The question hung between us, heavy with implication. Alyssa Knotty had abandoned Cade once already and had tried to sell her to Dominic Blake as a child. Why would she help now?
"Then we make her," I replied, my voice hard. "Whatever it takes." Ryder was already shaking his head.
"I need to see my father first. He's here in London for the hearing, staying at his club. If I can get him to withdraw the accusations-"
"You really think he'll listen to you?" Cole asked skeptically.
"No," Ryder admitted, his expression grim. "But I have to try. Before I kill him." The casual way he said it sent a chill down my spine. Not because I doubted his sincerity, Ryder was absolutelycapable of murder, as we all were, but because I knew what it would cost him, especially now that the Trivium was breathing down our necks..
"I'll go with you," I offered. "Make sure you don't do anything we can't undo." Ryder shook his head.
"No. This is between him and me." His gaze shifted to Cole. "You two need to find Alyssa Knotty. That's our best shot at getting Cade out of this." I hesitated, torn between my instinct to keep Ryder from self-destructing and the urgent need to find Alyssa. Cole made the decision for me.
"He's right, Logan," he said quietly. "You should come with me to see Alyssa. Given our... history, I could use the backup." I understood what he wasn't saying. Alyssa Knotty was one of Cole's abusers from his time in the Underground. Facing her would be its own kind of hell for him. But we also knew that he was our best way of getting to speak to her.
"Are you sure about this, Ry?" I asked, searching his face for any sign that he might be about to do something irreversible. Ryder's smile was cold, devoid of his usual manic energy.
"Nope. But I'm doing it anyway." I nodded, recognising the futility of arguing further.
"Call us if things go south. And Ry?" I caught his arm as he turned to leave. "Don't kill him. Not yet. Not until we get Cade out." Something flickered in Ryder's eyes, acknowledgment, maybe, or a promise. Then he was gone, striding away into the gathering darkness with deadly purpose in every step. I turned to Cole, whose eyes were shadowed with exhaustion and dread.
"You ready for this?"
"No," he echoed Ryder's response. "But we're doing it anyway."
The sleek black Audi roared through London's evening streets, my knuckles white against the steering wheel as I weaved through traffic with reckless abandon. Each honk and curse thrown my way barely registered; my mind was consumed by a single thought that pulsed with every beat of my heart: Cade. Forty-eight hours. The Hole.
I couldn't shake the image of her being dragged to her knees in our living room, the terror in her eyes as she looked to us for protection we couldn't provide. After everything she'd survived, Damien's torture, the videos, Julia's cruelty, just when she was finally healing, they'd ripped her away again. And my father, my own fucking father, was behind it.
The exclusive Kensington district came into view, its pristine streets and immaculate facades a stark contrast to the chaos inside my head. The Wellington Club stood like a monument to old money and power, its understated entrance guarded by a single doorman who straightened as I screeched to a halt at the curb.
"Mr Purcell," he greeted me, recognition and wariness battling in his expression as I tossed him my keys.
"Where is he?" I demanded, not bothering with pleasantries.
"Sir, I'm not certain-"
"Don't bullshit me, Edward. Where the fuck is my father?" The doorman hesitated, his loyalty clearly torn between the elder Purcell, who paid his salary, and the younger one whose instability was legendary.
"The Hemingway Room, sir. But he requested no disturbances."
I pushed past him without another word, the familiar scent of polished wood, expensive cigars, and privilege filling my nostrils as I entered. The club was hushed, as it always was, a cathedral to wealth where voices were kept low and problems from the outside world remained firmly on the doorstep. Tonight, I was bringing the storm inside. The Hemingway Room was tucked away in the west wing, a private space my father often reserved for "business meetings" that were anything but professional. I knew the way by heart, having been dragged here as a child to watch him forge the connections that would build our family'spower. Every step down the plush carpeted hallway fuelled my rage, memories of his manipulation, his cruelty, his absolute control flooding back. I didn't knock. The heavy oak door crashed against the wall as I shoved it open, the sound shattering the carefully cultivated silence of the club.
"Well," my father's voice drawled from across the room, "this is an unpleasant surprise." The scene before me sent a fresh wave of disgust through my system. Aaron Purcell reclined in a leather wingback chair, tumbler of whiskey in one hand, while the other rested possessively on the waist of a young woman perched on the arm of his chair. She couldn't have been more than twenty, her club uniform, a tight black dress with the Wellington crest, riding high on her thighs. Her eyes widened in alarm at my entrance, but my father merely looked annoyed, like I'd interrupted a particularly boring business call.
"Leave us," I told the girl, my voice low and dangerous. She glanced at my father, who nodded almost imperceptibly. "That will be all for now, Elise. We'll continue our... discussion later." The girl, Elise, slipped past me with her head down, the door closing softly behind her. The sound of the latch clicking into place felt like a starting gun.
"Drop the charges," I said, advancing into the room. "Now." My father took a leisurely sip of his whiskey, his eyes, the same blue as mine, as Luce's, watching me over the rim of his glass with cold amusement.
"What charges would those be, Ryder? I'm involved in so many legal matters."
"Don't play fucking games with me," I snarled, my hands curling into fists at my sides. "The fraud allegations against Cade. The Legacy Code violation. I know it was you and Blackwood. Drop them. Today." A slow smile spread across his face, the kind that never reached his eyes. He set his glass downon the side table with deliberate care, the ice cubes clinking against the crystal in the sudden silence.
"Sit down, Ryder. You're making a spectacle of yourself."
"I'm not here for a father-son chat. I'm here to tell you that if you don't withdraw those accusations, I will make you regret it in ways you can't imagine." My father laughed then, a sound devoid of humour that raised the hair on the back of my neck.
"Empty threats from an empty boy. You've always been all flash and no substance." He stood, straightening his bespoke suit jacket with practiced nonchalance.
