With a sigh, Ryker removed the key from his pocket and stalked toward me, unlocking one cuff and then the other. When he was done, he lifted both wrists to his mouth, placing gentle kisses where the cuffs once sat.
“We are partners, Cadence. We’ll do this together.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” The flustered voice pulled my attention from Ryker’s fierce gaze.
Scarlette stood in the doorway, fresh linens bundled in her arms as she glanced around the room.
My eyes roamed her face, hunting for any clue that she’d heard our earlier conversation.
“I can come back,” she said, her cheeks turning a dark shade of red.
Relief coursed through me when she appeared more embarrassed than alarmed.
What sinful games had Riordan been playing in his chambers to provoke that reaction?
On second thought, it was none of my business.
“No need, Scarlette,” Ryker said, taking my hand in his. “We were just leaving.”
Chapter Sixty-One
Cadence
“Stop pacing, woman. You’re making me nervous,” Eamon said as he carved a small dagger from a piece of wood.
His lips puckered as he blew away the dust, his gaze flicking up to meet mine for a moment before returning to his work.
“I can’t help it.”
It had been a week since Fallon had accosted me in Ryker’s chambers, and we still hadn’t come up with a plan to remove him without alerting his allies. But with each passing day, trepidation crept closer, crawling up my spine until it tightened around my throat, suffocating me.
We were running out of time. I could feel it.
Which was why Ryker, Riordan, and Callum were entertaining Fallon in his chambers.
I just prayed that we hadn’t tipped our hand too early.
A knock at the door pulled me from my worries, and I glanced toward Eamon.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
He motioned for me to stay, then headed for the entryway.
A gruff voice echoed from the other room, its words indistinct.
“Your orders are not worth the piss on my boot, boy.” Eamon’s voice ricocheted off the walls, and the familiar rush of panic burned up my throat.
A beat later, he rounded the corner, his usual playful expression replaced by something far darker, more focused.
“We have to go.”
“Go? Go where? Who was at the door, Eamon?”
“The King’s Guard,” he said. “A dozen, maybe more.”
“What do they want?”
He didn’t get the chance to respond as the door exploded inward, wood and metal crashing against stone. Guards spilled into the room, blades drawn, faces red and twisted with purpose.
