“Agreed. Only willful blindness would keep him from knowing. And as he set Trevor up with barely legal Olivia…”
“That fucker.”
“Yup.”
“I didn’t think the man could get worse.” He carefully clamps my wrists in handcuffs, knowing we’re on our way to the evil mastermind’s office after my outburst.
“He’s like an onion of evil,” I gripe, making him chuckle. “Take care of our coats. Be gentle with them,” I say, knowing we’ll need his help now.
He laughs. “I probably don’t want to know, do I?”
“No, probably not.”
“You kids are better than I thought you’d be.”
“Hopefully, we’ll be good enough.”
They finally drag Trips to his feet, the guard who alerted Trevor sporting a bloody nose, while Trevor himself is red about the cheeks, the rosy unfurling of future bruises. Trips gets loose and dives on his brother again, Falk tugging mefarther from the fight. “If I were a betting man, I’d give you even odds. Which is the best I’ve seen in all my years here.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, then.”
“You should.”
Once Trips is contained and we’re marched to our punishment, I can’t help but hope our odds are better than even. Because losing isn’t an option. It never was. And with each step, it’s like I can see the blue sky of freedom, but only through the bars of my cage.
I have to trust my team. It’s all I can do.
Chapter 28
Clara
We’re dragged to the office before Trips’ father can get there, Falk urging me into the chair across from the desk, my wrists still bound.
Trips, meanwhile, has three guards surrounding him, all of them ready for him to lose it. But when he meets my eyes, I can see he’s still here. I wasn’t in danger, not really. And his anger with his brother has boiled high for years. Either way, I’m glad he’s still present with me. It will make the next part of this go much smoother.
We’d planned to make a mess, but I was supposed to be the cleanup crew, not the aggressor.
Trevor is the last to make it to the office, limping and whimpering, his pet guard with him.
A moment later, Mary rushes in with an ice pack, and when she sees what it’s for, it looks like she wishes she’d moved slower. She says little, but she sees a lot.
The clock ticks, the sleet outside turning to snow the longer we wait, graceful drifts of white backlit from the landscaping lights. It’d be beautiful if I didn’t know we’re waiting for nothing but controlled violence.
I really don’t want to hate snow.
Trips taps his foot against the floor, asking for my attention, and I can read the censure. He was the one who was supposed to throw the first punch, not me. He was supposed to have earned whatever punishment awaits me.
I didn’t stick to the plan. I saw an opening and took it. And I don’t regret it. Trevor has more than earned a knee to the groin. I’d castrate him if I could. He and Bryce both—bottom feeding parasites of evil.
Which has my brain moving to a different problem—how the hell did Bryce find out that I’d killed Smith?
I turn away from Trips, not able to communicate that I hadn’t tried to fuck myself over. It’d just happened. And suddenly, I feel sympathy for Jansen. There are definite downsides to being impulsive.
After an uncomfortable hour in silence, the door whisks open behind me, and I sit up straighter in my seat. But I don’t turn around. I hold on to my righteous fury, hoping it’ll protect me.
Searing pain on my scalp has instinct rocking through me, and I scramble to my feet attempting to get away from whatever’s attacking me.
But I know. How could I not?
