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“Thomas left me in charge of the estate while he’s gone, Raleigh,” Iris says. “That means that your safety is my sole responsibility until he gets back. Putting aside the million and one terrible things that could have happened when you putyourself in the same cell as a prisoner- do you have any idea how incompetent this makes me look?!”
I swallow, but my throat is bone dry and all it does is hurt. “Please,” I say again, my voice barely a croak.
Iris’s jaw clenches. She studies me for a long time, considering every angle. Finally, she says, “Tell me exactly what’s going on, and we’ll handle it together. Without Thomas.”
My mouth falls open. How am I supposed to believe that? She’s Thomas’s right hand, his most trusted confidant. Is she really offering to keep this secret for me?
Iris’s eyes soften. She must guess my thoughts, because she says, “Raleigh, I’ll make you a blood oath if you want. Your business isyourbusiness. As long as it doesn’t endanger the family, I don’t need to involve Thomas. To be entirely honest, I don’twantto involve Thomas, not while he’s on his honeymoon, and not if it’ll sour things between you.”
That makes my stomach pinch. My relationship with my brother has never been a close one. Thanks to our father, Thomas was kept in isolation to learn how to be the best mafia boss, and I was a girl who had to be kept pure and ignorant. We grew up strangers with similar lives but distinct problems, and we butted heads all the time after our father finally died. Especially over the matter of how much freedom I should have in my own life. Thomas wanted to give me more than I’d had, but not enough that I’d be in danger. That balancing act felt like a leash around my neck, with my brother trying to find just the right amount of slack to give me.
I resented it, and I resented him, and it was impossible for Iris not to see.
But ever since Clara came back into our lives, it’s gotten better. I’ve been learning how to trust my childhood best friend again, and Thomas has kind of learned the same. He’s started letting me make my own decisions about what I want.
The only problem is, I’ve spent twenty-five years without that power, and now I have no idea what to do with it. How to use it without hurting everyone around me.
Like Iris.
My eyes prickle with welling shame. I owe her the truth, at least. If she uses it against me, then that’s fair too.
“I met Derrick at the bar after I left the wedding,” I say, choking the words out of a tightening throat. God, was it really only two nights ago? “I knew who he was, and I thought I could do something to… I don’t know, ruin his life.” I can’t bring myself to mention that I’d planned to get laid before doing any of that ruining. “I let him take me back to his house, and then Silver’s guys broke in and knocked us out.”
I swallow again, bracing against this next part. It’s even harder to do than before. “When we woke up, this guy, Silver, started threatening Derrick. He claimed that he was Morgan Speare’s son and that he wanted revenge, but if Derrick gave him inside information on Thomas, he’d let Derrick live.”
Iris’s eyebrows go up, and I expect her to interrupt here, but she only waits for me to continue. I almost wish she would stop me.
“Derrick wouldn’t do it. He didn’t give in to Silver’s threats. Silver stepped out at one point, and one of his guys took over. He made- h-he made us…”
Deep breaths, Raleigh. It wasn’t a big deal. You had your first time in front of armed thugs in a dirty room with a man you’d been planning to sleep with anyway.
Something hot slides down my cheek. Iris’s mouth is a tight line. I focus on that, not on whatever’s going on with my eyes. Derrick protected me, and Iris got me out. Nothing besides sex happened because it didn’t have a chance to.
“They made us have sex,” I choke out. “In front of them.”
Iris absorbs that. The only sign it upsets her is the flexing of her hand, her fingers stretching open so wide it looks like it hurts, then clenching into a white-knuckled fist. She’s probably thinking she’s glad she killed everyone in that house.
I’m glad she did too. If only I could’ve seen Silver’s dead body and been sure. He might not have been the one to give the order, but he put us in that room, and those goons belonged to him.
“Derrick protected me,” I blurt, because I need to remind myself that I wasn’t hurt. “He made sure I was okay. And then you and Paul showed up and everything was fine-”
My voice gives out, dissolving into a whimper. Iris pulls me into her arms, so tight I can barely breathe. Not that I was breathing properly before. I cling to her, the most unshakable person in my whole world, and she rubs my back in slow circles, lets me bury my face in her shoulder, and strokes my messy hair.
When we pull apart, there’s a little wet stain on the shoulder of her silk blouse. I quickly smear my hands over my eyes, blinking hard to clear whatever moisture lingers. How pathetic am I?
Iris takes a deep breath. I brace myself for whatever she has to say about my ordeal, but she just asks, “Derrick refused to work with Silver?”
I nod quickly, relieved by the impersonal question. Iris nods too, thoughtful. “Then Thomas doesn’t need to know.”
CHAPTER 8
Derrick
It takes at leastan hour to sneak off the Warwick estate, and by the time I do, I’m sweaty from climbing the back wall and shaking from the waning adrenaline. Nevertheless, I’ve still got a long way to go before I can rest. Luckily, the first part of my journey is downhill.
I jog through the affluent neighborhoods shadowed by the Warwicks, the houses of politicians and businessmen in the thrall of the mafia family that owns most of this city. I’m expecting every second for someone to appear over my shoulder, but I keep to the shadows and somehow make it to main streets without being pursued. I get far enough away that I feel comfortable slowing my pace. Finally, I begin to accept that I made it out.
It takes almost two hours to cross town, and I’m utterly exhausted by the time my house comes into view. The entire plot is surrounded by bright yellow caution tape, but thankfully there aren’t any patrol cars lingering. The crime scene is a day old now, and any evidence they’ve gotten will be all that there is. Not that it matters anymore. There’s a good chance all the people who stormed my house are dead now.
