Page 34 of Cruel Hearts

“She’s been avoiding us.” His gaze flicked to the window, and hatred flashed in his eyes. It was so intense, I stepped back. Elizabeth’s betrayal of the knights must have cut deep. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“And neither did you.” I folded my arms across my chest.

“Don’t forget you rejected our offer to work together.”

Bristling, I tilted my head up to glare into his cold, gray eyes. It was a pity that this asshole had the same name and face as the illusion that had gotten under my skin. “Rejection hurts, doesn’t it?”

“You should know,” he snarled.

The words landed like a blade through the heart. My hands itched to slap him, but I held back. Kendrick would only grab my wrist before the blow landed and say something even more cutting. No matter how many times Maxwell said he regretted his actions, he had still gone ahead with a plan to exact maximum damage.

Kendrick’s lips curled into a smile. “Have I touched a nerve?”

“Only the one that operates my gag reflex.” I turned back to the window. “Looking at you for too long makes me nauseous.”

The large figure reflected at my side slumped his shoulders, but I was too busy watching Mr. Burgh speak with Father Neapolitan to consider what the action might mean. If my grandfather was anything like me, he would floor that sanctimonious rapist with a punch in the gut.

Streams of children, too excited by the festivities to see where they were going, formed tightly-knit crowds that were impossible to penetrate. A few of them even lingered at the door, blocking our way.

By now, most of the children and staff had streamed out of the building, leaving Elizabeth holding the collection pouch. She glanced over her shoulder at the priest and headmaster, then beckoned two younger boys close.

“What is she doing?” I whispered.

Kendrick stepped so close, his body heat radiated through the back of my coat. “Elizabeth takes the collection every—.”

“Look.” I elbowed him in the ribs to pay attention. Elizabeth reached into the bag’s depths, pulled out a handful of five, ten, and twenty-pound notes, and offered them to the two boys.

After glancing at the talking men, the shorter of the boys took the cash and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. Elizabeth nodded at them and walked to the front of the church, while the two boys strolled toward the exit.

“What the hell is going on?” I asked Kendrick.

“I have no idea,” he replied.

“You have to know,” I said. “What does she usually do with the collection money?”

He reared back. “Do you think I condone stealing?”

“You condone lying, making false reports to the police, and letting your brother fuck girls disguised as you.”

Kendrick winced. I couldn’t even feel a surge of triumph because the girl Maxwell had screwed over was me.

A little voice in the back of my head told me to focus on the big picture. Petty victories meant nothing in the face of the opportunity to bring about Elizabeth’s downfall. I stopped running my mouth and stared into Kendrick’s eyes, waiting for a response.

His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “Elizabeth has a way of making one believe that everything she does is for an overall good.”

I clamped my lips together, holding back my urge to tell him to stop using the moral compass of a deranged, narcissistic sociopath and grow a backbone.

Instead, I said, “Let’s hope you’re serious about getting even with Elizabeth because I’m sure stealing from the church is worse than anything I’ve ever done.”

Kendrick nodded.

I turned my attention to the entrance, where the two boys walked out at the end of the crowd with Elizabeth in tow. Bickering with Kendrick could wait. For now, we needed to find out why in the holy highlands Elizabeth needed to steal the collection money to pay off two younger boys.

Chapter 13

The sun disappeared behind a gray cloud, casting our side of the chapel’s exterior in semi-gloom. The next time I turned to the window, Father Neapolitan and Mr. Burgh squared up to each other like a pair of MMA fighters.

All thoughts of chasing after Elizabeth flew into the breeze, and a knot tightened in my stomach. Did Mr. Burgh need back up? He was over fifty, and the psycho priest was in his thirties…