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Sloane doesn’t seem to even hear her.
“Yes,” he murmurs, as if to himself. “It was only a matter of time, wasn’t it?”
He shoots the woman who must be his servant a rapid glance. “Leave us.”
The servant hesitates for a beat and then scurries to the back of the house. Her footsteps ring through the foyer until she disappears through an open door, closing it behind her. When I refocus on the top of the staircase, it’s empty.
It’s like being in some strange haunted mansion.
We glance at each other and I lift my brow before we head for the stairs, Kylian in front with his hand by his side, closest to where he tucked his gun.
* * *
Sloane’s desk is something.
I leave Cian eyeing the mounds of papers and stacks of envelopes spilling over it. Some look so old it must have been years since he’s touched anything on the dark wood desk.
The office was the only one with its door open, and is both dusty and stale-smelling.
Sloane is standing at the window, staring down at a garden as unkempt as his desk.
“You sold your daughter to Lawrence Wentworth.” As I walk over to Sloane standing at the windows with his back to me, the floorboards creak under my boots. “And you’ve been preying on omegas in the city.”
“Just so you know, I’d happily shove you right out that window if we didn’t need answers.” Kylian prowls toward him and stops feet away, leaning against the nearest wall, well within pushing distance. “So I wouldn’t take too long in giving us those answers.”
Sloane doesn’t react to Kylian’s threat. He doesn’t seem to even hear it as he folds his arms behind his back and continues to stare down at his overgrown garden.
Has Sloane lost his mind? Could this be the reason he sold his newspaper company—at a huge loss—according to Cian.
“I know who you are,” Sloane speaks with his back to us. “When my daughter disappeared at Lawrence’s party, I spent some time going through his guest list, and I’d hoped you had gotten her away.”
“And why would you hope that?” Cian asks.
He’s eyeing the piles of mostly unopened letters on the desk. From his interest in it, it’s going to take Sloane some time to discover something is missing because somethingwillbe missing when we leave.IfSloane notices at all. I have my doubts about that.
“Despite what you might think of me, I love my daughter,” Sloane says.
Della stiffens. Before she can argue, I meet her eye and shake my head. We don’t have time for this. Everleigh might need us.
“You sold her to Lawrence Wentworth,” I repeat, refocusing on Sloane. “And you’re going to tell us where he took her.Now.”
For the first time since we followed the old alpha into his office, he turns from the window. Seeming not to notice any of us spread across the room, he heads for the desk.
Cian pastes a blank expression on his face, his interest in the papers on it melting away. If Sloane notices Cian’s previous attention to his letters, he shows no sign of it.
Sloane pulls open one of the top drawers and takes out an old, faded photograph, which he hands to Cian. “The Asylum’s members. Some have died, of course, since the picture was taken, but their sons have inherited their places, as I did mine.”
“The Asylum?” Cian takes the photograph and studies it.
On my right, Kylian’s expression hasn’t changed, but he’s getting impatient. Della is bouncing around, still glaring at Sloane. I’m as eager to get the information we need and find Everleigh. I’m also conscious Sloane is offering up info, with no prying or threats needed.
As if he’s been waiting a long time to talk. He might not be so quick to talk later, and this information could prove valuable.
“A private members’ club formed of the most wealthy alphas from the most powerful families in the city,” Sloane explains. “Not all. Some had no interest in joining. But most.”
Cian is still busy scanning the photograph, probably memorizing those faces. I leave him to it. My interest lies elsewhere.
“Lawrence and his father are members of that club. They traffic omegas and prey on them in heat clinics.” I say it as if I know everything.
