Adeline #2
His next words are drowned out. Footsteps echo, and something rolls, like something's being moved.
“Oh, sorry, boss,” a waiter says. Noises mix together.
Minutes tick by, and then it’s silent. The hallway has an eerily empty feeling to it.
Or maybe that’s just me.
More seconds pass by. I’m holding myself in a ball, perched on my heels. The need to hide among the coat rack is strong, but I can’t get caught here.
Because that’s exactly what they want.
Good thing she’s coming with us.
Wallen just told Henson I was being taken as collateral. I assume he means I’ll be kidnapped to Dublin.
Oh my fucking God.
Dad.
My knees hurt as I stand up. I snag a Burberry coat off the rack, wrapping it around my shoulders. Someone left behind some Chanel sunglasses. How ironic that none of the staff stole them for themselves, but their boss is actively discussing kidnapping and murder.
I’m not sure if it’s just luck or some godly survival instincts, but I force the sunglasses over my face and march out of the bistro.
I don’t look around. I don’t worry about spotting Wallen or Henson. If I look suspicious, I will be suspicious.
“You all right?” Marco asks, frowning when I get into the SUV.
I nod, unable to meet his eye. The sunglasses are very useful, keeping my watery eyes hidden.
It’s just the shock, I tell myself. None of the tears fall. I don’t let them.
Wallen told Henson that Ciaran was planning on killing Dad. Tonight.
How is that even possible?
I squeeze my eyes shut, my heart beating painfully.
Ciaran made me breakfast this morning. He kissed my forehead.
My hands hug my kneecaps, wishing I could hyperventilate. But Marco is in the car. How can I tell him my boyfriend’s about to kill my father?
My fake boyfriend.
It’s Marco’s job to protect my family. I need to tell him.
It’s happening all over again.
This is what happened with Jack. He got close enough to hurt my family. I was supposed to learn from my mistakes. How could I have hurt my family again?
Heat pools in my belly. Liquid anger mixed with some sort of. . . What exactly?
Last night, Ciaran’s tongue traced my cunt. All the things he’s done to me the past few months. The way he’s controlled my body.
Oh, God. I’m the girl easily persuaded by an orgasm. I’ve nearly lost everything because of a man’s cock.
“Adeline?” Marco asks.
I stare at him for a second before understanding. The car’s come to a stop. We’re at my new condo.
“Thanks.” I grab my purse and head inside toward the elevator.
As the doors shut, I realize the truth: I’ve been played.
This whole time.
All the sweet things Ciaran’s done for me. The little notes, the coffees, the way he plays with my hair.
It’s all a goddamn lie.
It’s not like I didn’t know who he was. He trapped me from the very beginning.
I let him get close to my family.
You’re so fucking stupid, Adeline.
My forehead creases and my jaw aches. The elevator doors open, and I blink away tears.
“Hey!” Billie calls out. She must have just arrived. “You okay?”
I nod, forcing a smile on my face. I peel off the coat and hand it to Rachel.
“Thank you so much!” She hugs it to her chest, pleased about having it back. “Perfect timing, because I was just working on our coat closet.”
She runs down the hall.
“Ads?” Billie asks. “Your stuff is all here. If you need a second to go introvert, you won’t hurt our feelings.”
I shoot her another smile. “No, sorry. Exams killed my brain. Do you mind if I use your phone? I need to call my mom, but my phone is acting weird.”
She hands it over and then politely follows Rachel, giving me space.
Of course, I have two perfect roommates now that my first year of college is over.
I asked for her phone because Ciaran—hopefully—hasn’t hacked it like he has mine.
Instead of going to my room, which could be bugged, I step out onto the balcony, shutting the door behind me.
A balmy wind whips at my face. I don’t look down because my belly is already swooping from all the nerves coursing through me.
Dad has multiple cell phones. There’s the one programmed into my phone, the one he sends daily good morning texts from.
I don’t call that one. I dial a number I know by heart.
This is Dad’s work phone. His daughters never call it. But we know about it. Just in case. For emergencies.
My dad has done everything for his daughters. He’s kept us safe, and here I am making a mess out of everything, yet again.
Someone picks up the phone, one of Dad’s guards. I speak before they get a chance to.
“It’s Adeline. Put my dad on the phone.”
I can hear the hushed, awkward silence. They know, just as well as I do, that the Akatov daughters never call this number.
Dad’s voice is sharp. “Ads?”
Tell him the truth. His life is in danger because you fucked up.
“Adeline?”
“Y-you said that I just needed to give you the word.” My tongue struggles to push out the words. I hear Dad’s questioning silence. “Y-you said that if I ever wanted C-Ciaran gone. . . That I’d just need to say the word.”
There’s another painful pause.
“Adeline, are you okay?”
I roll my eyes at how fatherly he sounds. Tears are threatening again.
I swallow a thick lump down my throat. “I’m fine, Dad.”
“Where are you?”
“The condo. Marco just dropped me off, you can check.”
“Whose number is this?”
“Billie’s. My phone is fucked up. It’s acting all. . . buggy.”
I choke on the word. It’s the closest I can get to saying the truth, and I know my dad will read between the lines. He’ll conduct a full security sweep. My body burns as I wait for a response.
“Dad?”
“Did he physically hurt you?”
“Dad.”
“Adeline.”
“No.” But he’s planning on killing you.
“Adeline—”
“You told me to say the word.” I squint out at the horizon, blinded by the sun hitting the neighboring building. “I’m saying the word, Dad.”
“What has he done?”
“Do you really want to talk about my heartbreak, or will you help me be a petty bitch and get this Irish bastard out of my city?”
This is the Adeline Marie Akatov people expect. The spoiled Bratva princess. I can snap my fingers and ruin lives just because I’m annoyed.
“My darling daughter.”
My shoulders relax at Dad’s voice. He sounds like my dad again. The competitive man who swears he can make the best pancakes.
“I will have your mother call you,” he promises. “Keep your chin up. You’re an Akatov.”
Little does he understand that I am the weakest Akatov.
Never again.