“Lilly.” My jaw tightens as I force the truth out. “Her real name is Zara Kavanagh.”
A whistle slips past his teeth before he drags a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ. That’s a hell of a reveal, Enzo.”
“She was at Declan’s bedside before he died. Different alias than the one at the club.” My hand rakes through my hair, frustration burning through me. “I went through her hotel room—cash, burners, wigs. She wasn’t just running, she was hiding.”
Lars mutters a curse under his breath. “You think Lachlan’s got her locked up now?”
“If he’d known where she was all these years, she never would’ve gotten this far. He’d have dragged her back by her hair. My guess? He only just caught her scent.”
Arms folded across his chest, Lars’s gaze sharpens. “So what does that make her? A wildcard? A Trojan horse wrapped in a pretty package? Are you sure you’re not walking into a trap?”
I stop pacing, meet his stare dead-on. “If she was playing me,she missed too many chances. Two nights alone with her. She wasn’t asking questions, wasn’t fishing for intel. I watched her, Lars. She’s not part of Lachlan’s game.”
His voice dips lower, edged with warning. “You’re certain? Because I’ve known you a long time, brother. And this—” he gestures at me, steady, unblinking, “—this isn’t you. You’ve never been rattled over a woman. Maybe your judgment isn’t as clear as you think.”
The air between us sharpens. My gaze cuts into his. “She isn’t just any woman.”
Lars doesn’t flinch. “No. But you still let her into your bed.”
“That was two years ago. I didn’t know who she was.”
“You do now.” His tone doesn’t rise, but that calm weight carries further than any shout.
Silence settles, heavy as a loaded gun. Lars has stood beside me through fire, betrayal, and blood, but he’s never looked at me like this—like I’m the one pulling us toward the edge.
“It doesn’t change anything,” I finally say, but the words scrape hollow even to my own ears.
“The fuck it doesn’t.” Lars steps in closer. “She’s Lachlan’s daughter. That gives her leverage. That makes her dangerous. And if they don’t know she’s a soft spot for you yet, we’re standing on borrowed time before they do. When that bomb goes off, it won’t just hit you. It hits all of us.”
He’s not wrong. But I can’t shake what I saw in her. The truth she wasn’t saying out loud. And my gut—my goddamn gut—is telling me this isn’t black and white.
“I need to know where she is,” I say finally. “Who has her.”
Lars nods, knowing there’s no convincing me otherwise. He sighs, eyes changing, already calculating.
“We’ll dig. I’ll have Rowan focus on it. Maybe she left a footprint she didn’t mean to. And I’ll have the warehouse crews start sweeping our side. If Lachlan grabbed her, someone in his circle’s going to talk eventually.”
“Make them talk.”
Lars grins. “You want fingers or limbs?”
“Start with fingers. Limbs if they refuse to talk.”
He heads for the locker room, stripping off his sweat-soaked shirt, already moving at a pace that tells me things are in motion.
Sixteen sunrises.
That’s how long it’s been since I was put in this room. Counting the sunrises helps me keep track of what day it is and gives me something to do in this fucked up prison.
The routine hasn’t changed.
Food appears on the tray by the door at eight. Dishes disappear an hour later. Clothes are laundered and returned, folded with military precision. A small bouquet of fresh flowers shows up every three days, always in a different color scheme. Lavender and white. Then blush and cream. Most recently, blood-red tulips.
But no one speaks to me. The guard stands silent when I open the door. Sometimes I talk to him, begging for someone to just respond to me. The silence is deafening.
At first, I tried to break the monotony. I worked out. Stretched. Punched the wall once, hard enough that I think I fractured a knuckle. I wanted to feel something other than the crawling quiet.
But it’s harder now. I find myself staring longer. Letting time drift. The days blur if I don’t keep counting. Sixteen sunrises. Thirty-two meals. No voices. No footsteps that stop outside my door unless they’re carrying linens or food.
