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“It was an easy lie to conceal. Ada hasn’t been allowed to see him since the day he was born. By tricking her into thinking he was alive, Semenov has used the boy to control her for fourteen years.”
I’ve lost a son twice in two minutes. Is this some sort of a sick record?
“She discharged herself against medical advice after the birth and was sent to live on the outskirts of London.”
I need to see her. I need to hold her. We need to mourn this together.
“Tell me how to get into that house,” I say, my decision made as I reach blindly for my car keys. “You said there was another way in.”
“There is, but it’s risky. I’d need to make a phone call.”
“Then make it.”
Ten minutes later, I’m on the road heading south, but it’s not me driving anymore, it’s grief.
Grief for a son who was conceived in love, then killed by a bastard called hate.
CHAPTER 32
ADA
The night is calm. The world is still.
Outside, the garden looks like the motionless surface of a black lake, where the reflected stars might shine undistorted, and the half-moon would be a perfect silver crown.
It’s also a blanket of shadow that lets all the bad things in.
Opening the window a crack, I cross the room and climb back into bed. After the thunderstorm, I expected the temperature to drop, but it’s left a suffocating wet heat behind that’s making it impossible to sleep.
Kicking the white bed sheet off my legs, I flip my pillow over to the cooler side. As I do, I think about a boy who doesn’t want to ask questions about me anymore, and a pink-haired girl who looked at me like I was the answer to all of them.
Has Frankie seen my note yet?
Closing my eyes, I imagine Bambi with him right now, relaying all my words. Maybe they’re in his new casino, or in the kitchen of Danny—Viper’s—house…
I wake an hour later to a dark room with no moon. My eyes are deceiving me because there’s a moving shadow at the foot of my bed.
A heavy hand clamps down on my mouth seconds before my fear kicks in.
“Don’t be scared, Ada,” he says huskily.
Frankie.
Is he crazy?
I want to scream at him to go—that it’s too damn dangerous for him to be here—but the second he removes his hand I’m grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him down to me, our mouths finding each other’s for one of our brutal, breath-stealing kisses.
Yanking my legs apart he slides in between them, overwhelming me with his huge frame, fighting to remove my sleeping T-shirt and growling in frustration when the collar tangles up with my hair.
There’s something wrong with him. I can feel it in my bones. His touch is too heavy, too violent—it’s like he’s in the worst pain of his life and my body is the only thing that can cure him.
“Talk to me,” I whisper as he drags his jeans down past his hips, the smooth head of his cock bobbing against my naked pussy.
“How do you always know, Ada?” he says with a groan. “How can you always tell when I’m falling?”
“Because I see you,” I whisper. “I see all of you. All the damage and ruin.And I love them, Frankie. I love them, the same way you love mine. I hurt when you hurt. I heal when you heal. Don’t you see? We’re a circle that never ends now—a flawed and flawless catch-22. We don’t exist without the other.”
With another strangled groan, he mutters, “yes”, and then he’s driving into me without warning, the sheer size of his cock making me bite down on his shoulder to stifle the screams.
