One Last Rainy Day: The Legacy of a Prince(11)
“You’re fucking something.”
“Maybe I am. Because she’s got real heart, seems pure of soul, and has a fucking brain. We both know she’s innocent in this,” he emphasizes, “I guess keeping that in consideration makes me a real fucking monster.”
“I’m driving her. Figure it out. I’m not asking.”
He swallows the fact that I just pulled rank for the first time in our relationship and I discard any worry about what it means for us. He steps back and gives me a slight dip of his chin before stalking over to Cecelia to caress her awake. It’s then I know who’s in real danger, and it’s not Cecelia fucking Horner.
Speakers bleeding with “Bundy” to drown out the possibility of conversation, I can’t ignore Cecelia’s fear-filled screech as it morphs into high-pitched laughter while I race toward Roman’s estate. Even with my agitation prominent, I fail to fight off the threat of a smile, knowing she’s high off this. Palms on my dash, hair flying around the cabin due to the open windows, I ignore the weight of her stare while she analyzes me as she has all night. A few of the lingering gazes between us I incited earlier as I licked my blunt wrap like I lick pussy. She attempted to engage me a couple of times before and since, which I would find more irritating if I didn’t need that attention to hook her without niceties.
Unlike Sean, I am dedicated to playing my part.
But . . . I don’t deny or lie to myself about the attraction that hums when she leans over to punch in her father’s gate code as Tyler pulls up behind us. Despite her attempt not to touch me, her silky hair drags along my forearm as I get a good whiff of whatever she’s sprayed on beneath her uniform.
My eyes drink in her profile for the few seconds she crowds my space. Tragically beautiful.
Even if I’ve surprised myself by being able to appreciate the look of her—unlike Sean—I have a talent for ignoring it since I got my first hard-on and have learned to make good use of it.
Shrugging off the allure of the bait that currently has Sean’s balls in a vice grip, I slowly roll up the drive, scanning the surroundings and taking notes.
Though I’ve seen Roman’s fortress from every angle and memorized the fucking blueprints before they hammered the first nail in, this is my first up-close look.
My suspicions are confirmed as I pull up. It’s the distance from any cover to the house that makes getting it wired impossible without detection. Any attempt to do so would trigger an investigation on Roman’s part to find out who and why. Something he’s proficient in doing and doing well. Right now, he’s aware of every one of his earned opponents . . . save us.
We know this due to years of successful surveillance. Like us, Roman pays those who do his dirty work well enough to keep his secrets.
This house has never been a hot spot for activity until now—and we need in.
She’s the way.
Pulling through the circular drive to the foot of the stairs, I finally flit my attention her way.
“I don’t know whether to slap you or thank you,” she says, deep blue gaze rolling over me.
“You loved it,” I counter before turning back toward the house. It’s impressive enough, but in my mind, this is the place where my enemy currently dwells . . . sleeping mere feet away. The closest any raven has gotten in nearly a decade.
With the Glock resting in my glovebox, I could end this long game point blank while simultaneously gaining the freedom to unleash on the monsters who’ve taken residence in my mind. But inside the house in front of me resides a monster who stole my childhood by plotting my parents’ deaths for seeing him beneath his carefully placed veil. Who covered up their murders and brushed their children away like debris with a payoff. The same sort of payoff he seems to be offering his own child for arduous and unnecessary labor.
What could Cecelia possibly fucking mean to him if he’s so willing to let her work in that factory after ignoring her for years?
Nothing. She can’t mean anything to him. She may be another victim of his ruthless fucking mind as well.
Studying the house, I swallow the fact that my parents’ expectations were probably so low that their humble ambitions had them living in a home only a fraction of this size. At this point, my brother and I could buy this mansion hundreds of times over without losing an ounce of sleep. Tobias put us in the position to make it possible. If he hadn’t taken the risks he has—and still is in France—where the fuck would we be?
Light years behind where we are now. And still, neither of us has a real place we call home to this day.
In the few seconds that pass with these thoughts, I can feel Cecelia’s slight hesitation to exit my car, as if she can sense what I’m feeling.
She knows.
Ignoring the second time the whisper crosses my psyche in the last twenty-four hours, I catch her eyes back on me after she exits the car and thanks Tyler. In the brief exchange, remorse again threatens, this time twice as strong as the rest of my known facts about Cecelia flit in.
Like me, she was neglected and sometimes left to fend for herself due to her mother’s indulgent taste for variety in bed and bouts with alcoholism. Like me, Cecelia was also stuck raising an adult. A commonality that has me breaking our connection as Tyler bids her a saccharine-filled goodnight.
Even he’s not immune to her.
The ink loses again.