His lips twist like her words are sour, and I chuckle as a few other guards come and drag my brother away, one of them handing Clara her sandals before he goes.
Which just leaves Falk in the hallway with Clara and me, more questions in his gaze than we could possibly answer in whispered armbars and half nelsons.
“Off to Father’s office, then?” I ask.
He ignores my question, instead directing his words at the woman still burrowed in my arms. “You’re fighting a losing battle.”
A big sigh cues me into her plan to turn, but I want to hold her close, just for a bit longer. So when she spins to face my guard, I tug her back to my front, not letting an inch between us. “Trevor knew me before I even set foot in this house, even if I didn’t know him.” Her hand squeezes my arm, asking me to understand what she’s not saying. I do. And I regret my restraint. “This was going to be a problem the second I walked in here. I can’t change what happened years ago.”
Falk must see something in my face, because he doesn’t ask for clarification. “Fine. Let’s walk.”
Clara slides her feet into the sandals, and we follow the parade. Smith meets us halfway to Father’s office, his hand splinted and wrapped, rage wafting from him like the reek of a dumpster, and it’s all I can do not to meet him where he’s at. I need a fight. Ineed an outlet before I snap after what just happened. And he’s the target I want.
Clara’s yanked from my hold, and the beast within me rises to the surface. But Clara slips from his grasp, her eyes full of the fury I’ve worked so hard to help her find over the last year. “Do not touch me,” she snaps.
He steps closer to her, and Falk stops us before we deal with the worm. “The boss wants them in the office. We don’t have time for this nonsense.”
Smith glares at the older guard and gives Clara a mocking bow as she passes him, walking beside me. The rage surges, and this time, it’s harder to push down. If I weren’t exhausted from sparring with Falk, I’m not even sure I’d still be present. And I need to stay present. So I take her hand, not wanting to let her out of my grasp with so many men ready to ruin her and my sanity tenuous. With my claim staked the only way I can right now, I let her lead me into my father’s office, off to fight another battle we’ll probably lose before we have a chance to win the war.
Chapter 79
Clara
The meeting with Trips’ father goes about as well as I expect. He watches the footage, and while there wasn’t sound in the pool, it’s obvious that Trevor was making advances on me. I can’t explain why a single word had me deciding against standing my ground and instead sprinting through the house like my death was chasing me.
It’s the sort of thing I can barely put in words for the guys, and while they trust my intuition, no one else in this place would have any reason to do the same.
Trips holds my hand the whole time, somehow understanding that I was legitimately terrified. And his barely contained rage vibrates between us. At least this time, I didn’t freeze. I didn’t pass out. I kept my head and ran away. And Trips managed the same feat.
Our time away was worth it. Even if running felt like losing, it wasn’t. Wearestronger. We have a plan. And once Jansen gets the help he needs so we don’t have to worry about him flinging himself from tall structures—an image that haunts me when I try to fall asleep—we’ll take down Trips’ horrible father and his network of coercion and secrets.
Two guards restrain Trevor when his father doles out his punishment, and some part of me wonders why I’m not bothered watching his blood drip on the carpet—a different one from the one Trips and I bled on a few weeks ago. Endless money equals endless rugs, I suppose.
Smith stands a little in front of me, and I find myself inspecting his head, looking for any marks from the blow I landed on him months ago. And while he’s used his haircut to hide it, one side of the back of his head has an angled divot about the size of a wooden practice sword.
How close was I to killing him with that panicked swipe?
The question is almost theoretical as I let the meeting pass before me, nothing about it requiring my full attention. And when Trevor spits his blood at my toes, I stare down at the splatters in confusion.
Trips, however, lunges.
With my hand still in his, he doesn’t quite make it without me letting go. And that outburst is enough for the two of us to be pushed out of the office.
Instead of being shoved back into the blue room, Falk takes us up and up, opening a glass door and ushering us into a sweltering jungle—the conservatory I’d seen on the roof that first winter’s night as we wound down the drive.
“Why here?” I ask, Trips’ hand still tight in mine.
“The boss thinks you’re going crazy. Enjoy your time in a contained garden. I’ll be back to unlock the door in a few hours.”
He goes to leave, but pauses, glancing at his phone. “You have a visitor first.”
We stand in silence until the click of heels from inside the green space calls our attention. Trips’ stepmom is striking as always, her graceful movements something she handed down to her daughter, in addition to model-like good looks.
“Archie, dear, if I could borrow your fiancée for a moment?”
Trips’ grip is almost painful, and when I glance up at him, I’m uncertain if he’s totally present. “Trips?”
He closes his eyes, breathing deep the tropical heat and heavy green scents. “Go,” he says, but takes another breath before he releases my hand.
