“Sure.” I wasn’t planning on leaving this late anyway. I know she’s tired, and frankly, so am I. Leaving the bathroom, I enter the master suite. I just lie down in bed when my cell goes off on the nightstand. Picking it up, I see it’s a text from Prickett.
Turn on the TV.
Frowning, I pick up the remote next to my phone and point it at the flat screen that hangs on the wall. It comes on, and I don’t even have to change the channel. A news crew stands outside of a home here in Pennsylvania. Police cars, ambulances, and a coroner van are gathered in the large driveway of the three-story, white brick mansion.
“What’s going on?” Blake asks, walking out of the bathroom.
I look over at her dressed in nothing but a short towel, and my first thought is to throw her on the bed and fuck her. But I dismiss it and put my eyes back on the TV. “Not sure,” I answer honestly.
A brunette steps into the camera, holding a mic to her face. “A manhunt has been issued,” she announces. “Behind me, you’ll see the police and FBI are at the Mallory family’s home …”
“Oh, shit,” I whisper, sitting up straighter.
“Who is that?” Blake asks. “You know them?”
I nod in answer.
“All we know right now is that there was forced entry with one fatality …”
“Fuck!” I hiss, my hands going to my head.
“What?” Blake demands. “What’s wrong?”
If it’s who I think it is, heads are about to roll. Gregory Mallory is a very important Lord here in Pennsylvania. With a list a mile long of people who would want him dead. His position has enemies lined up wanting his head.
“Ryat …？” Blake snaps, trying to get my attention to answer her question, but I ignore her.
Three FBI agents exit the front doors of the home and walk over to the reporter. “Shut this down.” You hear one demand to the woman.
“I’m Jane, with News One. We’re allowed to be …”
He cuts her off by taking her mic while the other one slams the camera down onto the ground. The picture goes blurry, and they cut back to the station.
I turn it off.
“Ryat, what’s going on?” Blake demands.
My phone ringing keeps me from having to acknowledge her. I answer when I see it’s my father. “Hello?” I ask, getting out of bed and walking into the living room.
“You see that shit?” he growls.
“Yeah. What the fuck happened?” I demand, catching Blake now standing in the living room at the end of the hallway, arms crossed over her chest, watching me.
“There was a hit out on Gregory. But he wasn’t home—”
“Wait,” I interrupt him. “They said one fatality. Who the hell did they kill?”
“Remy,” he answers.
I fall onto the couch and place my face in my hand. “Fuck!” I sigh. It’s worse than I thought.
“Yeah,” my father agrees.
I pull it away from my ear to look at the screen when it vibrates. It’s a text.
House of Lords. Now!
“I gotta go,” I tell him, not even bothering to wait for a response. Standing, I look at her. “Get dressed. We’re leaving.”
She places her arms out wide, and the towel drops to her feet. “In what? I don’t have anything to wear. You cut my shirt and my underwear.” Arching a brow, she places her hands on her narrow hips.
My eyes take a second to run over the bruises that cover her body in various places along with my teeth marks. She’s got two hickeys—one on her neck, the other on her inner thigh. We’ve spent all weekend here at my cabin doing nothing but fucking, and I’m still hard. “I have clothes you can wear.” I point at the bedroom, ignoring my cock. Now is not the time. We’ve got to go. “Grab a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants out of my closet. We’re leaving in five minutes.”
Thankfully, she doesn’t argue with me anymore and goes to get dressed.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” she asks the moment we’re in my SUV speeding down the highway to get back to the house of Lords.
“I can’t,” I say honestly.
“Can’t or won’t?” she snaps, getting irritated.
I shift in my seat. “Can’t. I took an oath …”
She snorts. “Matt used to always say that shit. It was a lie then too.”
I give her a quick glance to see she’s glaring out the passenger window. The fact that she even mentioned him pisses me off. “Look, even if I could tell you, I wouldn’t because it’s none of your damn business,” I snap.