Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
ELLIOT
Fuck. Of fucking course. Grabbing my phone, I storm out the door of my apartment. Not bothering to lock it as I leave. A text comes through my Society phone.
TEXT: {I warned you}
And that’s all it takes to have me dashing to the damned office.
Mother has her. I see it on the damn surveillance of Diora’s apartment hallway, but also, I can feel it. The dread in my stomach tells me Diora’s in danger.
Mother has her wrapped in her arms, and I should’ve seen this coming. I should’ve known Mother had her in her sights, and I should’ve known she’d sweep in like the fucking hero.
I’ve never been so stumped, so stupid before. I should’ve opened my fucking door. Let her inside. What the fuck was I thinking?
A woman has never made me so irreversibly attached that every move I make is determined by her wellbeing. Enyo appears at my side the moment I step into headquarters, the daylight shining through the goddamn windows, and his sunny persona dies the moment he sees me.
“What’s going on?” he asks as he falls into step with me. Mother’s office comes into view, and I stalk in and start digging in her desk.
“Enyo, I can’t right now,” I say, swiping through papers, notes, anything that could tell me where she is taking her. Mother has her. This can’t be fucking good.
Enyo wraps his hand around my forearm to grab my attention, but I can’t focus with him here. I twist out of his hold and shove him away.
“Elliot, what the fuck?” he shouts, his face twisting in anger.
“I don’t have time. She has her!” I shout, moving away from her desk and moving to her filing cabinet.
“Who?” Enyo shouts.
“Mother.”
“Who has Mother?”
“No,” I say in desperation, making my head hurt. “Mother has Diora.”
His face turns to stone as his brows drop and his lips flatline.
I huff as I watch him. I’ve left him out of the loop for so long, and now I'm noticing that I shouldn’t have.
For a moment I can’t afford, I watch the war in his eyes.
He has a choice to make, as I have the last six months since I found out Mother was trafficking Strays.
Is he on Mother’s side or mine? Who is in the wrong: his mother or his brother?
“I’m not as good as you are, Brother,” he says. “I don’t know everything you do, I don’t look for everything you do, but you’re my brother, and I choose you every time.”
“And she’s your mother.”
“Yeah, but—”
“No, she is your real mother, Enyo,” I say and stare at his face. Watching for any sign of recognition, or disbelief, anything. He gives me nothing, which is miles worse.
“No, she’s not.” He shakes his head, and I watch as he steps back. Like the sentence pushed him.
“It’s why I kept you out of the loop. She’s your mother, and now I have to kill her,” I say as I walk past him and out of the room. I have to find where she and Diora went. I disobeyed Mother too many fucking times, and Diora is going to pay the price.
I let this go too far, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop myself from killing Mother if I find Diora hurt.
“She can’t be.” He shakes his head, and as much as I want to comfort my brother, I have to save my girl.
My Little Crane is in danger.
He calls my name but I ignore him, storming down the hall.
His steps are loud behind me. He catches up to me quickly, grabs my shoulder and whips me around to face him, swinging a punch across my jaw with his opposing arm. Spit and blood fly from my mouth, but I don’t have time to swing. I have to find her.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t expect anything from you, but at the very least, I need to save Diora. After that, you can do—” He cuts me off by wrapping his arms around me in a hug.
“That’s for not telling me. I figured out she was behind the skin trade,” he says, and I freeze, even as he lets me go.
“When?” I ask.
“After our punishment. Only when we messed with her money has she acted that way. Then I found…” He pauses as he shakes his head.
“Found what?” I whisper.
“Found the wire transfers and lined them up with the missing trainees, the newer Strays.”
I know about the wires. The new custom-made suits made of vicuna fabric, a fabric valued at six-hundred dollars per kilogram. A fabric we shouldn’t have been able to afford, despite being hitmen.
A fabric she had access to, with no trace of payment anywhere. Not cash, credit, nothing.
Knowing I did her books, she left the evidence all out in the open. Maybe she wanted me to know. Maybe she didn’t. I won’t ever know.
I won’t give her the chance to explain.
“Diora could be next, or she could be dead. I have to go.”
“Let’s go, then,” Enyo says, though we don’t get far, because a text comes to both of us on our Society phones.
“They’re at Mother’s house.”