Page 32 of To Claim A King
I scrolled through my phone, barely tasting my coffee, when the barrage of text messages from Winter sent my stomach plummeting through the floor.
9:07 am: Winter:Hill! I just saw the news! What is going on!?
10:43 am: Winter:You know you can tell me anything, right?
11:31 am: Winter:Seriously, Hillary, I need to know you’re okay. Call me ASAP.
My gaze rose to Kellan seated on the other side of the table. Skin sallow, his knuckles were bruised and bloody from his training on the single punching bag installed in one of the empty rooms. The sunken eyes of a haunted man rose to meet mine. He hadn’t come to bed with us, and he was already brooding at the kitchen table when we woke. He was so close to the edge of despair. Losing his hidden family—the only one he had—would destroy him entirely.
My heart physically hurt with the hoard of secrets I’d kept from my best friend. She’d be sick with worry, but I wouldn’t risk her life, no matter what the cost to me.
Hillary:I’m fine. I mean, I’m going to be fine. But you need to keep your distance right now. Kellan’s compromised, and we can’t risk Antonio learning a thing about your family. Promise me you’ll lie low for a little while, at least until this blows over?
Her response pinged through immediately, as if she’d been waiting by her phone for my text. She probably had. Like me, Winter was fiercely protective of her people.
Winter:You’re kidding, right? They’re accusing you of torture! WTF is going on?
A burst of air escaped my lips; Winter wouldn’t let this slide. I planned to tell her everything, but what I needed most was time.
Hillary:I will tell youeverything. Promise. But right now, let me keep you safe, okay?
Winter:As long as he’s keepingyousafe. I’ll kill him myself if he doesn’t.
My snort interrupted Kellan’s forlorn staring into space, but I just shook my head when he cocked a questioning eyebrow. Winter was feisty, but sweet. Her version of murder would be to poison his casserole. If I didn’t love the man in front of me, I’d encourage it.
Hillary:Noted. Love you, Sweets.
Winter:Love you. Tell Kellan we love him too.
I wouldn’t. Not now, at least. Kellan didn’t need another group of people to become a martyr for. He was already trying so hard to sacrifice himself for us. Of the four criminals around this table and our current shitshow state of affairs, I was most worried about him.
This man’s tattoos were his protective shield, glue that kept the myriad of spider-webbed cracks from breaking him apart. The glue was failing. The defining words inscribed on his knuckles were too marred with scars and blood to protect him any longer.
Overcome by the jagged lump forming in my throat, I reached out to clasp the hand of “hope” and brushed mythumb across the ragged skin. He gently removed his hand from mine, then leaned over, placing a chaste kiss on my temple before standing and leaving the table.
My frowning gaze followed him to the dishwasher, where he silently placed the plate inside, then returned down the hallway to the bedroom, closing the door behind him.
The burner phone vibrated in my hand, tearing my attention away from Kellan’s retreating form. Agent Smith’s name popped up on the screen. Of course. We’d been waiting for her call.
“This is Hillary,” I answered coolly. Lucky and Aaron’s heads popped up from their morning paper sections in unison.
“Hillary, Agent Smith,” the woman announced. “Where are you right now?”
I turned in my chair and faced the wide-open room between the kitchenette and the makeshift living space, the sound of my voice carrying through the echo chamber. “Well, as I’m sure you’re aware, Agent Smith, vandals destroyed my home last night. Luckily, I was visiting a friend. I’ve been informed that my entire floor is a crime scene?”
I posed it as a question, maintaining my innocence until proven otherwise.
“You are correct, Ms. Lane. Your condo is, in fact, a crime scene. And thanks to whoever set your place on fire, we’ll have full access to whatever evidence is in there without the need of that pesky warrant.”
A deep grimace set into the lines of my forehead. The thought of complete strangers trolling through my private quarters and documents set me on edge. Lucky’s plan and execution had a ninety percent chance of working, so I could only hope the digital files—the crucial, incriminating ones—were completely disintegrated. My grimace morphedinto a devious smirk at the image of Agent Smith discovering my well-stocked toy chest.
Weston’s advice floated in the air.The best defense is a good offense.We’d be rolling out that offense soon, but not today, and certainly not to Agent Smith.
“Agent, for whatever reason, you continue to treat me as if I’m a criminal. Change your tone, or change the agent on this case, because I only have so much patience. I’m the victim here, and currently homeless. Might I suggest spending your time chasingactualcriminals, and come to me when you find something useful.”
Her derisive snort resounded through the line. “I’d hardly call the richest woman in the state ‘homeless.’ MightIsuggest a nice motel in the area, so you can get a taste of how us peasants live? We’ll be talking, Ms. Lane.”
Miserable cow.Perhaps she would find some joy from the Excalibur 3000, or the Purrfect Pussy Licker. I’d let her keep them to take the edge off.
