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I perch my untouched drink on the mantelpiece, beside the antique clock, as I grab the packet of cigarettes next to it. It’s light, but there’s a lonesome rattle when I shake it. Taking one of the two smokes left, I crouch in front of the fire, making sure the end is well lit before I bring it to my lips and suck in deep until the end glows. Standing, I check the clock for the time, not that it makes much difference. Time becomes a superfluous thing when you’re in the middle of a nightmare. Everything slows down, leaving you hanging.
The flames flicker along the tops of the logs with crackles and fizzes that make the silence deafening. And I watch, in a trance of long puffs and exhales that numb my head but do nothing to settle my pounding heart and rushing blood.
Chapter 17
Christopher
I can’t think with all the shit racing through my head, every titbit of information I was fed in the last two hours as I got stitched up.
Something is seriously wrong if the only explanation they can find for what happened tonight is a terrorist attack. It doesn’t make sense. The guy wasn’t coming at me; he was going for Arabella. Straight for her, and Benedict wasn’t one bit surprised. The bastard.
“We’ve hit a nerve.” Benedict sits in one of the chairs in the hospital room, beside Charles. The deputy Prime Minister and Foreign Secretary rallying together. Giving the political shrug.
He’s acting like hasn’t just told me he’s the reason Arabella left me. The three of them.
“I’m done.” I stand, grabbing my dinner jacket.
“Christopher…” Dad steps closer from the corner of the room he’s been standing in.
“Don’t. You said you were handling shit.”
“We are!” Charles stands, pacing as he ignores every call coming through his phone.
“They took my daughter, and you offered up Arabella.” I shrug Dad’s hand off my shoulder. “I told you…he’s a dead man.”
“You do a fucking thing and—”
“And what?” I stop Charles in his tracks.
He laughs, and Dad catches me just in time.
“Be careful, Christopher, you’re not irreplaceable,” he says before he walks out of the room. When he passes Benedict, he sneers, “I suggest you remind people of their roles.”
What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
“We don’t want things getting out of hand,” he adds with one last look about the room before he leaves.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Dad spins me to face him, his face contorted with anger.
“Word of warning.” I push him away and put my jacket on. “Let this be the last time you stand in my way.”
I’m done with this shit. They can all go fuck themselves.
My shoulder throbs as I get out of Wayne’s Range. He’s kept quiet the whole drive here as I nursed my raw knuckles. This isn’t over. I’m not done.
Adrenaline courses through me with a violence that won’t be muted or tamed. It’s the second time they’ve come for us; at least this time I was able to protect Arabella.
My pulse pounds as I race up the stairs, the security parting at every landing until I reach the top.
Murphy takes one look at me, and I must look worse than I thought, because he steps in front of the door. Filling up the doorway, he makes no move as I approach. I’ll gut him like the fucker that shot me, if I have to.
Eyes narrowing on mine, he takes a deep breath before he says, “Go easy on her.”
Easy?
That’s all I’ve done. I’ve fought for her, clawed my fucking brain trying to figure out what the fuck was going on. Why she would leave me when I needed her. When she needed me.
I’ve done nothing but be easy and go easy. And the whole time she barefaced lied to me. Arabella went behind my back, like I’m some weak cunt who can’t protect what’s his.
