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Ican see the honesty in her eyes, the pleading. She truly means to keep our secrets and protect us if we take her back, but it’s difficult to believe her. After all, despite where she came from, she’s still part of the elite now. She may mean the words now, but once she’s safe at home and tells everyone what happened like a bedtime story, details will slip out and reveal who we are.
It wouldn’t be hard to make connections and determine our identities.
When I don’t say anything to Genevieve, she pushes her plate away, her face pale. She thinks she’s going to die here, I can see it written in her expression. The question had been more about her testing us than about wanting to know where we were going after this. No matter what I said, she was going to hear the answer she suspected, and that’s dangerous. Though she’s not fighting now, I’ve seen Genevieve when she feels cornered.
At some point, she’ll start reacting.
At some point, she’ll slaughter us if we let her.
Genevieve stands and turns away, not interested in anything else I have to say when I don’t breach the silence. The four of us watch as she walks with sure strides towards the stairs, her bare feet dirty from the atrocious flooring in the house. The clothing she wears is so loose on her frame, it swamps her. She shouldn’t look beautiful like that, but she does. It’s the personality, the sparkle in her eyes, though it’s dull right now. It’s the way she promises not to reveal our secrets because she understands them.
I’m an idiot.
Anger fills me as I watch her go up the stairs and disappear back to her prison like a good little hostage. She doesn’t complain, doesn’t fight, doesn’t even talk back. Where’s the spitfire we took? Where has she hidden?
“Stop it,” Gage mutters.
Schooling my features, I look over at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Gage drops his spoon with a clank. He glances at Booker to make sure he’s okay despite the noise, but he doesn’t apologise. We never apologise. We’re a family, but when did we stop acting like one? We’ve stopped helping Booker with his PTSD in favour of managing our own.
Fuck, why is she making me realise that our family is more broken now than it ever was before?
“The three of you have lost your minds,” Gage rumbles. “I see the desire to let her go, to trust her, written on your faces. Stop it. She’s a means to an end and nothing more.”
“But what if that end isn’t an option anymore?” Eric challenges, knowing what we all do—our original plan has gone to shit. There’s literally no reason to keep Genevieve around, but she knows too much.
Or are we all reluctant to let her go for other reasons?
Reasons I don’t want to look too closely at?
Gage’s brows draw low. “Then we dispose of her. She’s useless, and she knows our faces. She’s a danger—”
“Fuck you,” Booker spits out. “We’re not killing her. I didn’t sign on to be a murderer.”
“You signed on to be a family,” Gage snarls. “Family protects family, and right now, she’s a threat to it!”
“Shut up,” I hiss, my eyes trailing to the ceiling, where I know Genevieve sits in her room. I don’t know if our voices are travelling to her, but this house is old. It wouldn’t surprise me if she could hear every damn word. “We’re not killing her. At least not right now.” Booker tenses at my words, but I don’t address it.
“Archer—” Gage starts, but I hold up my hand.
“Give me time to figure out what to do,” I interrupt, running a hand through my hair. I rack my brain for answers. Clearly, Chaz doesn’t have the money for a ransom. We expected him to figure it out, to borrow money to save the woman he loves, but now, knowing he cheated on someone like Genevieve, that’s not likely either.
Fuck!
“Arch, there’s no money coming for her, not from Chaz. The bastard fucked it all up, and this is on him, sure.” Eric shakes his head, his food forgotten. We’ve all stopped eating. “But this isn’t on Genevieve.”
I grunt. “You don’t think I know that?” My hair suffers my wrath as I dishevel it more. I could use a scotch—the good stuff, not the shit Gage’s dad kept in the cupboard.
Realising there’s only one thing to do, I fish the cell phone from my pocket and stare at the screen. I don’t want to talk to the asshole, knowing what I know now, but perhaps I can see where we stand. He’s a rat bastard, but he’s good at weaselling out information about hits.
Perhaps I’ll call and hold this all over him.
“What are you going to do?” Booker asks, eyeing me warily. Clearly, he thinks I’m going to find a way to get rid of Genevieve, despite my earlier words. I already know I can’t. Besides, Genevieve doesn’t deserve death, and there are two men in my family who would never forgive me. Eric and Booker have bonded with the woman, and while that won’t go anywhere, I can’t stain their souls like that. All of us have enough stains to last a lifetime.
“Call him. See what he has to say.”
