Page 58 of Lady of Darkness
“Fuck,” Gideon hisses as we drive away from the scene. He runs his fingers through his hair and looks around wildly. “Well,thatdid not go according to plan.”
Theo pins him with a glare. “You think?”
“Why the fuck was the door locked?” Sterling growls. “Did Acadia know about that passageway?”
“I highly doubt it,” Theo hisses. “No one had been in that passage foryears.When I laid those bombsmyselfjust hours ago, the dust on the floor was thick from years of disuse.”
The van parks, and Monty climbs into the back with us. He jiggles the mouse on the main computer.
“Let me pull up the footage,” he murmurs, clicking through security images.
Everyone is quiet except for me. My breathing is ragged, still panicked from the blast. “Is he… will he–” I look at Alaric, my stomach clenching.
“He’ll be fine,” Gideon says quickly. “We’re taking him to our doctor in London right now.” His eyes sweep over my face. “He should look at your gash, too.”
Relief washes over me, and he must sense that I’m about to have a full-on breakdown, because he comes to sit next to me.
“Shh,” he whispers, pulling me into his side gently. “You did your job beautifully. Alaric will be okay. I’m so proud of you. So fucking proud,” he adds, his voice catching as he holds me close.
I cry quietly for a few seconds, feeling better in his arms.
“We thought we lost you,” Sterling growls from across the van. “We thought… we didn’t have time to think. Alaric ran out and shot the lock off, and then–” He looks away, rubbing his mouth. “A second later, and you both would’ve been dead. He pulled you withinfeetof the perimeter of the building. Any closer, and the wall of the building would’ve come down on top of the both of you.”
I swallow and let out a shaky breath. Just as I open my mouth to respond, Monty clears his throat.
“I think I found out what happened,” he murmurs, turning his screen to face all of us. I watch in horror as Jurgen walks into the frame of the video feed, using his key to lock the side door I was meant to come out of. He turns slowly, looking directly into the camera lens, and then he grins as he holds two middle fingers up before walking away.
“Bastard. Fucking bastard. It must’ve been right before we arrived,” Theo says, his voice tainted with fury. “I checked the door when I laid the bombs. Fucking bastard,” he hisses, closing his eyes. “He was ensuring he locked us in there like termites.”
My stomach drops. “Are we sure they’re all dead?” I ask tentatively. “If they knew what our plan was…”
“They didn’t know,” Theo growls, leaning forward. “They were probably just covering their tracks in case we decided to run with you at dinner. But we–unexpectedly–agreed to their terms. They didn’t need to kill us. They’re dead. I’ll have my guys confirm later. We are looking for thirty-six men. If there are less than that… well, then I guess I’m going to have to hunt the rest down myself,” he adds, his menacing voice gritty and low. His blue eyes lock onto mine. “I thought you were going to die, Harlow.”
I swallow and nod. My head is still pounding. “I thought so, too.”
“I was never going to let that fucking happen,” Alaric croaks, but then inhales sharply as he stirs. “Fuck, everything fucking hurts.” He winces, squeezing his eyes shut.
I nearly sob with relief, leaping forward and colliding with his body. He just chuckles softly and looks down at me. One of his eyes is swollen shut, and his face is peppered with tiny gashes.
“I’m here, baby. We’re alive. We won.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE
Theo
We pullup to Kitt’s large, terraced townhouse in Marylebone. I help the guys move Harlow inside, and then we all hoist Alaric and carefully drag him up the steps to Kitt’s front door. The door opens and Kitt stares down at us, an exasperated look on his face. His eyes flick over to Harlow, and he suddenly looks like such a father figure. Straightening up, he crosses his arms and scowls at me.
“What the hell have you guys been doing to this poor woman?”
I chuckle.If only he knew.
“First an accidental overdose a few weeks ago, and now…” he trails off, helping us all inside.
I quickly jog back down the stairs and pass Monty his payment. He grins when I hand him the bag. Fifty-thousand dollars per job, that’s our agreement. I’d pay him ten times that if he asked.
“Thanks, man,” he mutters. “You have my number for next time.”
“I added an extra five-hundred quid for cleanup,” I reply, grimacing as I look around the blood-stained van. “Be safe.”
