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“Are you okay?” I quickly scan her for any signs of injury. “Did he hurt you? What did he do?”
“I’m fine.” Her cheeks flush. “He didn’t do anything.”
“If you don’t count multiple orgasms as something, then I need to up my game,” Callen replies over his shoulder before disappearing.
The awkward silence is filled by Bram crushing a Coke can in his fist.
“I needed some fresh air,” she says, smoothing over Callen’s comment without denying it.
“We were worried,” I say, which sounds feeble now.
“I can see that,” she replies, surveying the damage to the suite. She crosses her arms over her chest. “But I’m not your prisoner anymore, remember? I don’t need your protection.”
She’s right, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to look out for her.
“We know,” Freddie acknowledges.
“It doesn’t seem like you do,” she snarls. “Look…” Her expression softens slightly. “Taking on the Killers Club is my fight, and I dragged you into it. I’ll do whatever it takes to bring Alaric down, but you don’t need to.”
How doesn’t she understand that she’s become the sole reason we do anything? No matter how much we try to pull away, she keeps tugging us back like we’re connected by an invisible thread.
“The Dukes have made their decision,” I say, hoping I sound strong in my conviction, like the leader I want to be. “We’re seeing this through.”
She smiles sadly. “It’s your funeral.”
CHAPTER 23
FREDDIE
Amessage from Daisy flashes over my phone screen. She’s become the middle person between us and Stephanie, which I’m not keen on, but it’s too risky for Queen Stephanie to do it herself.
I fight the urge to spring into action and set plans in motion, remembering I handed over that responsibility.
It’s Seb’s decision to make.
Sacrificing my role as their leader was the right thing to do, but it doesn’t feel right. Everyone else seems to have a place in the group but, without being their boss, I don’t know where I fit in.
Last night, Ivy and Callen seemed to have made amends. It was hard to contain my jealousy at seeing her tousled hair and Callen’s smug smirk. They share a toxic connection and, although it’s lessened the tense atmosphere, Ivy still can’t bear to look at me. I don’t blame her. I’d prefer if she screamed at me and fought, but her cold indifference is killing me. It’s not just Ivy. Bram has only just started acknowledging me again, and even now, it’s clear he doesn’t trust me.
Everything has changed, and it’s all my fault.
“Seb,” I say, holding up my phone to catch his attention. He’s busy typing on a laptop. “It’s for you.”
I throw the phone for him to catch.
I’ve already read the message that contains the address of a house in London on the other side of the city with the words:
Time to move. I’ll send you the address. It’ll have everything you need to get prepared.
We’ll meet you there tomorrow to confirm the plan.
Seb frowns as he reads it.
“What is it?” Ivy asks from the other end of the suite.
Earlier, we pushed the sofas against the walls to make more space. Ivy’s incapable of relaxing, so she and Callen have been treating the room like a dojo by practising fighting moves. More than a few ornaments lay broken in their wake. Bram watches on from a high-backed chair, following their every move, poised to step in if Callen takes it too far. Not that Ivy needs any help. She has a sharp focus, and her professional training is clear.
“She’s given us an address for a safe house,” Seb says.
