Page 61 of Betrayed
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Erin
I’m standing at the door of the Red Shutters, a quaint stone cottage with ivy creeping up its walls and, surprisingly, dark green painted shutters at its windows.
A few days ago, we drove here from England, crossing the border into Scotland. I was eager to leave the gloomy moor and old cabin from my past behind. And the food. The granola bars were getting monotonous and stale.
Now, I’m standing at the kitchen window watching Gregory pretend to be reading in the garden, when we’re both really watching Lucian.
Lucian’s on a phone call. One that has his stone jaw clenched extra tight.
Today is the day Blaze is calling Lucian from New York. To let him know what the Bachman’s final decision on rebuilding their family’s Village.
Over coffee and fresh baked goods, Gregory filled me in on everything he knows about the Bachman family from his past visit. The family owns many estates, with the main three being their cherished Village, now gone; the Hamlet, and the Parish.
The Hamlet is a hidden town in Connecticut, located far outside the city and protected by a large stone wall. They’re strong in numbers and have plenty of land around their walls to buffer an attack. The island off the coast of Greece is named the Parish after the priest who originally sold the Bachmans the land. Its natural isolation keeps it safe, with armed boats patrolling the waters around it.
The Village was the most vulnerable of their homes. The Morettis spent two decades planning, growing, and plotting their destruction of the Bachman stronghold in the city. And they succeeded.
Really, the only thing for me in New York is Cass and Ryan.
And they’re no safer there than I am.
What if the Bachmans decide to rebuild somewhere? Will he want me to come? How can I? I’m not family.
That yucky feeling creeps up inside me. The one that constantly tells me I’m not good enough for him, for the Bachmans. And that he’s the only one giving in this relationship.
What do I bring to the table?
Trouble.
Lucian ends his call. Gregory takes one look at Lucian storming towards the cottage and decides to stay in the garden and go back to his book. I move away from the window.
Lucian’s body is tight with rage, the phone clenched in one hand, his jaw grinding. But it’s his eyes that do me in—dark and burning with need.
For me.
To punish me for the risks I took last night.
He crosses the room in two strides, fast and lethal, like something inside him snapped the second he heard I was leaving again.
“So, they don’t want to rebuild in the city,” I say, stating what’s written all over his mood.
“No. They don’t. All our ties, our history? Since when do we cower?” He pushes his hair back, one hand on each side of his head. “Never mind.”
And his eyes settle on me.
“I believe we have a conversation to finish,” he says, voice gravel and fire.
I don’t answer.
The truth is in my silence. In the shiver rolling down my spine.
His hands cup my face, rough and trembling. He kisses me like he needs oxygen, like his life depends on anchoring me here. His lips crush mine, tongue sweeping in, teeth scraping, dominating.
Claiming.
I gasp against his mouth, and he deepens the kiss, his palm sliding into my hair to keep me still.
