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“If that’s what you want.” He nods in sad understanding. “I’m here whenever you need me.”
I nod as Freddie puts on his suit jacket, a sense of sadness washing over me, but this is what has to happen. And he knows it too.
“Can I come with you?” Callen asks. He’s like a caged animal when he’s been kept inside for too long.
“No,” Freddie says firmly. “You don’t follow my orders anymore.”
Callen glowers. “But I never chose Seb to be my leader.”
“You will follow him, Callen,” Freddie says with an authority that I don’t think I have in me. “After everything I’ve done for you over the years, you owe the Dukes your loyalty.”
I expect Callen to throw a fit and argue, maybe even charge out of the hotel and never return. Yet, he says nothing, stewing in begrudging compliance.
“You know how to reach me,” Freddie says.
“Reach out to your contacts and see if you can find out more about Daisy’s alias,” I say as a parting message.
“Consider it done,” he says before closing the door behind him.
“So I guess it’s official,” Callen says. “You’re our new boss now.”
I guess I am…
CHAPTER 12
BRAM
Ihaven’t left her side since we arrived at the hotel. She wraps herself in the duvet, drawing her knees close to her chest. Her face is turned away, only letting me see a glimpse of her red hair splaying over the pillow. I want to promise her everything will work out, but the world is a cruel place… and we both know I’d be lying.
I sit on the edge of her bed, expecting her to bark at me to leave, but she doesn’t, which worries me more. People who have something to fight for are dangerous; people who have nothing to live for are reckless.
I stroke her over the covers, gently petting the curve of her back in what I hope is a comforting gesture. She doesn’t move away but doesn’t respond either.
Time ticks by. Although I can’t offer any words of reassurance, I need her to know that I’m here and won’t be going anywhere. Even if I could speak, I wouldn’t be able to find the right thing to say. No words cover learning your sister is still alive and ready to defend the man who destroyed your life.
Eventually, Ivy rolls over. Her eyes are bloodshot and puffy, but her cheeks are dry.
“Why are you still here?” she croaks.
I get a glass of water from the bedside table.
“No,” she replies.
I raise an eyebrow. You have to drink.
Reluctantly, she huffs and shuffles herself into a seated position. Even with her red eyes and slept-in hair, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. This might even be the most beautiful she’s ever looked because—finally—she’s not pretending, even if it breaks my heart to see her hurting. Her bravado and mask have been stripped back, and I see the real her, not a brain-washed killer.
I pass her the glass, and she sips reluctantly, then takes bigger gulps before passing it back to me.
We don’t have any proper food, but there’s a generous selection of individually wrapped biscuits that I collect and throw onto the bed for her to pick from. They don’t have custard creams, but there’s a posh version of a Jam Cream, which is the second-best option.
“I’m not hungry,” she insists.
Her stomach growls loudly in disagreement.
I narrow my eyes in a way that says, You have to eat.
“What’s the point?” she sighs. “Daisy doesn’t want me, and Spencer’s still alive. There’s nothing left for me.”
