Page 97 of Surrender
Bishop climbed off and walked over to the tiny speaker on the side, then hit the button. It rang a few times before a woman’s voice answered, “Yes?”
“Looking for Margot Carrington,” Bishop said gruffly, tapping his boot.
There was silence for a breath.
“Regarding wh—”
“Regarding your son,” he snapped. “He lost his fucking shit and kidnapped my brother’s old lady, Darcy. And we know he’s got a past. We know he’s done shit that you aren’t fucking proud of. So what I suggest is that you talk to us, and maybe we’ll keep this under wraps and won’t destroy your family.”
I was thankful that Bishop was our president and the man who did all the talking because had it been me, I wouldn’t have said those words so damn delicately. The fire in me was struggling to stay contained, and I was afraid that if I didn’t get some answers soon as to where Darcy was, that fire was going to start burning anything and everything that got in its way.
“Leave your vehicles at the gate and take the path around the side of the house to the pool. I’ll be there,” the woman finally said through the speaker, and the gate made a loud beep before it slowly opened inward, just enough for a person to slip through.
Henry stayed with our rides, while Hawk, Bishop, Whip, Match, and I slipped through the small gap, marching toward the large home.
“Any other day and I’d probably stop and rant about how fucking cool this place is,” Whip muttered, his eyes wide.
The placewasdamn impressive.
Three stories.
Two chimneys.
Some dormers.
And a couple of fucking turrets.
This wasn’t just wealth. This was the kind of wealth that was handed down from generation to generation. It was passed from one child to the next, with each doing their part to protect and polish it for the family that was to come.
Walking the path that rounded the house was like having a glimpse into royalty. Everything was beautiful. From the path lined with hedges trimmed so perfectly it looked like someone had used a ruler to the backyard that stretched for probably half the block.
It was the picture of perfection.
On the outside.
It was such a shame that it was rotting from the inside out.
We came around the back of the building to find Margot Carrington right where she said she would be, lying out by the pool in a barely there bikini and a pair of oversized sunglasses hiding her face. She swirled a wine glass in her hand, and it looked so natural that I almost forgot it was barely midday.
“So tell me,” she said as we approached. “What has he done now?”
Bishop didn’t waste any time. “He’s taken Darcy somewhere, and one of our guys. We want them back.”
She scoffed loudly, sipping at her glass. “No, you don’t,” she said with a sigh. “You want him dead.” The words fell from her lips as if it were just another day, and she was speaking about the weather. She didn’t flinch or even seem surprised by what Bishop had told her, like maybe she’d been waiting for this day for a long time.
I stepped forward. “You’re son is a fucking psycho, you know that, right?”
She removed her sunglasses, and while I was expecting to see a businesswoman with a sharp expression and a fire in her eyes, instead, there was only exhaustion.
“People told me it was a phase. That lighting things on fire and putting holes through walls was just a boys-being-boys thing,” Margot murmured, shaking her head. “By the time I realized there was something darker in his bones, it was too late. I was taking over Dahne and trying to maintain its reputation. My family had built it from scratch. They’d worked hard to make it what it is. I couldn’t let my son be the reason generations of hard work came crashing down.”
“You started covering for him,” I said, piecing things together.
“I told him to keep his temper in check,” she snapped, placing the wineglass down on the table beside her with a hard clink. “After a while, I think he started to believe he was untouchable, and I know that’s on me. Because every single time he fucked up, I was there, cleaning it up. Making it all disappear. Not to protect him, but to protectmy business.” She sat up, pulling her silk robe around her and shuddering.
“Then Darcy showed up,” she murmured, shaking her head. “She was too smart for him. She saw through the bullshit that would have other girls swooning, and he hated that the most.”
“You could have warned her!” I growled, taking another step forward. “You could have told her to get out. You—”
