Fallon’s tear-stained face burned into my skull. The way her father spoke to her. About her. Like she was property, not his goddamn flesh and blood.
And then I made it worse by lying to him and to her.
I press the heels of my hands to my temples, grinding them there to stop the screaming in my head. The thought that she’s alone in that house, afraid and broken, while I’m out here, makes me sick.
A knock on the door cuts through the crackle of the fire, and I stop pacing. “Go the fuck away,” I yell.
But the knock comes again, more urgent. My breath catches thinking maybe it’s Fallon. I jog across the room to crank open the door. “Fallon? Baby?”
A woman stands there, the swirl of falling snow behind her. Dark hair, full lips painted wine red, and a white fur coat held together by slender fingers with long, pointy nails.
Not my Fallon.
David Sinclair’s whore.
“Mr. Quinlan,” she purrs, stepping closer. “Mr. Black thought you might want company, seeing you’re stuck here tonight.” She shrugs the coat from her shoulders. It slides to the floor, revealing alabaster skin in nothing but a black thong. “It’s cold. Can I come inside and get warm?”
My eyes blaze with anger, as if I’d fuck this woman. As if I’m that low of a scumbag. I lean in, close enough for her to take in the heat of my skin that she will never feel. “Get the fuck out. Leave before you get hurt in a way you won’t enjoy.”
“Mr. Black’s guards love me,” she says, gathering her coat. “Your loss.” She disappears down the snow-cleared pathway without another word.
I shut the door quietly. Then I just stand there, staring at the grain of the wood, my hand still braced against it.
They sent her to test me. Or distract me.
Now I really can’t call Trace. They will absolutely storm this place to get me out. I don’t trust what Black will do to Fallon if he sees an army he can’t win against at his gate.
I sit back and drag a hand through my hair. I look out the window and glare at the main house. She’s in there somewhere. Sleeping in silk sheets. Or locked behind iron bars.
It’s up to me to get her out. I strip off my dinner jacket and find some notepaper to sketch every hallway, every entry point, every exit. If I’m going to thunder in there to get her, it needs to be now, and I’ll need to be fast and brutal. Kill a lot of people. And possibly not make it out.
I open my duffel and laugh when I see they didn’t check the hidden compartment.
I peel it open and smile faintly at the two compact pistols.
Lightweight, polymer-framed, perfect for close-quarters.
Both are loaded with high-capacity magazines and hollow-point rounds that will punch through flesh like paper.
I have enough for one fast, vicious strike. Enough to cut my way through this entire goddamn compound if I have to.
And if that’s what it takes, I’ll do it.
Gladly.
I set the weapons on the counter for my attack in a few hours and catch some sleep. But an insistent knock pounds on the door and shakes me from my power nap. I shove everything back into the bag but keep one gun tucked into the back of my jeans, my fingers curled around the handle.
As I peer through the window, I see Elias Black standing on the porch.
His face is pale. His eyes hollow.
I unlock the door and pull it open. “What?”
“There’s been an accident,” he says grimly.