Page 45 of Hide Little Traitor

“That’s news to me,” I grumble.

“We’ll be wheels up in ten.”

He turns and strides toward the back of the plane and drops into his usual seat.

“How have you not killed him yet?” Damon asks.

“With great difficulty.” I crouch beside him and rummage through the first aid kit for something to clean the cut above his eyebrow and his lip. “He’s my best chance at finding her, though.”

I dab at the dried blood above his eye, but his features remain stony. He stopped reacting to pain years ago, an inevitability when every move is scrutinized.

We fall into silence as I finish wiping away blood and secure a strip of tape over the cut on his eyebrow. It probably doesn’t need it, but if he refuses to see a doctor, I’d rather be safe than sorry.

I’m just finishing up when the sound of three phones going off at the same time fills the cabin, including my own.

I tug it from my pocket and curse as I read the text.

That motherfucker.

You’re invited to the wedding of

Kingston Beaumont

and

Chloe Weaver

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHLOE

NOW

Ihaven’t seen Kingston since he disappeared from the shower the day before yesterday, and his absence is as painful as it is irritating.

The worst part? I’m not even sure he’s in the house.

I want to think there’s no way he would leave me here by myself, but then I remember that he abandoned me once. Why wouldn’t he do it again?

In a particularly weak moment, I hunted for the cameras, hoping he might come back if he saw how lonely I was, but not even that worked.

Wandering through the house, I test the doors and windows, hoping one of them has been unlocked since the last time I checked, but no such luck.

I’m bored.

I’m lonely.

And frankly, I’m kind of pissed.

Kingston is acting like a teenage girl that’s not getting his own way, and if I needed any other reasons not to marry him, this should go straight to the top of the list.

Noise in the backyard catches my attention, and I make my way into the kitchen. It’s probably just the gardener, but just seeing another person right now might make me feel less alone.

At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if I was losing my mind and my hopeful heart was imagining it, but it’s worth checking out, even if all I achieve is a snack.

Skirting around the kitchen island, I lean over the bench to look out the window, but the last thing I expect to find is no less than twenty people positioning chairs and floral decor and something that looks a lot like an altar.

“That fucking asshole,” I mutter under my breath.