25. Rip
Rip
Thomas has been pacing nervously in front of me, and it’s driving me crazy. I’m about ready to knock him out so he’ll quit.
For the past two days, ever since we learned Thomas killed Kingsley’s fiancée a year ago, he’s been acting this way. He killed her right at the altar during her wedding, and nobody even realized. The guilt would be less if it were someone else’s fiancée he murdered.
Love it or hate it, these past four months have bonded us with King—much more than it should have. Killing the woman who was about to become his lawfully wedded wife really puts a wedge between people. Who would’ve thought?
As I hold my phone, the speaker crackles with the familiar, high-pitched ringing of the dial tone.
We’ve called Mom five times now since we discovered the tremendous secret she’s been purposely keeping from her sons.
I asked Jordan to see why they weren’t answering my calls, and he came back with almost nothing.
Apparently, they were working, but he couldn’t tell me what on.
Everyone has been acting extremely fucking weird since we took on this job.
I’m about to chuck my phone at the wall when the line connects. Thomas stops in his tracks, eyeing the phone as if it’s a ticking time bomb. I answer it.
“How dare you?” I say, my words sharp with rage. “You knew, didn’t you?”
There’s a long pause before Mother speaks. “You figured it out.”
Her calm words are only making my already sky-high anger even worse. “Don’t you think it would have been good to know that Thomas is the one responsible for Sylvie Crenshaw’s death?”
“No, I do not. Tommy wouldn’t have gotten this far on the mission if he’d known all along who killed the soon-to-be Beaumont.”
I scoff. As if that’s an excuse. It’s bloody ludicrous to send us on a job with no information just so Thomas wouldn’t find out how much he’s tied up in it.
For four months, we’ve had no idea what we were supposed to be looking for from Kingsley, and they could have assigned this mission to someone else entirely.
I’d love to hear the thought process behind this, but I can’t because clearly there wasn’t one.
“You could have simply not given him the job. Was that never a thought for you?” I practically shout, only holding back so the neighbors don’t hear.
“Don’t you sass me, Ripster Redgrave,” she snaps, her tone so pointed I can practically see her angry lip curl.
“We did what we thought was best. You and Thomas were no doubt the best ones for this job, but we couldn’t let Thomas’s connection get in the way too early on.
But now that you’ve found that out, we can tell you what you’re really doing there. ”
Only I’ve been the one doing the bulk of the job.
Thomas has been cosplaying as a social media enthusiast for months, and while he’s become somewhat friends with Kingsley, they aren’t as close as needed.
He doesn’t have nearly as much trust in King as I do, and he hasn’t gotten the same intel on him I’ve gathered.
Thomas isn’t betraying Kingsley the same way I am.
With fists balled tight, I scan the room, desperate for something to smash my fists into. The entire room is too extravagant for me to trash, not to mention the alarming noise breaking the presumably fifty-thousand-dollar vase would make.
Thomas sits beside me. “I would’ve rather you told me not to take this job. How am I supposed to face Kingsley again, knowing I’m the reason he’s fucked up?”
“Trust me. That one incident may have been his breaking point, but the boy has been doomed from the start,” she speaks casually.
Mother has the nerve to say such a thing about Kingsley as if I’m not her son.
I’ve been letting them know everything: Kingsley’s quiet nature, his pastimes, and his difficulty eating around groups. They know his siblings’ issues, all the information about the events they attend, and everything else I could squeeze out of Ryland. You name it; the Requiem knows it.
I’ve been betraying Kingsley, and for what? As of right now, the answer points to nothing.
“He’s as fucked in the head as everyone of us,” I state firmly, hoping she doesn’t notice the irritation in my tone. “So, Mother, what the hell are we actually doing here?”
“It’s the same reason we placed two of our men close to the Crenshaws as well.
We needed you intertwined to ensure the Crowncrest still doesn’t know we killed the girl, and that they aren’t planning an attack,” she explains.
“Our end goal is to have the Crowncrest as our ally, but we need assurance that they haven’t turned on us. ”
“And how do you plan to be allies with them once they’ve found out we’ve been spying on them for months? Gaining their trust and breaking it?”
“They won’t find that out,” she states. “Continue building a relationship with the man and find out everything else you can now that you know your objective. If they’re secretly planning an attack while we’re actively trying to come to an agreement with them, it will be one hell of a war.”
Rising from the couch, Thomas starts his bothersome pacing again. The line is silent as I wrestle with the new information, an uncomfortable ache throbbing in my chest that won’t go away no matter how many breaths I take. What is this feeling? I wish it would die.
This is business, and I signed up knowing what it entailed. It’s my fault for getting overly involved with the son of Beaumont Grand, though it helped me get into his head.
But my fault or not, it doesn’t change how I’d rather throw the job if it means not doing any more damage to him than I already have.
“I’m sorry, boys,” Mother says, with real empathy in her tone. “I didn’t want to lie to you, and neither did your mum. Your uncle thought it was best, and I believe he was right. Just look at how much intel you’ve gathered without knowing the objective.”
Ah, yes. George Redgrave. The boss of the Requiem. The reason for all of this.
“I’ll talk to you both later.” And not a second later, the phone call ends. Mother couldn’t run away fast enough.
Anger boiling over, I throw the phone at the wall, the impact echoing with a sharp thud. The screen shatters into a spiderweb of cracks upon hitting the wall, and Thomas gasps, his pacing halting as he stares at the resulting dent.
I kick over the coffee table, my body violently shaking with fury. Seriously? They want me to just continue with the mission? To keep getting close to King so I can share his family’s deepest, darkest secrets? His deepest, darkest secrets.
They’re walking a fine line between protecting the organization and touching what’s mine. Kingsley shouldn’t be mine—but he is, and the Requiem will have to deal with it. They made it this way.
One wrong move and this all goes to hell. Bodies will start piling up.
If anyone lays a hand on my prince, family or not, I’ll hunt down every last one of them.
Which means I have to keep him in the dark. I have to keep lying to him, like Mother said, so he doesn’t start something and create a war between our families.
All because we murdered some prissy girl who was supposed to be his wife.
“Ryland heard all of that,” Thomas tells me, face beet red. “Not just you breaking shit, but the entire conversation with Mother.”
“Fuck Ryland,” I grumble, knowing he can hear it in his dark, secluded storage closet. “He’s been tied up for three months, only coming out when we say so. The guy can’t even escape. I don’t give a shit what he hears.”
I’m storming toward the door when Tommy asks, “Where are you going?”
I yank the door open, the cool air slapping me in the face. I look over my shoulder, my teeth grinding together. “To keep betraying the prince.”