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“Keep him alive and protected. Hopefully, we can jog his memory about who took him,” I answer.
“I’ll make some breakfast for everyone,” Hayes says, heading to the kitchen.
“I’ll go check on Kit,” Gage says.
Suddenly, it’s just Beckett and me left.
“I’m sorry. I love Ri—she’s like a sister to me. I’d do anything to protect her, and if anything changes about who took her, who hurt her, then I’ll do everything I can to get revenge for her. You know that,” I say.
Beckett stares down the hallway to where his wife sleeps. “I know you do, but your love has blinded you.” He turns and looks at me. “Just like it blinded me.”
I furrow my brow.
Beckett smiles softly, like he’s remembering a sweet memory. “Love does strange things to us. I don’t fault you for defending the woman you love—I’m just trying to give you some advice. I lucked out that the woman I fell for was worth it in the end. I’m not sure yet if Rialta is worth it, but my wife is. And if I or the others have to choose—we’ll choose Ri.”
“As you should.”
“But you’ll choose Rialta.”
I swallow, not wanting to say it out loud.
“I don’t want us to be on different sides, but you know something you aren’t telling us,” he says.
I nod.
He raises his eyebrows, waiting for me to elaborate.
“I can’t tell you everything, but I will say that your theory about Rialta is incorrect.”
Beckett narrows his eyes, studying me closely before finally nodding.
I still don’t know what I’m going to do about Rialta. I need Ri to wake up—to tell us all what happened. To tell me what to do about Rialta because I’m hopeless when it comes to her. Ri’s the only one who can give me evidence that Rialta is actually as cruel as she appears.
Chapter 19
Rialta
“Rialta? What are you doing here?” Vincent asks, his eyes wide in disbelief from behind his desk. His guards didn’t warn him. I snuck past them without anyone seeing me.
The guys haven’t tracked me yet.
Andrea doesn’t know.
No one knows I’m here.
I need to have a conversation with Vincent before anyone else tries to influence my decision.
“We need to talk,” I say, closing the door behind me.
His eyes rake up and down my body, quickly looking for any sign of injury.
“I’m fine,” I say, walking toward the chair across from his desk.
Vincent stands, meeting me before I take a seat. I walk without fear, like I’m in control of my own destiny, not like I’m here to beg my father for permission on how I’m to spend the rest of my life.
He places his hands on my shoulders, assessing me again.
“I’m not hurt,” I try again.
