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“We can’t bring her back,” I speak the words I know he doesn’t want to accept.
“We can’t leave her there,” he snaps. “She has to come home!”
I close my eyes at the conviction in his voice. I want nothing more than for her to come home. There’s so much I need to make up for. My walls were crumbling for her. Rubbing at my eyes, I inhale, appreciating the light breeze, a respite from the heat. “We still don’t know everything. Samantha is too confident, and we can’t risk Ariah being caught in the crossfire,” I explain.
Wyatt snorts, “So we what? Let her continue to believe this bullshit farce?” he seethes and steps in front of me. “We have her out there believing we chose Sam, of all people?”
“It might not be what you want to hear, but yes. You saw what happened when you threatened her. Samantha’s working with someone who’s been ten steps ahead of us this whole time,” I explain, hoping this will help him see reason.
“I don’t know if I can handle her being away from me. I feel like a piece of me is missing,” he groans. The pain in his words doesn’t come close to the despair in his hazel eyes. Swallowing, his eyelids close, then snap open and meet my gaze, and like a pair of blackout curtains, he conceals his vulnerability—his mask firmly back in place. “I’m going to kill every one of these assholes slowly—make them watch as I melt their skin to the bone!”
A throat clears. “It looks like Owen is beginning to wake up,” Wyatt’s dad informs us. “I thought you’d both like to be here when he does.” Nodding, we turn to head back into the house when Wyatt’s dad clasps his shoulder. “I need to speak with you before you go inside.”
“Can’t it wait? I don’t want Owen to wake up, and we’re not all there. It’s going to be hard enough explaining Ariah’s absence to him,” Wyatt states. The edge in his tone confirms what I suspected—he’s devolving. Wyatt doesn’t snap at his dad. Out of all our relationships with our dads, his is the best.
“Unfortunately, it can’t, but it won’t be long,” my uncle promises before turning to me. “Go downstairs, Bash. We’ll be down in a minute.”
I don’t wait for another dismissal. Instead, I return to the medical wing, hoping whatever my uncle says will quiet the monster brewing under my cousin’s skin.
* * *
“We need to devise a better plan than this,” Wes snaps.
To say my normally short-tempered friend’s fuse is even quicker to explode these days would be putting it mildly. But he isn’t the only one. We’re all one reason away from losing it.
It’s been two days since the last time Owen was awake. The doctor made the decision to keep him sedated after his heart rate and blood pressure spiked to dangerous levels the few times he woke up. Each time her name was on his lips—his angel. It was gut-wrenching to watch as he mumbled incoherent words. It was almost like he was conversing with someone—as if he was in a fever dream. And while our friend fights for his life, the hag forcing us into the mess continues to troll us.
Samantha’s been pestering the Council to throw the engagement announcement party. She claims Owen is back, so nothing is stopping us from moving forward with the event. Her exact words were, “We don’t need Owen to be present to make the announcement. You should all be happy I waited for him to return. Shit, you’re lucky he returned at all.” She was lucky her message was relayed through the Council, or I’m sure there would’ve been a dead Davenport by now. It took all three of us to prevent Wyatt from sneaking out and killing her. Fortunately, we’ve been able to stall thus far, but we’re running out of time, and with the threat she made the other day, we know we don’t have the leverage to tell her to fuck off. So, now we’re back at the Tombs trying to find a workaround.
“Until we have more information, we’re flying blind,” Lev begins, refocusing my attention on the conversation in the room. “Every time we’ve thought we were in control, Senator Baker and Samantha have played us like fools,” he explains, but his gaze never leaves the computer screen in front of him.
I nod, “Lev’s right. Somehow they’ve outsmarted us at every turn,” I state as I head for the bar. This fucked situation requires a strong drink. I pour myself a glass of brandy before continuing. “We need to look back over everything we have. We’re missing something. There’s no way they’ve been doing all this and never left a hint of a clue.”
“I, for one, am fucking tired of looking over documents. Personally, I think we need to tackle this with a little more force,” Wyatt suggests, finally entering the conversation. He’s been leaning against the wall staring out the window this entire conversation. “So, while you all comb through papers and scroll through images, I’m going to go lay a trap to catch a rat.”
Before Wyatt takes a step, Wes is in front of him, snarling, “You can’t do anything that will jeopardize Owen or Ariah. We need to think before we react.”
“That’s fucking rich coming from the asshole who dubbed her trash on day one and made decisions regarding our connection to her not once, not twice, fuck, not even three times, based on knee-jerk actions,” Wyatt retorts, shoving Wes out of his space. Caught off guard, Wes stumbles back two steps.
“Guys,” Lev tries to garner their attention, but it’s a lost cause. This was long overdue.
Counting down in my head, Wes will flip his shit in…five-four-three—.
“Fuck you, Wy! I apologized for being an idiot when she first arrived and for not giving you all the heads up before choosing Samantha. How long are you going to hold that over my head?”
Damn, I counted too slowly.
“Until she’s back,” Wyatt snaps, stepping into Wes’s face. “Until Ariah is fucking back where she belongs. Until she understands how bad you—we fucked up!”
“Guys,” Lev says, but they’re yelling now, so he’s being drowned out.
“I had to do it. I had to. It needed to be me because if she was going to hate anyone out of all of us,” he pauses, meeting each of our eyes, then continues. “It should be me. I—,” his voice breaks, garbling the last of his words, but the gist is understood.
The stupid fuck thinks he should fall on his sword like some valiant knight. What the fuck is it with the martyrs in this brotherhood? We need to have a serious talk about uncentering ourselves from situations.
“Guys,” Lev shouts, cutting their argument short and shifting our attention to him. “I found something.”
When he looks up from the computer, the look on Lev’s face is a cross between shock, confusion, and maybe disgust.
