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The five of them start talking, but I can’t seem to focus. I just close my eyes and breathe in Liam’s smoky skin, relishing the pecks to my temple and hair that he peppers me with every few seconds.
We make it to the car, and Wells buckles Ivy into the passenger seat while Liam crawls in the back seat with me on his lap, strapping us in together, his body heat easing my shivers.
After Wells shuts Ivy in, he opens our door, cradles my face, and plants a kiss on my forehead. His green eyes swirl with more emotion than I’ve ever seen in him, outside of the way he gapes at Ivy. “I’m so sorry, Celeste. We should’ve been training you.”
That apology, the way he’s holding my face, the regret in his tone might be one of the sweetest occurrences of my life because none of that is Wells.
I clear my throat and rasp out my response. “It’s okay—”
“It’s not,” he insists, jaw clenched. “This will all be fixed. And you’ll never be unprepared again.”
It isn’t a promise that this won’t happen again. It’s a vow I’ll be prepared when it does. What the hell have I gotten myself into? No chess strategy will master this life.
Wells drops behind the wheel, and we’re off. They make a call to someone named Vargas, who Liam explains is their FBI contact. I don’t question it any further.
Ivy is curled in a ball, either unfazed or zoning out. She perks up when Wells finally addresses her, ordering her to give him her hand.
“Still tense, Little Storm.” Worry threads every word.
“Pissed.” She huffs. “I pitched my gun, my Christmas present.”
So, unfazed it is. Painted in gore, and she’s pouting about her gun. Her ability to disconnect is truly astounding, even after seventeen years of friendship. When emotions do win, they swallow her whole in their intensity. But other times, she simply escapes.
“Brat.” Wells chuckles with an adoring sidelong glance at his precious wife. Letting go of her hand, he wiggles around for a beat, flourishing her pretty pistol a second later. “I’ve always got you, Ives.”
She squeals, stretching out her seat belt to kiss him on the cheek with a, “Yes, you do, Chief. God, I love you,” as she plucks the gun from his hand.
“Love you, baby,” he says, followed with a demanding, “Fix your buckle, Ivanna.”
She does as she was told, but holds up her cherished possession to me, her dancing blue eyes beaming over the seat. “It’s a Sig P365 380 in Rainbow Titanium. Isn’t she pretty?”
“So pretty,” I warble, lacking the enthusiasm she seems to be summoning.
Liam tilts my head, his lips pressing into mine, like he’s pleased I answered her. Still, there’s an undeniable tension rolling off him, even as he snuggles me against him.
Ivy launches an exposition about what we overheard, excitement dripping from her tone about the prospect of a book existing with dirt on countless politicians and high-level officials. When she’s done cataloging it all, Liam seethes.
“Fucking hell.” It’s a pained, exasperated bleat.
Wells shoots a look over his shoulder, hitching to my gaze and then parking on Liam, a two-second silent conversation ensuing between them before he turns back to the road. “I’ll handle KORT. You leave tonight.”
“What?” I gasp, suddenly nauseated. “Where—”
“Both of us, Ace,” Liam clarifies, catching my misunderstanding. His eyes glisten with disappointment as he strings his fingers through my matted hair. Leaving everyone is probably upsetting. “This is bigger than the Skulls,” he explains. “Whoever the big money is behind this believes you know where that book is. You won’t be safe until we find it or kill everyone hunting for it.”
“I might know something about it,” I confess against his scruffy cheek.
He immediately pulls back, studying my face. “Tell me.”
“My brother left me five books on conspiracy theory a few days before he died. He said I’d know if I needed them. I think it was a message.”
“Where are they?” he asks, his words rushed with adrenaline.
“At my parents’ home, on the bookshelf in my room,” I supply.
In an instant, Liam’s on the phone with Gage, barking orders for him and Rex to prepare for a trip to Ohio, his arm tightening around me like he’s preventing me from flying away.
“Take her to twenty-three,” Wells says.
