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After watching her go in the water, all he wanted was to keep her safe. Their mission, the mastermind…none of that mattered. He hadn’t wanted to involve her. Coming to her had always been his last resort. The guilt he’d felt when they’d slept with her was nothing compared to how he felt now.
They’d used her, and she’d almost died.
Hugo looked at Lancelot. Arms crossed, jaw tight, Lancelot looked angry and powerful, his wet shirt clinging to his arms, his hair plastered to his temples.
“She got away,” Lancelot said in a low voice.
Hugo shot him a vicious look, ready to snarl that he didn’t care. That it didn’t matter.
“We’ve gotta get her medical attention,” Oscar demanded. “Sylvia—”
“Not the hospital.” Lancelot shoved his hair back. “They’ll involve the authorities.”
“Considering that my sister was kidnapped—”
“You do not want the bizzies involved in this.”
“She needs a doctor.” Hugo snarled the words at Lancelot.
“I’m gonna take my sister to a doctor,” Oscar’s voice was hard, “then we’re goin’ home.”
“Fookin’ ’ell, la.” Lancelot looked over his shoulder to where the boat had disappeared. “You can’t take her back to her house. Rutherford knows where she lives.”
“I’m taking my sister.” Oscar squatted down and reached for Sylvia.
Hugo tightened his arms around her.
Oscar looked at him, and there was both rage and fear in the man’s eyes. “I don’t know who you are, and I don’t care. Believe me when I say there will be a reckoning—but right now, all that matters is my sister.”
Hugo wanted to hold her, to protect her.
He had no right.
No right.
Hugo needed to let her go. The sooner he was out of her life, the safer she’d be. Protecting her from any further pain was the priority. Hugo forced his fingers to relax so that, though he still cradled Sylvia, he wasn’t holding her possessively.
“Her hand. There’s something wrong with her right hand,” Hugo warned her brother.
Oscar paled. “Her drawing hand.”
Hugo was hit with a vivid memory of her jotting down notes in one of her omnipresent journals, and the way she held a charcoal pencil when she sketched. Hugo wanted to scream and rage, he wanted to find Alicia and hurt her. Not punish her, not see her brought to justice. Hurt her.
“Fook,” Lancelot cursed again. “Hugo, hold her.” He pointed to Oscar. “Take Hugo’s right side. I’ll take his left. We’ll help him stand. Jostle her less.”
Hugo held her tight and when they lifted, he used his legs to stand, Sylvia cradled against his body. They were careful, but she groaned in pain.
“Je suis vraiment désolé,” Hugo murmured.
Oscar’s face was stark with worry. “Hurry. You carry her.”
Hugo moved as quickly as he dared, trying not to jar her while walking across the sand.
They reached the truck, and Oscar opened the back door. Hugo slid in with Sylvia. Oscar ran around to the driver’s seat, and the car was already moving by the time Lancelot closed the front passenger door.
“We’re taking her to a doctor,” Oscar said. “Not a hospital, and not because of what you said, asshole.”
“Where are we going?” Lancelot asked.
