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Morning was here, upon them.
Which meant their time was at an end.
Chapter Twenty
“Does anyone need anything? More coffee, a pastry?” Oscar bared his teeth, the non-smile a perfect match for his anger-laced sarcasm. “Or can we, finally, find out what the fuck is going on?”
Sylvia looked at her brother, then slowly forked up her last bite of grits. Luckily she didn’t drop it onto her shirt—eating left-handed wasn’t her forte. Her right hand had been examined, scanned in preparation for the custom 3D-printed cast, then freshly splinted while Oscar and Langston took turns making breakfast—bacon, eggs, grits.
It was just after ten in the morning, and her brothers must have been up for a while—getting groceries, bringing the 3D printer and scanner from their various houses. The smell of bacon had woken her up half an hour ago.
She’d tried to get out of bed without waking Hugo and Lancelot, but it had proven impossible with her bad right arm. In addition to that, she was sporting a variety of dark bruises. Lancelot had left their room and returned a moment later with kinetic tape and a plastic shopping bag, which he’d handed to her. In it were some of her clothes. She’d had a moment of panic that someone had gone to her house, and in doing so put themselves at risk of running into Alicia, but upon further examination, the clothes had been old ones she kept in the closet at her parents’ house for those occasions when she spent the night after a family gathering.
Lancelot had expertly applied the tape to the worst of her bruises. Hugo had helped her into the yoga pants, tank top, and Northwestern sweatshirt from the bag. No underwear or bra, but she was grateful to have something comfortable and familiar to wear.
She’d walked out of the bedroom with Hugo and Lancelot beside her. All three of her brothers had looked at her when she walked in, and she’d cursed her paler complexion because she was pretty sure they could see she was blushing. Parts of yesterday were a bit fuzzy, but she did remember telling her siblings she’d had a ménage with Lancelot and Hugo. Telling them that to shock them was very different than having them staring at her while she did a morning-after walk of shame to the dining room table with her lovers by her side.
Walt had broken the tension somewhat when he’d started examining her arm. Oscar had glared at Hugo and Lancelot, but placed plates heaping with hot, home-cooked food in front of the men. Lancelot had eyed his plate until Sylvia reached over and took a bite, proving it wasn’t poisoned.
Oscar had scowled so hard, she’d worried she was wrong, and her brother had decided to poison the food on those particular plates.
Sylvia smiled at him after the first bite of grits. He’d made them the way she liked, with lots of butter and melted cheese, and his face softened when he looked at her.
Breakfast had been eaten, her medical needs taken care of. The silence had started to thicken, becoming uneasy and strained, before Oscar asked his question.
Sylvia looked at Lancelot and Hugo, realizing she didn’t know what to say. Yesterday they’d revealed secrets—some of which she found a little hard to swallow in the warm light of a new day, but still, they weren’t her secrets.
On the other hand, her brothers were, by the very fact that they were her brothers, at risk. Weren’t they? And what about her parents? They were traveling right now, but they’d be back. Would Alicia be willing to attack the people she loved in order to get to her?
“What are you thinkin’ about?” Langston asked her. “You have that look.”
“She’s trying to decide what to tell us,” Oscar snarled. “Dammit, Sylvia. What’s going on? No, don’t look at them. Tell us the truth.”
“Do not speak to her that way.” Hugo’s words held no heat. It was a firm but gentle reprimand, and one that made all three of her brothers look at the seemingly mild-mannered Frenchman in shock. “She’s feeling guilty. She’s scared.”
“Scared of you,” Oscar shot back.
“Scared that you three are targets because of me,” Sylvia said softly. What did it say about her relationship with Hugo that he had known what she was feeling, had been able to read whatever was showing on her face when her own brothers couldn’t?
“And why are you a target?” Walt asked in the slightly resigned tone of a doctor.
She knew what she should do. She should tell her brothers everything. They were her family. Whatever secrecy rules the Masters’ Admiralty had didn’t apply to her, and even if they did now, her brothers—who’d come to rescue her, had helped her, and were trying to protect her—had a right to know they could be in danger.
Yet she hesitated. She was reluctant to share someone else’s secrets.
“It’s complicated…” she started slowly.
“Oh? Really? A situation in which your old English teacher kidnapped you, and you’re suddenly sleeping with two foreigners, is complicated? Shocking.” Oscar threw his hands in the air.
Walt wasn’t looking at her, but at Lancelot. “I think the Brit is the one who needs to talk.”
All eyes turned to Lancelot. He sighed and seemed to sink into his chair.
“Who are you?” Walt asked.
Lancelot grimaced as he shifted. His body must hurt after yesterday, too. After all, he had leapt aboard a boat and dragged her drowning ass out of the ocean. “Who I am doesn’t really matter. What matters is that Alicia Rutherford is part of an international…crime organization. Maybe ‘terrorist group’ is a better term. She is directly responsible for the death of at least one man, and indirectly responsible for the death of countless others. Her husband was also involved and died as a result of his misdeeds.”
“Criminal organization?” Langston repeated. “Who do you think you’re talking to? We’re not a bunch of dumb hicks. Spread that pile of bullshit somewhere else. No one here is buying it.”
