Page 136 of Trapped Truth

“How can we trust you?” Ember vocalises from beside me.

“I have no ulterior motive here.” Despite my obvious mistrust, Angela sounds sincere. “I’m sure you can imagine the personal risk it took for me to make this meeting happen.”

“Does my father know where you are?” I cut straight to the point.

She shudders. “Do you think I would be here if he did?”

“Then how were you able to get away?”

“I’m granted certain freedoms. We’re safe to talk, Blaine. He isn’t coming here.”

After we exchange a silent conversation, Ember gestures for me to sit down. I take her hand so we can approach together. Angela returns to her seat, eyes instantly homing in on our linked fingers while her shadow hovers.

Azrael is intimidating by any man’s standards. He’s the kind of brute I’d assign to my security detail without hesitating. Broad, brawny shoulders, more visible ink than bare flesh and a crooked nose under deeply tanned skin that tells the tale of many fights under his belt.

“Where is The Hunter?” He pins me with a not-so friendly glare.

“Lurking, I’d imagine.”

“Tell him we’re even now. My debt is paid.”

“You took this risk to clear a mere debt?” I scowl in his direction.

Stiffening, Azrael folds his corded arms. “My motivations are not your concern.”

“He’s here for me,” Angela volunteers.

Peering at her worn features, the signs of age are clear. Fine lines edge her mouth and eyes, but the onyx jewels somehow radiate a lovable warmth. I’m uncertain if it’s a childish desire to see my mother reflected in her stare or genuine affection.

“Azrael is my closest confidante. He has kept me safe through much turmoil.”

“Mercenaries cannot be confidantes,” I leap to argue.

“Yet I have no money to offer, and here he stands.”

That’s great. My long-lost mother has won the affection of a raging psychopath who features in the horror stories of the world’s most dangerous men. What a wonderful person to have at her side.

“Let me get a look at you, then.” Angela smiles, fingers fluttering over her mouth. “You’re so grown, son.”

“Blaine is fine.”

“Right, of course. I wasn’t sure if I would recognise you… but you’re as handsome as they say. So tall and strong. Your father’s hair, though. I suppose that was inevitable.”

“Why did you reach out to me after all these years?”

“Until I learned of your father’s vendetta against you, I thought it safer to remain at a distance.”

My gut roils, churning as though swollen with noxious chemicals. “For three decades?”

“I wasn’t in a position to make contact for most of that time.” Weary lines bracket her ageing features. “It wasn’t until recent years that I returned to Nolan’s service and began to enjoy more freedom.”

“Enjoy?” Ember splutters.

Angela fiddles with a gold hoop in her ear, fingers twitching nervously. “I’m long past the age of appealing to paying customers. Nolan required someone to keep his girls in line.”

“You’re a madam.”

“I’m the only thing those girls have.” She sits up straighter, squaring her shoulders. “Your friend Gracie can tell you that.”