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“W-wait,” he stammers, holding his hands up. “I’m looking for Poppy. Poppy Valentina. I-I heard she might be here…”
It’s instinctive to pop the safety catch of my ‘47 and point it between his eyes. “How do you know Poppy?”
The squeal that escapes his lips is pathetic. I should shoot him for that alone. “Please don’t shoot,” he squeaks.
“Better answer my fucking question then.”
“I’m her boyfriend.”
He earns himself a hard blow to the temple with the receiver of my rifle. The gurgling sound he emits isn’t satisfying enough for me.
Sam.I knew his name rang a bell. This is the scrawny prick that was calling her inLe Papillon. He’s the reason she said I’d never get away with taking her.
I’d say he’s got some balls turning up here, but by his dazed expression I know he’s a fish out of water. He had no idea what lay on the other side of the gates.
Important things first. “How did you know she was here?”
His speech is slower. Concussion will do that to you. “W-when she didn’t turn up for her birthday—”
Another slam to the side of his head. This time, he brings his hands up to protect himself, and I hear his wrist snap as the butt of my rifle cracks against it. “Please,” he screams, “No more.”
“Better cut to the chase then.”
“The restaurant,” he yells, clutching his hand and rocking back and forth. “The restaurant told me.”
I make a mental note to burn it to the ground when this war blows over. Speaking of war, I don’t have time for this shit. “It’s your lucky day. I have more important things to worry about than some jilted lover. If you’re quick, I won’t shoot you in the back of the head on your way out.”
But the fucker doesn’t move. He even has the audacity to shake his head. “I’m not leaving until I see her.”
“You really have a death wish, huh?”
“N-No. I really don’t want to die. Like,really.But I can’t leave her here, in this…” he gazes around the mahogany oak cladding and dust-covered books. “Mansion. I need answers. I need to know she’s okay.”
God, it’d be fucking easy to shoot this little cunt. Satisfying, even. I’d wrap him up in this Persian rug and bury him in the garden.
But I don’t have the time to deal with a hysterical Poppy if she finds out that the fresh patch of soil she sees on her daily walk has her boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—underneath it. Also, I don’t know who else knows that this kid is here. We don’t need the inconvenience. Not at the best of times, and especially not during a war with the Bratnovs.
“Stay here,” I say through gritted teeth, stomping back out into the hall.
Donnacha greets me with an amused smirk. Antoin, on the other hand, is glaring at me with an expression that says.I told you that bitch was trouble.
“False alarm,” I bark down the corridor. “Go back to your stations.” Then, I turn to Donnacha. “Get Poppy from the museum and tell her she has a visitor.”
Poppy
I know something’s wrong by the hammering on the bedroom door. Orna’s knocks are polite and followed by a cheery greeting. Lorcan slides through the darkness without an invitation. Not that he visits anymore, anyway.
“Poppy Murphy?” A gruff voice barks through the panels. “Get dressed. You have a visitor.”
“Uh, who?”
No reply. Dazed and with my heart hammering against my chest, I stumble into the dressing room and tug on a pair of jeans and a sweater. The bedroom door is never locked anymore, now that I have access to the other rooms in the house, so I peer around it and into the darkness.
A pair of piercing yellow eyes stare back at me, but they don’t belong to Lorcan. “Come with me.”
The man is tall and wearing all black. His hair is shaved close to his head and it shows off his sharp cheekbones. I recognize him, not only because he must be related to Lorcan, but because I’ve seen him in the gardens barking at the henchmen.
“Where are we going?”
