Page 34 of Lust

Finding my phone, I switch the torch on low and scan it round the garden. As the leg of a garden table comes into view of the dim torch light, I head to it and hope the shooter can’t see me from his position—wherever that is. I’m guessing, without looking over the fence, either in next door or on the flat roof oftheir extension. I tuck my phone and blade away and pick the square table up. It’s a rusty metal thing that’s seen better days, but it should do what I need it to.

This time when I reach the path to the back door, I switch sides, and slide along the fence until I’m standing in front of the open back door. Smoke is slowly filling the room, but I can just make out two shadows hunched together.

Raising the table over my head, I take a step forward. When nothing happens, I take another and another. Reaching the back doorstep, there’s a ping of metal on metal. Happy to see the table isn’t as flimsy as I thought, I hurry the rest of the way and cross the threshold.

“Blake, Sydney!” I hiss, placing the table down as they step through the smoky air in front of me.

“Took your fucking time, man. What the fuck are you doing with the…oh, I see. Good move.”

My eyes scan him from head to toe, noting the dark wet patch on his shoulder, which is growing every second. Then I scan Sydney, who looks unhurt.

“We need to get out of here before the cops arrive,” I say, noting Sydney’s frown. I’m guessing she’s wondering why the fuck we’re avoiding the cops. Setting that aside to explain later, I continue, “Once you get to the fence, you need to stay tight to it. He can’t get a shot that way. Sydney, I’ll take you first and come back for Blake.”

“No, take Blake. He’s injured.” She pushes him forward a little and steps in behind him.

“Not happening. Now let’s go,” I demand, raising the table over my head and turning to face the back door. “Hold on to my waist, and we’ll take small steps, starting with the left leg, okay?”

I can hear Blake whispering to her that he’ll be right behind her, then I feel her hands at my waist, fisting my coat. Turning my head, I say, “Closer, Sydney.” She moves closer while sendingdaggers my way. “Good. You ready?” She nods, and I start walking slowly.

When the first bullet hits the top of the table, Sydney let’s out a squeal and pushes me forward so that we crash into the fence opposite. After that, I get Blake across quickly and we get the fuck out just before the fire brigade arrive.

Sydney is quiet in the back of the car as I drive toward our place. And while I’ve no doubt she’s in shock and has a million questions, which she’s cautious about asking given our last conversation, I’m more concerned about getting Blake’s gunshot checked.

As I turn off and head out of London, I feel Blake look over at me. “Where are you going?”

“Where do you think?”

He looks over his shoulder to Sydney, then lowering his voice, he says, “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“You got a better one? Besides, things have changed.”

Vance isat the gate house when we pull up thirty minutes later, and I roll down the window as we stop beside him.

“Wasn’t expecting you to be back so soon. The old guy d?—”

“Just open the gate. Blake’s been shot,” I say, cutting him off. Probably should have messaged ahead so he didn’t open his big fucking mouth. Hopefully, Sydney is still too shocked to have caught on.

“Oh fuck!” Vance says, stepping back inside to open the gates.

I hear a gasp from behind as I drive through the gates and down the smooth tarmac driveway.

“What is this place?” Sydney asks, and Blake twists in his seat to answer.

“Welcome to Stonebridge Manor,” he drawls, pride ringing in his tone. “This is Ro’s home.”

I look in the rearview mirror to see a wide-eyed Sydney scanning the grounds, taking in the high walls and huge manor house up ahead.

Any hope of keeping Sydney in the dark about who I really am, who my family are, and why I was posing as a reverend at her father’s church is about to be shot to shit.

It feels good to be home, but it’s not the homecoming I envisioned when Blake I set out to catch Annabel’s killer. Not only have we not done that, but we’re bringing the daughter of the man we suspect into my home.

“Our home,” I correct him as I keep my focus on parking the car.

“Hold on…this is…you…” Sydney stammers as Blake and I get out, neither of us waiting for her.

A car door slams behind us as we reach the front steps, then heavy footsteps crunch across the gravel.

“Wait…I don’t understand.”

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