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We’re far from the beautiful streets where the Killers Club HQ and the Duke’s base were situated.
“We’re staying at a place that belongs to a family friend,” he replies cryptically. “They’re out of the country, and I have a spare key.” He leans to speak to the driver. “Here is fine. We’ll walk the rest of the way.”
We pull up alongside a normal-looking residential road. The terraced houses are close together, creating a maze of tightly packed streets.
“How far is it?” I ask Freddie, stacking bags up my arms like bracelets, enough that I’m worried I’ll topple over.
“Far enough that we’ll have to leave some of your new shoes behind,” he grumbles.
“Fine,” I sigh, picking out my favourites. “You should have listened when I said I didn’t need so many.”
“It’s nothing.” Freddie shrugs. “Call it a tip.”
The driver’s eyes light up when he realises how much they’re worth. That’ll be the best tip he’ll have ever received.
With full arms, we set off through narrow alleys lined with graffiti that smell like piss. Kids kick footballs up and down, while teenagers hang around smoking and giving us dirty looks. A glare from Freddie sends them scuttling away. Men who wear suits in these parts aren’t people you mess with. There are no cameras around at all, which makes it a good choice for a hideaway.
“This way,” he beckons after we’ve been walking for ten minutes.
He looks over his shoulder before opening a garden gate to a depressing patch of concrete. I trail behind him, feeling like I’ve done a round of strength training lugging around shopping bags, and he knocks on the backdoor of the nondescript red brick house.
“Who is it?” Seb calls from inside.
“The Killers Club,” I reply sarcastically.
He opens the door and scowls. “You shouldn’t say that.”
I roll my eyes and shove past him into a small kitchen, where the others are waiting. The room is only big enough to fit a table with four chairs around it. With the Dukes squeezed inside, alongside enough bags to fill a boutique, it’d be most women’s idea of paradise.
“Seb, I have a question for you. Is this the first time you’ve been in a house where the only throne room is the shitter?” Callen jokes.
Seb’s nostrils flare, but he bites his tongue and rises above it.
I look at the four men I’m trapped in the house with. Freddie’s by my side. He’s shrewd, calculating, and makes tough decisions. His multi-colour eyes mirror his personality; the amber signifies warmth, contrasted by the dazzling blue that has a hard edge. He has a softer side hidden under his harsh exterior—or at least I thought he did.
Seb puts distance between himself and Callen. He leans against the door frame to the next room, which shows off his inked, muscular arms. His blonde hair flops over his face, and it’s the first time I’ve seen him with stubble. Even without trying, he looks effortlessly cool. However, from the tenseness in his shoulders that hasn’t left since hearing about Beatrice’s death, I sense he’s blaming himself for what happened.
In front of him, Bram takes up two dining chairs, sitting on one with his feet propped on the other. A half-eaten packet of custard creams is nearby, and crumbs are strewn over the tabletop. We’re in a time of crisis, but he seems relaxed. He’s comfortable here and considers the Dukes to be his family. Although he deals with a constant mental battle with his past, they bring out the best in him.
Finally, there’s the Scottish knobhead. Callen perches on the kitchen counter, nursing a giant mug of tea that must have required at least three tea bags to get it that deep brown colour. He has a mischievous glint in his eyes, likely plotting his next prank on Seb. But he has a vulnerable and caring side. I felt his pain when he talked about losing Tilly, and he showed he was capable of kindness when he saved the injured deer. He’s a walking contradiction. A murderer with feelings when it suitedhim. In some ways, looking at Callen is like staring into a mirror, which is why we clash and are drawn together in equal measure.
At the moment, I’m an extra. Someone they don’t want around. Is there a chance I’ll ever fit in with them?
“What’s in the bags?” Callen asks, taking one from Freddie and pulling a lace bra from it. Typical. Of course, he grabbed the one with the underwear. “I’m not sure it’s your size, Freddie.”
“Give that back.” I snatch it from him and stash it away as Freddie heads into the adjoining living room to dump my new clothes on the floor like they’re rubbish. “How long will we be staying here?”
“That depends on how long things take,” he replies.
“Why don’t you tell everyone about our deal?” I say, wanting to make sure he can’t back out or pretend he doesn’t know what I’m talking about later. “It’s only fair they know.”
From the blank looks on the other’s faces, it’s clear this is the first they’ve heard about it.
“A deal?” Callen scratches his chin. “If it involves tying you up again, princess, then sign me up.”
“Do you have to be such a perv all the time?” Seb groans, then asks more seriously, “What’s she talking about, Freddie?”
“Shehas a name,” I remind him, crossing my arms.
