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I’ve read nothing beside the front cover. The report could appease my curiosity and put an end to this random obsession. But do I want to get acquainted with Mae that way?
‘Stop playing morals, you kidnapped her.’ Aunt’s tone is bored.
‘Read about her and end her life already,’ Father says.
Where’s the fun in that? It’s more enticing when we face each other. It’s amusing when she tries to extract courage from her fears.
Mae’s a readable yet somehow an unpredictable book. It’s not what I expected when I took her. By my rules, she should be either off the hook or for the take. The in-between where she sleeps isn’t supposed to exist. It’s making the whole taking her thing sound more and more like a mistake.
‘You just figured that out?’ Mother asks in a sad voice.
My phone buzzes. The estate’s front security’s number. I answer. “It’s still early for the meeting, Kane.”
“It’s me, Sir.”
Xan. Tristan’s version of Kane. Bloody hell. My cousin is back.
I jump from the sofa, and turn off the office’s monitor. “Where’s Tristan?”
“He’s at the dungeons, Sir.” Xan’s monotone voice resonates in my ear like a hammer.
Fuck!
My freedom will be snatched without mercy if Tristan finds out about Mae. “Which dungeons?”
“The Northern Wing’s, Sir.”
I release a long breath. “Where’s Kane?” I’ll kill the bastard. His job is to alert me when Tristan returns.
“He went to the company, Sir.”
Huh.
Without telling me first?
“You’re asked at the main dungeons, Sir.”
“What for?”
“I’m not allowed to say, Sir.”
When I hang up, I notice a text message received an hour before Xan’s call.
Kane— Tristan’s back.
Hell. I can’t believe I was too preoccupied with watching Mae to notice Kane’s warning.
Acting out of character. Again.
I toss the phone away, put on my boots, add a few extra knives to my usual stash, and storm out of my wing.
The echo of my steps in the empty surroundings does nothing to silence my thoughts.
If I get Mae out of the dungeons, I may as well fall for one of Tristan’s schemes. My next move needs to wait until I assess the situation.
Xan salutes me in
military style in front of the Northern Wing’s entrance. The male bun at the back of his head is the only break in his stoic image. Ever since his last tour in Afghanistan, he’s become even more robotic.
