Rake leaned his head down so that their foreheads touched. “Be careful. That’s an order, sweetheart.”
Shaun gazed back into Rake’s eyes. “Yes, Sir.” Shaun pressed their lips together for a second. “You both look after each other too,” he said.
“I’ve got his back,” Kit said. “Now go make sure Lawrence doesn’t see another sunset.” With one last weighty look, he ran off. Rake hesitated, but an encouraging nod from Shaun had him chasing after Kit.
“We can handle him, Shaun,” Lynette said. “Come on.”
They walked at a human pace down the street, Shaun’s legs growing more wobbly with each step he took. When he reached the familiar front door, he wondered how he’d even be able to step over the threshold. He’d spent so long wishing to be anywhere but there and yet found himself following a route he’d taken every night for years.
And he intended for it to be the last time. He had to believe that. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have the strength tohold himself up.
Lynette went first, turning the handle with such force that the mechanism broke. She threw the doorknob behind her and entered the hallway on silent feet.
Shaun went after her, his hands fisted at his sides to stop them from shaking as he passed the empty hook where his collar usually hung. Its absence did not reassure him. He listened out for any sign of Lawrence. A soft fluttering came from the living room, and Lynette led them towards the sound.
Lawrence sat on the sofa, reading a book. Or, rather, pretending to read. Performative arsehole. He made a show of placing a bookmark between the pages and setting it on the coffee table.
Shaun read the cover.
The Art of Warby Sun Tzu.
Shaun rolled his eyes, because he knew where Lawrence kept the well-read copies of Anne Rice. (Under his mattress, where Lawrence thought Shaun wouldn’t find them. Of course, Lawrence hadn’t factored in that Shaun was the one who changed his bedsheets, and was therefore under his mattress often.)
“Getting in some last-minute revision?” Lynette asked, inclining her head towards the closed book.
Despite everything, a snort escaped Shaun.
The unflattering noise drew Lawrence’s attention. “Welcome home, pet.”
“Let’s dispense with the niceties,” Lynette said. “You didn’t keep up your end of the bargain, Weston.”
“It’s not like you were really planning to hand yourselves over. Besides, I haven’t got what I want yet,” Lawrence said,pouting.
“My territory?” Lynette asked.
“Indeed.”
“You’re aware I won’t just sign it over.”
“Oh, no,” Lawrence said, false shock on his face. “That truly is a shame.”
As they spoke, Shaun listened hard to the sounds in the rest of the house, hoping he might hear DJ. He blinked, and Lawrence stood in front of him, clicking his fingers an inch from his face. “Something distracting you?”
Shaun tried not to flinch, but he knew he failed when Lawrence looked smug. “Where’s DJ?” Shaun asked, seeing no point in pretending he wasn’t concerned.
Lawrence turned away from him and sat back down, crossing one ankle over his knee. “He’s close enough.”
Hope and fear warred inside Shaun. “Have you hurt him? Any more than you had already?”
“I only did what was necessary,” Lawrence said, waving a dismissive hand. “I’m not cruel for no reason.”
Shaun stared Lawrence down. “Yes, you are.”
“Go find DJ, Shaun,” Lynette said. “I’ve been looking forward to showing Weston exactly what I think of his actions.”
Shaun expected to be stopped when he rushed from the room, but Lawrence didn’t so much as say a word. Heart in his throat, Shaun ran down the stairs and into the basement.
There were signs all around of people having been kept there—blood, chains, scraps of clothing—but no DJ. One of the walls had a crack right down the middle, an odd draft coming from its direction. Shaun didn’t have time to inspect it, going so fast back up the stairs that he tripped and hadto right himself.
