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“I’m okay, Ivy.” There was no way that was the truth. It might be what he wanted me to believe. But how could he be okay? I wasn’t okay, and I had no memories of the man.
Leaning into Milo, I considered my two encounters with The king. The handful of conversations around him. The threats—
“He wanted Adam killed because Adam asked me to marry him.”
The initial horror at the suggestion seemed almost violently magnified. Cold sheathed my spine, then cracked as realization shivered through my whole system.
“He said as much that day…”
“It’s going to be fine, Hellspawn. Whether he wanted Adam dead or not is irrelevant. Adam is alive.” Not even Liam’s reasoning helped lift the unease invading every one of my cells.
I wished I had shared that certainty. How could it all be okay? “He wanted you dead…” That was what they’d all said. Pulling back from Milo, I scanned my gaze over them and then back. “Why is all of this happening now?”
“It’s not just happening now,” Kellan answered, and I twisted to meet his calm eyes.
No—they weren’t calm. They were steely, focused. When he held out his hand to me, I gave Milo a squeeze and then went to Kel.
He settled me under his arm, and I shivered even as I burrowed into the side of him. “It’s been happening for years. It’s coming to a head now—partially because we’re together.”
Because I was here, bringing my past with me. Now our past—Milo’s and mine—was also invading.
“It’s also because we’re peeling back the facade. We’re digging into all the lies, all the half-truths, and all the secrets. We’re talking. We’re not letting anyone else tell us what is true or not, anymore. We’re figuring this out—together.” He swung his stare around to look at all the guys before focusing on me began. “No one is on their own. We’re stronger together.”
It was hard to deny the confidence in his eyes. His strength and determination buoyed me. At the same time, I had more questions than answers.
"Come on, Ivy, come, sit down and eat. We have a lot to get through today." As much as I adored Milo, I had to worry about how tired he sounded right now.
Who could blame him? I was exhausted. My mother was upstairs, and my father was in the fridge – wait, my adoptive father was in the fridge. My biological father? I glanced back at the sketch Rome drew. The accuracy of his depiction was unsettling.
I sat for a meal with him. I stood in a room alone with him while he seemed to assess me before Liam and Ezra charged in. He wanted something from me, that much had been clear from the beginning.
What did he want? Was it my money? Was it the Sharpe money? Was it something else entirely? Was this why he wanted me to become a so-called Royal?
I was so fucking sick of the lies.
I was sick of feeling like the whole world had conspired against all of us.
The guys hustled for food, and I let Vaughn coax me back over to the table. He sandwiched me into a seat between him and Freddie. Muted conversation surrounded me. Everywhere I looked, I caught the same questions in their eyes.
Yet, everyone, Freddie included, fought for a sense of normalcy at the table. Following along wasn’t hard. Nevertheless, I also couldn’t distract myself. In the past, the wall of nothingness had become my defense against the world.
No one knew me. Not really. The closest I came to anyone seeingmehad been Lainey. Bless her for never giving up on me, but the long separations helped me keep that barrier in place. A barrier that hid all my dark and dirty secrets—no, not mine. Fuckbucket’s. The stain of them discolored everything, fouling the very air around me, and I’d hidden from it as much as I’d hidden it from the world.
Now, another lie had been peeled open. “Could he know—who I am?”
The question spilled out of me, killing the conversation around the table. One by one, the guys exhaled long breaths or just appeared thoughtful. Had they already discussed this? When I shot Freddie a questioning look, he shook his head.
I almost wished we could retreat back to the cocoon of warmth we’d woken in this morning. We’d showered—separately—but Freddie sat in the bathroom while I showered, and I’d stuck around for him when he asked.
Scars had been visible on his skin, though I refused to stare at them or make him uncomfortable. He was letting me see him, entrusting himself to me. I wouldn’t give him any cause to regret that vulnerability.
“You look like Mom,” Milo admitted. “He’d have to be even more of a cold-souled bastard than I think he is to not recognize you.”
Oh, that grated. I wanted to slap the shit out of him. Beneath the veneer of gruffness and genuine anger was a core of hurt. Jeff Hardigan, Julius King, or whatever his name was, had injured my brother. Wounded all of them in his attempts to cut Milo out and assassinate him.
Was he the reason Milo went to prison? That just added more salt to the ire brewing in my soul. Anger kindled deep inside, the fire fueling me as the guys sought to talk around the revelations boiling in the center of everything.
“I need to see my mother,” I said, pulling out my phone to snap a picture of the sketch. “I have questions. Then I want to see Sharpe.”
