Page 65 of Brutal Reign
Kin takes another bite of his breakfast, apparently reassured by my answer. “My mom likes chocolate,” he says, completely changing topics. “If you want her to be happy, you should get her some.”
“Chocolate, huh? What kind?”
He shrugs.
I’ve seen Hope terrified, defiant, exhausted, and resigned. But I haven’t seen her smile since London. I suddenly want to, with an intensity that surprises me.
“I won’t forget that,” I say, tapping my temple.
Kin nods, satisfied that I’ve understood the importance of his advice, and returns his attention to his plate. “Can I have more jam?”
I push the jar toward him, watching as he scoops up a too-large dollop. Jam smears across his small fingers, and he licks them clean with childish enthusiasm.
“So, the preserves grew on you?” I ask, pleased.
Kin nods, then holds up his dinosaur as if the toy is whispering in his ear. He listens with exaggerated attention.
“Spike says we need chocolate chips next time. And bananas.”
“Does he now?” I arch an eyebrow, playing along. “Well, I’ll have to make sure we get some then.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
HOPE
Sunlight burnsagainst my closed eyelids, dragging me reluctantly from sleep. For one blessed moment, I forget where I am.
Then it all comes flooding back.
My eyes fly open, taking in unfamiliar surroundings. Kin’s elaborate dinosaur paradise comes into focus around me. Artistic murals cover the walls, and a couple of toys sit on the nightstand. Decorating this room probably cost more than most people’s cars.
I bolt upright, heart slamming against my ribs. “Kin?”
There’s no answer, and judging by the unmade twin bed on the far side of the room, he’s no longer here.
I scramble out of bed, searching the space and the adjoining bathroom, but he’s not in here, and the door is hanging wide open. Shit! How could I not have realized my son had left the room? I must have been out cold after the craziness of the last day.
My lungs squeeze as I imagine my little guy wandering around this strange house, lost and scared. I grab my robethrown over a nearby chair and belt it hastily, and rush into the hallway, disoriented by the mansion’s unfamiliar layout.
“Kin!” I call out, my voice edged with desperation.
I swore to myself I wouldn’t let Kin out of my sight for even a moment. And here I am, barely twelve hours in, and I’ve already blown it completely.
I make my way to the main staircase, taking the steps two at a time, blood rushing in my ears. When I reach the main floor, I spin in a circle, trying to remember which direction the kitchen is in. I was half-asleep when Yarik escorted us down for a meal yesterday.
When I hear voices coming from the back of the house, I freeze. One of them is unmistakably Kin’s, his high-pitched chatter carrying down the hall. The relief is intense, but it’s quickly replaced by fresh anxiety. Who is he with?
I push through the door to the kitchen, wild-eyed and breathless. “Kin!”
My son sits at the massive kitchen island, happily licking jam from his fingers, while Pavel sits beside him, coffee mug in hand, looking completely at ease.
The scene is so ordinary, domestic even. Morning light spills through the glass doors, and the air smells like coffee and something sweet. Aside from the mess on the counter, everything looks calm, especially Kin, who seems perfectly content.
“Mama!” Kin’s face lights up with genuine happiness. “Pavel made me pancakes!”
“I see that.” I force myself to breathe and smooth down my wild hair.
