Alec
I saw her apartment light on as I’d parked my car. That meant she was home.
I stared at the red door for a moment before knocking again. Footsteps crossed the wooden flooring on the other side. There was a peephole, so I took a step back—far enough that she’d see a well-dressed, unthreatening man instead of a silhouette pressed too close.
“What do you want?” she asked through the door.
When did people stop opening their doors?
“Are you Ella Constantine?”
Silence.
Then the chain rattled. The lock snapped open.
Oh. This just got better and better.
She stood there in a peach two-piece pyjama set covered in cartoon avocados. Soft cotton. Domestic. Completely at odds with the situation. Her face was smeared in a thick layer of lime-green paste—some kind of mask—with only her nose, lips, and eyes left bare.
She looked ridiculous.
And disarmingly human.
“How can I help you?” she asked.
I pulled out the fake warrant card and flashed it just long enough for her to register the bold Metropolitan Police.
“It’s about your father,” I said evenly. “You’ll need to come with me.”
“No.”
The refusal was immediate. Instinctive.
“Sorry?” I asked, as if I hadn’t heard her correctly.
“I’ve done this a million times,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m not bailing him out. I’m not fixing whatever he’s done now. He did this constantly when we lived in—” She stopped, inhaled sharply. “I’m sorry you wasted a trip tonight.”
That… wasn’t what I’d anticipated.
“Miss Constantine,” I said, lowering my voice, softening it. “He might not make it this time.”
Her eyes widened.
“It’s bad.”
The shift was instant. Panic flooded her face, wiping out the resolve she’d just found.
“What?” she whispered. “What happened? Wait—let me get changed.”
She stepped back from the door.
I stepped forward.
“There’s no time,” I said calmly, planting my foot just inside the studio apartment. “If you can grab your essentials, I’ll take you straight to him.”
Her gaze flicked to the small bathroom. The sink. The mirror.
I followed it—and blocked the thought before it could form.
“As you are is fine,” I added, already certain she’d comply. “Every minute counts.”
She hesitated.
Then nodded.
We wasted no time. She jogged behind me all the way to my car.
I was wasted as an accountant.
?
?
?
I pulled into my reserved spot at Dominion and cut the engine. I’d avoided her questions the entire drive, but I could feel her staring at me.
“He had an accident… in a casino?” she asked.
“A very bad one,” I replied solemnly, opening my door.
She followed without hesitation.
I led her through a service entrance and down into the basement, deliberately bypassing the casino floor. Other than a few shaky breaths and nervous fidgeting with her phone, she hadn’t spoken during the ride back.
I knocked three times.
Rowan opened the door. His eyes flicked past me to her, and he muttered something under his breath.
Like a sacrificial lamb, she followed me inside.
Rowan shut the door behind us and locked it. I stepped back, taking my time as I studied Ella.
She rushed toward her father—then froze halfway across the room.
Nick stood between the two beds.
“You,” she breathed.
“How does she know Nick?” I asked quietly.
“He ran into her at the hospital earlier today,” Rowan murmured.
“Did you bring your torch?” Nick asked, flicking ash onto her father’s chest.
Her head snapped toward me.
“I don’t really work for the police.”
Her voice trembled as she looked around the room. “What have you done to my dad? And who is she?”
She stared at Sophie.
There was a perfect circular burn mark on Sophie’s cheek. I clenched my jaw. She could have cost us everything.
“I paid your father a visit,” Nick said calmly, lifting a scalpel from the metal tray. “He owes us money. Claimed you’d pay every penny back.”
“Did you have to bring her in like that?” Rowan hissed, his eyes flicking to her face. “How the fuck am I supposed to take that seriously? She looks like a Halloween costume that went horribly wrong.”
“I managed,” I replied.
“Yeah, but I’m not a sociopath.”
I rolled my eyes.
“I did my part.”
“Please,” she whispered. “Please don’t hurt him.”
Poor little avocado.
I dragged a chair across the plastic-covered floor and sat down.
“Miss Constantine,” Rowan said smoothly. “You can save your father.”
She turned slowly to look at him.
“But it will cost you.”
“How much?” she asked, barely audible.
Rowan smiled.
“Everything you have.”