Her gaze hardens. “How dare you? Don’t speak to me about deserving.”
“I just want to know if she’s okay. That’s all.” I’m nearly pleading.
She looks to the side, wiping her wet cheeks, sniffling. “She’s alive, thanks to you.”
A smile blooms on my lips, but she holds up a palm.
“Sometimes death is a kinder mercy.”
“I’m confused,” I reply when she walks away. “Are you saying I should’ve let her die?”
She turns in the doorway, regret written on her face. “I’m saying you shouldn’t have involved yourself with this world. Your mother got you out. She protected you and your legacy, so the best thing you can do is keep your head down. Don’t look for answers to questions you don’t want the answer to.”
This time when she leaves, I slouch, defeated, against the counter.
There’sno sign of Mrs. Jones when I exit the kitchen.In fact, there’s no sign of anyone.
I try to look innocent as I hurry to Darian’s office. Nothing to see here. I’m just going for a stroll.
Unfortunately, there’s no way to avoid the security cameras, which are everywhere, like watchful, beady eyes.
A Pawn walks past, and I pretend to inspect a vase on a console table outside Darian’s office. Such intricate detailing but also ugly as hell.
As soon as the nameless Pawn turns the corner, I place the vase down and dash inside Darian’s office. The door shuts with a soft click like a gunshot in the quiet house, and I wince, waiting for footsteps to thunder down the hall, though nothing happens. No one comes to find me snooping on my husband.
I scan the large, monstrous mahogany desk and wingback chair, which occupy most of the space. Behind it, rows of bookshelves span the back wall. I’ve been in here before, watching Darian kill a man like it was nothing, callous and without an ounce of emotion—a true monster—but I was too shocked back then to take in the décor. Now, I miss nothing, but I still can’t look at the chair across from the desk without feeling queasy.
When I sliced Keith’s throat, it was instinct and mercy. I had no other choice, or he would’ve suffered a much worse fate. Darian didn’t have to kill that man. He could have granted him an extension instead of putting a bullet between his brows.
I rush over to his spotless desk, which gleams in the morning sun, and root through the drawers, finding nothing but billsand paperwork. Useless stuff I have no need for. I discover no information that can be used against Darian.
Slamming it shut with a defeated sigh, I blow a strand of hair away from my lips. He must have sensitive information somewhere hidden. There’s no chance he spends all his time in this fancy office without also storing his secrets within reach.
I turn my attention to his shiny laptop and try to suss out the password. What would I use if I was a stuck-up asshole with zero personality?
Iamamassived1ck
Nope, not that one.
asshatismymiddlename
Smalld1ckenergy
Well, that one isn’t true. I’ve seen his cock, and it’s huge. Great… Now I’m thinking about his elephant trunk of a dick.
I close his laptop and drum my coffin nails on the desk. I need access to the files on his computer somehow. Maybe I can seduce him and pretend to kiss his neck while he signs in. That could work, but I’m not sure my poker face is that impressive. Not when he makes me want to gouge out his eyeballs with a spoon every time he shows his smug face in my vicinity.My smile alone would look like I’d bitten a slice of a lemon.
I spin around and scan the bookshelves. Nothing looks out of place, but I do notice something unusual. All the spines are perfectly aligned—all except for one. I step closer, tilting my head. The book protrudes—not by much, but enough to stand out, so I pull it out and open it up. The inside is hollow, much to my surprise.
Photographs tumble out. Lots of them. I gasp as pictures of me and the other rebel members flutter to the floor.
Crouching down, I pick one up of me when I first met with Keith and Carlo. We thought we’d been discreet when we met at a local café.
We thought wrong.
Regretful understanding dawns on me as I look through the other photos. Darian has kept a close eye on the Antichrist, mapping our movements. He also seems to have taken a special interest in me. There are more photographs of me than of the other rebels. I pick up one and use it to fan my face as I scan the rest of the room. Darian must have known who I was the moment he saw me on the security camera. Maybe that was why he returned to his office with Sinclair. He wanted a closer look.
I remember how his gaze burned into me while I cleaned the glasses. He knew he’d let the enemy into the secret society’s stronghold, so why didn’t he have me killed? Why go through all of this?
