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“Me?” She blinks, her eyebrows pinching together.
I roll my eyes. Did she hit her head on that car trunk? “Yes. Obviously you.”
“But he won’t…” Erin trails off, biting her bottom lip, and I stare at the small gap between her front teeth for a moment before shaking my head.
Focus.
It has been a very long night.
“Won’t care?” That’s what she stopped herself from saying. From admitting out loud—either to herself or to me. “Not privately, perhaps, but your father cares greatly about his public image and you are part of that, Erin. There are plenty of ways to pressure him with you, believe me.”
“Oh.”
I wait, knuckles working against each other, but the Governor’s daughter doesn’t say any more. Just that one dejected syllable, then her chin drops and she stares at her wrist again. Tugs feebly on her tie.
“Stop pulling on it,” I snap. “I told you, you’ll hurt yourself.”
She mutters something under her breath, and it’s probably better that I didn’t hear it. There’s a headache brewing behind my left eye.
“You won’t be here long.” Who exactly am I trying to reassure now? I push the rest of my water into her hand, swapping it out for her empty glass, then stride across the guest suite. “You are a tool for me to use against your father, and once you are no longer useful, I will return you home. You have my word.”
“Your word,” Erin murmurs. She’s still staring around the room, dazed by last night’s sedative, and I have the bizarre urge to bundle her up in a blanket. Maybe check her temperature one last time before I go.
Will she remember any of this? Is the girl even lucid?
Fuck. I need to catch up on sleep.
“Don’t try to escape,” I warn, my grip tight on the door knob. “And don’t irritate me. If you cooperate, I assure you the time will fly.”
“Fly,” she repeats again numbly, and her hand is shaky as she sips from the water glass.
There’s a burning sensation behind my ribs. I wrench the door open and get the hell out of there.
* * *
One wretched hour of troubled sleep later, I’m back behind my desk. My fortress walls. The winter sunlight is pale and watery, barely warming the windows it shines through, though it makes the stained glass panel sparkle and cast jewel-toned light across my study floor.
The mansion hums with activity. Steps drum along corridors; doors open and close. The scents of fresh baking drift through the floors from the kitchens, and there’s a distant burst of laughter somewhere out on the grounds.
“Well?” I snap, at the head poked around my doorway, my voice harsh with irritation. It’s uncalled for but Raul doesn’t flinch, stepping quickly inside. It may be morning, but he’s dressed in a tailored suit and crisp white shirt, one sleeve of his jacket hanging empty off his shoulder. A sling crosses his chest, holding his arm in place.
A healing bullet wound, courtesy of Governor Edwards. Not directly, of course, but by a hired hand.
So messy. I’m surrounded by amateurs.
“She’s fine. The drug will take a few more hours to leave her system, but she’s already clearer.” The door closes with a thump behind him, and our doctor turns to eye me closely. “You, on the other hand…”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, a headache squeezing my temples. “I’m fine.”
He scoffs softly. That noise would have been unthinkable mere weeks ago, but apparently bedding my younger sister has made Raul bold.
A crucial error.
“She seemed… surprisingly calm. Did you check her head for bumps?”
“Hardly.” Raul frowns behind his glasses. His dark blonde hair is ruffled above his forehead. Did Allegra accost him on his way here?
Probably. I suppress a shudder.
