Page 91 of Breaking Isolde
“Get in.”
I do, not because I want to, but because if I don’t, I might be signing my own death warrant. Rhett slides in after me, slamming the door so hard my ears pop.
There’s someone in the vehicle, up front in the driver’s seat. I have never seen him before, but maybe he’s security of some kind. He doesn’t look back, just puts the SUV in gear and pulls away from the curb.
Caius turns in the seat, one arm across the headrest. His eyes scan every inch of me, and for a second, I see a flicker of something that might be regret. Or maybe he’s just trying to figure out if I’m worth the risk.
“I’m Caius, you must be Isolde.”
“Yep.” It’s all I can think to say.
He nods to Rhett, who nods back. The whole thing is so fucking formal, I want to scream.
“Slade, this is Rhett,” Caius says, then, after a beat, “and Isolde.” He says my name like he’s biting down on a pill.
Slade grunts in response.
No one asks if I’m okay. No one offers a tissue or a jacket or a “hey, sorry about the Hunt and the attempted branding and the murder and your sister dying and this whole fucking mess.” The only warmth in the car is the heat blasting from the vents, and even that smells like engine oil and danger.
We drive in silence for a while. Rhett never takes his arm off me—one hand cupped over my knee, the other wrapped around my wrist. Caius keeps looking over his shoulder, scanning the rear window every thirty seconds, as if expecting the world’s shittiest parade of Board thugs to tail us.
I use the time to take stock: my hands are shaking, my breath comes in short, ugly bursts, and my left foot is leaving a dark streak on the floor mat. I wipe my nose on the back of my hand and watch as snot smears across my skin.
Nobody says a word about it.
Finally, after what feels like an hour but is probably ten minutes, Caius leans in. “You have a plan, Rhett?”
Rhett doesn’t look at him. “You were the plan.”
Caius snorts. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
Rhett finally speaks again. “We need to lay low for a while. Just long enough to get the Board off our backs. We killed Valence. Bam is taking care of it, so hopefully they won’t notice her missing.” He snorts out a laugh. “Wishful thinking.”
Slade glances in the rearview. “They’ll never stop. You know that, right? You just killed a Board member.” His voice is dry, almost bored. “That’s not the kind of thing they let go.”
“I am sworn in as Chair now,” Rhett says. “We have resources.”
Caius studies him. “You sure about that?”
Rhett shrugs. “I’m not my father. They know it.”
Another silence, this one heavier.
Slade turns the car off the main road and onto a gravel drive lined with pines. The trees here are older, taller, the kind that live through firestorms and keep growing. The drive winds for miles, passing through shitty trails that bump so hard it makes my stomach queasy.
Finally, we hit a gate. It’s massive, steel bars thick enough to stop a tank, topped with coils of razor wire. A camera blinks red as we approach. Slade hits a code, and the gate swings open with a whine.
Inside, the perimeter is lined with motion sensors and, I kid you not, two men in full militia gear, holding what look like real assault rifles. They give us the nod, then melt back into the trees.
We drive another half mile before the house comes into view: a monster of glass and stone and wood, perched a few meters from the edge of a frozen lake. It’s beautiful, if you like the whole “last stand of the rich and damned” aesthetic. There’s a second SUV in the driveway, and the lights inside the house are all on.
Slade parks, kills the engine, and steps out. Caius is already at the door, unlocking it with his thumbprint. Rhett ushers me out, one hand around my waist, as if I’ll break in half if he lets go.
Inside, the house is all open space and cold light. There’s a fireplace, but no fire. The kitchen looks untouched. A spiral staircase leads up to a mezzanine with a row of closed doors.
Standing at the base of the stairs is Ophelia. She’s barefoot, wearing a sweatshirt and leggings, hair pulled back in a tight braid. Her belly is rounded, but not huge. Her eyes go wide when she sees me, but she doesn’t say a word.
Caius goes to her, hands on her shoulders, and whispers something in her ear. She nods, then looks at me again.
