I tiptoe down the stairs slowly, gripping the gun tightly.
At the bottom, I flatten myself against the nearest wall and listen.
I don’t like how quiet it is.
After sending Carlisle a text, I venture deeper into the house, stopping at my study and my father’s makeshift office before I peer out the window. The estate is bathed in the soft glow of the moon, and a few moments later, I see the guards exchange shifts. I let the curtain slide back into place and retreat into the shadows.
I shouldn’t have fallen asleep.
I should’ve stayed up to keep an eye on London, especially when she refused to tell me what happened with my father.
I didn’t like hearing it from Katia, especially given the strain between us, but I know how intimidating Jack Payne is.
You were also afraid that if you pushed her, she’d realize how close she came to danger and run.
It’s not lost on me that London is far from prepared to deal with my world, and how one small incident could tip her over the edge.
It took every ounce of self-control I had, coupled with the ashen look on London’s face, for me not to race out of the room and hunt my father down.
He’s toying with me—with us—and I almost wish he’d go the more direct route.
I hate not knowing what he’s got in store.
Focus. Find London. Make sure she’s safe, and worry about your father later.
After scouring the house, I meet Carlisle at the back door. I taste bile in the back of my throat as I return inside and pause in front of the door leading to the basement. When I press my ear to the door and hear a low grunt and a hiss, I almost rip the door off its hinges. My eyes are wild and unfocused as I reach the bottom of the stairs with my gun out.
There’s a single light bulb on, and Katia is leaning against the wall on one side of the room. Her black hair is in its usual braid, and her eyes are pinched in annoyance. In the middle of the room, London is standing in a pair of yoga pants, her shirt soaked with sweat, and her hair pulled into a high ponytail.
She lifts a leg and kicks the punching bag again and again.
Neither of them notices me as I lower my gun.
What the hell are they doing?
Katia looks amused. “Are you imagining that punching bag is me or Mason’s father?”
“Both.” London grunts, cocks her fist, and throws a punch. The chain that suspends the punching bag from the ceiling rattles. “I’m not picky right now.”
Katia stops next to London. “That’s not going to help you feel better.”
London grabs the punching bag and levels Katia with a dirty look. “Are you volunteering to take its place?”
Katia shrugs. “You need a solution for your anger, not an outlet to help you repress.”
“I wasn’t aware you were a therapist, too.”
London releases the punching bag, spins around, and lands a swift kick to the center. “I don’t need your advice. What I need is… fuck. I don’t know what I need.”
“You want to feel like you’re in control. Like no one can make you feel helpless again.”
London snorts but doesn’t reply.
“You also want to make sure your family is safe.”
London glances at Katia. “Is this another lesson in weakness? Because I am not in the goddamn mood. I’ve tried to talk to them already, but they won’t leave. I mean, hell, even Noah gets how serious this is and has hired extra security. I’ve tried to get him to talk to me, but I think I’ve burned that bridge.”
“Sounds like that boy has common sense after all.”
