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“Hey!” I object. “You—”
“Stop!” Freddie commands. His thunderous expression makes us freeze. “That’s enough.”
I take a gulp of whiskey and check my phone to see a text from Ralph confirming that he’s collected Pippy. Since when has ‘asking brothers for help’ day become a thing? Begrudgingly, I owe him one. Staying with them would be the doggy equivalent of a luxury spa retreat for Pippy. Ralph’s wife is obsessed with dogs and has six of her own, likely to distract her from her miserable existence with Ralph.
“What are we going to do with Ivy?” I ask. My voice catches in my throat as I say her name. Freddie’s shoulders tense, and Callen’s jaw sets, making me feel like a wizard saying ‘Voldemort’.
“She Who Must Not Be Named is locked up for now,” Callen says, catching my train of thought. “Where she belongs.”
On the helicopter ride, her unconscious body was propped against mine. I spent the entire time avoiding looking at her, but I couldn’t ignore the warmth of her body pressed against mine.
“Should I go and check if she's okay?” I ask.
I’m still angry at her, but we arrived hours ago, and I haven’t seen her since Torean and Freddie whisked her away into the dungeon. She may be a compulsive liar who betrayed us, but the Dukes are supposed to protect people. Or, maybe a part of me is still clinging to the unlikely possibility that I’ve seen the real Ivy Penrose, that maybe the connection we shared was more than a ruse to get close to us.
“Why do you keep bringing her up?” Freddie blasts. He hurls his glass into the fire. Callen leans out of the way in time to avoid being hit. The alcohol causes the flames to go wild and lick up the chimney.
“Torean won’t be happy if you burn down his castle,” Callen says.
“Leave me to deal with Ivy,” Freddie says in a voice that says this is the end of our discussion. “Neither of you are to see her without my permission. Until we decide what to do with her, she stays where she is. Do you understand?”
I lower my head. “Yes, boss.”
“Callen?” Freddie prompts. “I said, do you understand?”
Callen makes an ‘okay’ signal by pressing his thumb and index finger together.
“Good,” Freddie says before standing, turning on his heel and storming away.
For the past five years, his connection to the woman he met at the bar has been tethered to his last shred of humanity. Now that he’s learned the truth, I’m not sure what he’s capable of...
CHAPTER 6
IVY
“What do we have here?” A man’s voice echoes around the darkened room. “Sleeping Beauty has finally woken up.”
His words make goosebumps stand to attention on my arms. His accent is like Callen’s, but there’s something off about him… something twisted and unnatural that sets my mental alarm bells ringing. A predator can sense when they’re in the midst of another, and this man makes me want to run.
I try to refocus my vision. I’m groggy, and my head feels too heavy for my neck to support it properly. The world seems to be shaking like stuttering camera footage at a few frames per second.
Where am I?
The last thing I remember was being in the back of the van when…Motherfucker!My hand flies to my neck and the spot where Freddie plunged a needle into my skin. Someone should give him lessons on how to be a gentleman.
From my seated position, I look around to familiarise myself with my new surroundings. My arse is numb from the freezing cement beneath me, made worse by my short skirt. Overhead, a strip of light flickers, making my head throb and my windowless,grey brick prison appear more ominous. A leaky pipe protrudes from the wall, dripping into a pooling puddle near my feet. There’s also a rusty bucket a short shuffle away, presumably for me to use as a toilet.
The room is L-shaped. While I can’t see the man lurking around the corner, his unnerving presence fills the space. My skin prickles under his scrutiny, but I can’t move. My wrists are bound in cuffs in front of me, and a chain around my ankle shackles me to a concrete column that looks to support the uneven, low ceiling. From the look of it, tugging too hard would cause the entire building to collapse and bury me in rubble. Maybe that’s what the Dukes want.
A tall figure steps out from his hiding spot. I blink hard to make sure I’m not imagining it. Nope, he’s really there.
He looks like Callen, only he doesn’t have shoulder-length hair or a beard. He’s clean-shaven with short, slicked-back hair. His rolled-up shirt sleeves expose blank, tattoo-less skin. Have I died and gone to hell? Is this alternative version of Callen the devil? Finding out he’s a permanent resident there wouldn’t be a surprise.
The man smirks, making my stomach knot with uneasiness. I recognise that look. I squeeze my eyes shut once more, hoping that when I open them again, I’ll find myself sprawled on a sun lounger on a tropical island with a Piña Colada adorned with a tiny umbrella—no such luck. I open my eyes to find myself in the same godforsaken place.
“What’re you looking for, sweetheart?” the man asks. “There’s no way out.”
“Where’s Bram?” I question. I’m willing to overlook his patronising pet names if I get answers. “Is he okay?”
