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“You okay, Kitten?” I ask her directly, taking another step into the overcrowded office, drawing her attention.
She licks her lips, trembling so hard I think even her teeth might be chattering.
“Oh, and what number is this?” a mocking voice says from the chair in front of the desk, British accent thick, his back to us.
He doesn’t turn around, clearly doesn’t give a fuck that Flynn is armed with a knife no more than a foot behind him.
Poppy doesn’t look up, dropping her gaze to her feet, a wince on her face. I side eye Flynn, his jaw locked, teeth gritted, but he isn’t looking at me, his dark blue eyes only on her.
“Mr. Marshall!” the dean bellows, “I will not tell you again!”
“I don’t give a fuck,” Flynn says lowly, roving his gaze onto the dean, “I quit.” He shrugs, a sinister smile curving his mouth, he dips his chin, flicks his eyes up, “Now, hand over the girl.”
The man seated in the chair before the desk laughs, sighing as he pushes to stand. He’s not Poppy’s dad, Bennett showed us pictures of him, and this man is older, his lips curled in a mocking snarl.
“Mr. Marshall, is it?” he lifts a dark brow, holding his smirk. “I believe we’ve spoken on the phone. He reaches out his hand, as though inviting a shake. Flynn doesn’t react and I am so still, I forget all about my poor lung capacity as I stare at him. “I’m Dr. Soren,” he smiles then, retracting his hand. “Head psychiatrist at Briarmoor.” I know about this place, it’s a prison for people with mental health illness, and Poppy’s dad has threatened to send her back there too many times to count. “Unfortunately, Miss. Foster has had another psychotic break and we are here to take her back into our care. You cannot stop us. There is a police escort outside, I am more than happy to call them in here if you plan on making it difficult for me to leave with her.”
“You’re not taking her anywhere,” Flynn rumbles, low and deep, knife still held out between them, mere inches from this so-called doctor’s gut.
“Oh,” he huffs a laugh, “but I am, Mr. Marshall.”
“Flynn,” Poppy’s voice cracks as she says it, a whispering plea. “It’s okay,” she says then, her sad lilac eyes coming to mine, pupils blown, I feel my heart clench. “Rex, please,” is all she says, and I know what she’s saying, don’t make it worse.
We will come for you.
My entire body is trembling as I think it, chanting it over and over inside my head, praying she hears it.
We will never leave you again.
The room feels heavy, oppressive, it’s a ticking time bomb of pressure. We are not going to win here. I feel sick, my insides like lead, I need to be the sensible one now, not something I usually am, I try to channel Bennett, King. I breathe hard, gritting my teeth even as my heart feels like it’s breaking.
“Flynn,” I say without taking my eyes from hers, “let them go, man.”
“What?” he whips to face me now, lifting the blade higher, and I try to ignore the smile lifting on Soren’s face.
I swallow, my eyes leaving hers as she drops her gaze to her feet. I stare at Flynn, he’s a little bigger than me, and a lot angrier, but I need him not to get arrested.
“Let them go.”
I turn, flexing my fingers, curling my fist. My heart pounding in my chest so hard it feels like it’ll tear free, flop to the floor, bleed out right here on the hardwood.
“You’re out of your fucking-”
My fist collides with Flynn’s cheek, the smack reverberating around the office. Flynn tries to shake it off, his inky black curls falling onto his forehead, I cringe, biting down on my back molars. I swing again, hitting him in the same place, and he folds, crumpling to the floor with a thud, knife clattering from his fingers.
“Get the fuck out,” I order, not looking away from my brother, his dark lashes fluttering. “Get her and get the fuck out.”
Soren laughs, but wisely, he says nothing. I look up, my eyes finding hers as they march her past us, I turn into her, halting their exit.
I lean in, kiss her cheek, breathe her in, filling my lungs with her, my lips to her ear, I whisper, “We will always find you, Poppy.”
And then she’s yanked away, and I don’t watch her go, listening as they march down the stairs, their footsteps fading. Flynn stirs on the floor at my feet, and I drop into a crouch, smoothing his hair back and pocketing his knife.
“Mr. Connors!” Dean Groveton barks, and I roll my eyes, breathing deep.
“Yeah, yeah, I know, he’s fired.”
Chapter 47
