Page 53

“Sorry.”

I turn at Nat’s voice and see her looking at me.

“I shouldn’t have asked you to come.”

She didn’t ask. She didn’t say anything. But the hand out was an invitation. A request. One I willingly agreed to.

I always will.

But I don’t say that. Instead, I just squeeze her hand and look out the window too.

The Hounds are working on things from their end. I know that like I know I’ll take my next breath before dying. There isn’t anything I can do right now except wait.

Even if it kills me.

I’m not surprised when we pull onto an airfield. Don’t blink an eye when we’re escorted onto the waiting plane that sits on the tarmac.

I’m a bit pissed when a woman who was with them comes up and reaches into my pocket to pull out my phone before tossing it out the door as it’s being closed.

“I still had a payment to make on that,” I mutter.

The woman grins and sits down in the single chair by the door.

The rest of them take up other seats, even Natalie’s uncle. But we move to the far back before we sit together. Her on the inside, me on the outside.

The second we sit, the plane moves as if it were waiting on us.

I don’t like it, but I still say nothing.

Nor do I loosen my grip.

At one point in the flight, I notice she’s gripping my hand just as hard as I’m gripping hers. She might not like that it’s me here with her, but she appreciates not being alone.

The flight takes a few hours.

I don’t sleep, but she dozes on and off. After a while, I adjust her so she can sleep easier on my shoulder and not against the wall. She doesn’t protest, even though I knew the second I moved her that she was awake.

Guess it’s better for both of us at this moment to pretend that whatever is happening isn’t happening at all.

At least when it comes to her and me.

When we land, we follow the group out and get into almost identical vehicles to the ones we left in Kansas.

The traffic is as expected, and it takes us a while to get to wherever we’re meant to be.

I note the enormous gates, the top-of-the-line security, and the numerous guards as we drive up the lengthy driveway of what appears to be a one-story, Japanese-inspired home. Vast gardens surround the courtyard, full of vibrant colors from the flowers in bloom. The building itself is modern, but as we get out of the SUV and walk inside, it seems to be covered in marble from the floor to the large posts and beams inside. The floor-to-ceiling windows showcase the elaborate grounds out back that include a bridge over a koi pond and even a Zen garden.

The place screams money, but not an ounce of warmth.

When those who came with us all disappear, I look at Natalie and release her from my grasp.

“What is this place?”

She takes a breath as she steps farther into the room and picks up a black-and-white portrait of a younger man.

“This was my home till my mother died. Then my father had us moved to another home with his new wife. Now only my grandfather lives here.”

Before she can say more, a man is brought out in a wheelchair with a blanket over his legs and a man at his back. He might look small and frail, but his straight back and sharp eyes tell a different story.