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Red Sun
Luca
I stand on thebalcony, watching the clean canvas of snow-draped mountains and pristine landscapes sprawling at my feet. The Swiss Alps are silent sentinels, ageless and immovable, a white wall blocking me off from the rest of the world. I’ve always enjoyed the starkness and silence of snow, but something scratches at my mind.
Something irksome and growing, which I’ve been trying to ignore for three weeks now.
Cerberus sit inside by the fireplace, the three of them huddled on their bedding. A fire crackles in the hearth, the only sound I can hear in the mountains. In the weeks I’ve been here, I’ve read half a dozen books. I’ve walked and swam and skied. I even got to spend time on the mountains, practising my archery in the wild, putting my skills to the test against the elements. Mybruises have all healed except for a faint greenish smear on my shoulder where Willow hit me with a rock.
Willow, that venomous animal. I take my phone from my pocket and unlock it. Her smug little face pouts at me from the wallpaper. I lock my phone and shove it away with a wince.
She’s not texted me since that time she told me about masturbating in my bed to thoughts of Colin. According to Woodrow and Nadine, she’s been keeping busy working and picking petty fights with my cleaning staff—too busy to send me frivolous and provocatory text messages.
Good.
Being away from Willow was exactly what I needed. Distance was the antidote I needed to remind myself nothing about her is normal or endearing or intriguing. She’s a thorn in my side, a shameless grifter, a liar, and a cheat. Her only purpose in my life is to be an object for my amusement. I’ve been too gentle with her; once I return, I’ll know to treat her with a firmer hand.
And the next time I hunt her, I’ll hunt her the way she ought to be hunted. With cold brutality, with savage efficiency. Hunting Willow isn’t like hunting a fox, cunning but slight. Next time, I’ll hunt Willow like a wolf, something agile and nervy and powerful, a creature with an outstanding instinct for survival, something to be outsmarted and outmatched.
The anticipation of it makes my skin vibrate with excitement. One week left of this self-imposed exile, and I’ll be back in London, ready to fight Willow with renewed strength and fell purpose.
My phone vibrates, startling me out of my thoughts. The sun sets at my feet like a drop of blood on the horizon, staining the mountaintops red. I take a moment to compose myself before checking my phone, trying to erase any hint of excitement from myself.
Nadine’s name illuminates the screen. This really can only mean one thing.
“Nadine.” I greet her coolly.
“Luca, I’m sorry to call you like this.” Nadine’s voice is sharp and urgent; she rarely addresses me by my first name. Something’s wrong. “I thought you might wish to be made aware of what’s just happened.”
“What is it?” I keep my own tone calm and clinical.
My detachment is calculated, though not quite sincere. My chest has tightened, and my hand around the wooden railing of my balcony is white-knuckled.
“Willow’s—been taken.”
I’ve always appreciated Nadine for her bluntness. It’s part of why she’s my head of security. She’s never been one to hold back or mince her words.
Her words are a dull blow, felt distantly. A heavy thud, without echo. Willow, taken. It doesn’t quite impact because it doesn’t even make sense.
“Taken?”
My eyes are fixed on the red eye of the setting sun. I see nothing else. The cold encases me, shutting me in with Nadine’s voice as she speaks.
“The security detail I put on her tail—Kassim and Adrian. They’ve been keeping an eye from a distance. She’s done nothing out of the ordinary, just work or shop. But they called me about five minutes ago. They said Willow was coming out of the Swing Swan—the bar where she works—and two men appeared. One hit her, the other grabbed her. They put her in their car—a black Mercedes, S-class, tinted windows. We’re trying to trace the owner now.”
My restraint becomes something fragile and thin, the iridescent thread of a spider. A surge of annoyance rises within me, shaking the thin thread of my resolve. The emotionsscraping through me are messy and dark, an ugly contrast to the pristine landscape of snow surrounding me.
Someone dared to lay their hands onher, and it’s as though they had laid their hands on my own person. I feel the intrusion of it like an attack against me, an affront to my very existence.
“Find her,” I tell Nadine, my voice a blank. “Now.”
“We’re already working on it,” Nadine says. Her voice is tight. I wonder if she can sense my displeasure, the cold fury like a murderous undercurrent coursing underneath the thin layer of my calm. “The car is in transit. We’re tracking it via CCTV as we speak. Kassim and Adrian are already on the move. We’ve pulled footage of the two men, and we’re running the licence plate.”
“She’s got a tracker on her. I’ll give you access. Keep me updated on every development,” I command, the cold formality of my voice unwavering. “I’m on my way back.”
“No need to come back, sir,” Nadine says hurriedly. “We’ve got it under control. I’ll handle the matter myself.”
Returning to London isn’t a declaration of my priorities, nor is it an admission of Willow’s importance. Willow, regardless of her inconsequential status, is an object I consider to be in my possession. Nobody takes what is mine—nobodyharmsorstealswhat is mine.
