I haven’t spoken to my brother since Mileena showed up. Frankly, I hadn’t been planning on coming to the gala at all tonight, if not for the fact that I’d put Lenny’s painting on display. In retrospect, however, the betrayal I felt then pales in comparison to the violence pumping through my veins now.
Dragging a hand through my hair, I tilt my head and glare up at the moon. “She’s gone.”
Shifting his weight from side to side, Alistair tugs at the collar of his shirt. “Ah, I’m sorry to hear that. She seemed nice—”
My chin snaps forward, and my eyes narrow into slits. “I don’t mean she left, you pillock. Not everyone leaves me, you know.”
“I know,” he agrees quietly. “I never did.”
His words set my sinuses on fire, and I rub my palm over my jaw, ignoring them.
For now, anyway.
There’s no time to dissect that.
“You let her get kidnapped?”
Elena stomps over, eyes wide. Kal’s on her heels, and he catches her around the waist as she launches herself toward me, holding her back.
“Little one,” he warns in a low voice.
“Don’t little one me,” she snaps, struggling against him. “We were literally in a public place. How could you let that happen?”
“I didn’t let it happen. She took off. Freaked out because I told her I love her, I guess.”
Kal frowns. “Why would that freak her out?”
Shrugging, I shake my head. “Maybe because—”
“Oh, my god! I knew it!” Elena jabs a finger in my direction. “It freaked her out because you were never really engaged. I fucking told you. Kallum, you owe me twenty dollars.”
The patience very quickly exits my body, flooding outward. “It doesn’t really matter how we started, does it?” I give them a very pointed look. “The outcome. That’s what we’re focusing on, and right now the woman I love—your friend—is in very real fucking danger. So, either volunteer your assistance or piss off.”
She snorts, and Kal slides his hand over her mouth. “You have his number?”
I glance at the shrapnel that is my phone. “You have time?”
Back at The Flaming Chariot, Kal contacts the cybersecurity team he works closely with. I’m expecting the CEO to pick up after the first ring, but instead it’s a woman; her heart-shaped face comes into view on the computer monitor, rose-pink hair pulled into a bun as she eats ramen with chopsticks.
“Well, well. Just when I was starting to miss that angry face of yours.”
Kal rolls his eyes. “I just saw you last weekend.”
“Semantics.” She looks around the screen, raising a blonde brow. “Whoa. You have friends?”
My hand curls into a fist, and Kal blows out an irritated breath. “Jonas Wolfe, Riley Kelly. Hacker extraordinaire.”
“Oh, don’t tell my brother that. Or my boyfriend, cause he doesn’t know I track his phone when he goes to New York.” She pauses, as if waiting for judgment, and then continues. “Not because I don’t trust him, but you know, what if he gets a bagel without me? Or if he gets into—”
“Riley.” Kal applies her name like a brake. “Not why I called.”
Sighing, she pushes her noodles aside. “Whatcha need?”
Eventually, the girl manages to get a trace on Preston’s phone, except it pings to about four different locations. Downtown, the marina, an apartment in Boston, and Primrose Manor.
My insides tighten as we stare at the yellow blips on the map, trying to decide where to check first. And as much as I want to believe he wouldn’t, my eyes keep flickering to the biggest dot of all.
The place where all of this began.
Alistair looks over at me, as if sensing the spot I can’t drag my gaze from. He clears his throat, nodding at the screen. “You know she’s there.”
I nod. Just once.
All the confirmation we need.
I don’t know how I know, but the gut doesn’t lie.
“Well.” He yanks a desk drawer open, pulling out the branding iron I keep inside. Holding it out, he lifts a brow. “What’re you waiting for, brother?”
My hand curls around the metal, and a delirious wave of excitement courses through me. The kind that rears its head when vengeance is imminent.
Looks like Tom Primrose is getting his war, after all.
41
When I was little, Mama really doubled down on that whole “if life gives you lemons, make lemonade” shtick.
She’d say that not all lemons are created equal, and that it was up to my brothers and I to find the good parts of the bad lemons and make use of them.
Lemonade can’t ever be too sweet, she’d tell us, while enjoying the very sweet, pampered life she’d been given.
It’s difficult to reconcile someone’s lessons when they’ve never had to learn any the hard way.
Besides, all the sugar in the world couldn’t make up for the rotten pieces of Preston. I’d rather die than try to find any redeeming qualities in him, especially now that I’m kneeling in front of the stone fireplace at Primrose Manor, still fucking handcuffed, waiting for him to do something while he paces behind me.
My chin smarts from where he backhanded me in the car, and I’ve imagined about thirty different ways I could kill him, if I could just get my hands free. No amount of sweat seems to do the trick, even though at this point it’s dripping down my spine, soaking into the soft fabric of my dress.
An uneasy thought occurs to me, and I remember the lingerie I have on underneath the gown. The black lacy set that Jonas gave me and asked me to wear, and now probably won’t even get to see.
Sadness spirals behind my eyelids, and I blink it away, trying not to provoke Preston.
At this point, my silence is just to prolong the breaths I have in my body.
I can panic later.
Sighing, I bring my hands to my chest as Preston comes over. He fists my hair, and I feel dozens of strands rip from my scalp as he wrenches my neck backward.
He spits on me.
No sneer, no warning, no taunt. Just gargles in his mouth for a second and purses his lips, scattering his saliva over my skin. Then he smears it across my face with his palm, and I feel dirty.
More than that, though, I’m angry. That’s the emotion I settle on as he attempts to sully something Jonas and I enjoy, though I’m not sure how he knows.
I guess Preston always did have a knack for knowing what buttons of mine to push.
“Just getting you lubed up,” he says, pinching my cheek until I wince. “We don’t want the boys going in dry, do we?”
Remaining silent, I watch as he walks over to a metal, rectangular case on the floor by the grand piano, bending down and unlatching it. I can’t see what he pulls out, because he’s only got one floor lamp turned on so we’re surrounded by shadows, but whatever it is, he stares at it for a long time.
Turns it over slowly, inspecting every little inch.
My palms grow clammy and my knees begin to ache. “Shame what happened to the rest of your boys, huh?”
Preston’s head whips around, and he glares. “Don’t tell me Lenny Primrose condones violence now.” He chuckles, pushing to his feet while keeping his mystery object hidden behind his back. “Oh, bug, think of how much more fun it’ll be this time if you fight back. I bet I can charge double, and have your dad paid back in no time.”