“Cheers, mate.” Daniel grins, spinning the basketball on his finger. “You should get going, too. It’s about to piss it down, and I’m guessing you’re walking since I don’t see a car in sight.”
Our eyes meet. And suddenly, my plans for tonight change. I nod to Richard Rycroft and walk away from the pair.
“What are you doing helping homeless strangers out here, Dad?” I hear him say as they walk back to the cottage. “That’s how people die.”
“Stop with the dramatics, and light a fire under Bean. We have a long drive.”
I beat them to my farm in Northumberland, the address on the piece of paper I handed to the man whose daughter my father kidnapped and held hostage in this ancient, abandoned farmhouse. The place was taken care of, deeds changed, evidence eliminated. They shouldn’t find anything here. That’s what Reginald hopes. Give them closure and be done with this. But I had to be sure. That son of his is sharp. I have a feeling, if there is something to find, he’ll find it.
I go through all the rooms, the lounge. A few random things lie around. Likely unlinked. Still, I don’t take the chance. I grab a bin bag and eliminate any suspicious items with my gloved hand.
But even then, I can’t bring myself to leave. This is too important. If this family finds their way to my father, I’m done. The Council will never trust a Berkeley again. I have to make sure they find nothing. Whatever the fucking cost.
I see their car up the road. The only vehicle in sight. Driving down the winding way, looking for answers they must not find. My fist tightens, dark thoughts flashing through my brain as the SUV drives to the farm.
And in that moment, I feel the desperation of Robert Berkeley and his dark mind.
Then, out of nowhere, another set of lights flares, illuminating the side window of the farmhouse. I watch, powerless, as my truck shreds through the fence, kicking up a storm of splinters and dirt, and slams into the Etheridge car with a sickening crunch, then drags it off the road like dead prey.
“Fucking hell,” I swear, self-preservation my only gear as I blast out the back door.
My fingers work the phone, hitting nine thrice. “Fatal Accident. Hill View Road. NE45 6GS,” I bark into the phone, then hang up, running through the fields in pitch black, plotting my alibi. Whoever took my truck wanted me framed for this accident. I needed to get back to Fort. Now.
My feet falter when a loud bang pierces the night—gunshot. My head snaps back, feet frozen in boot-deep mud, wondering if I imagined it. But I have heard that sound too many times to mistake it.
I should keep going.
Leave now.
That’s what Robert Berkeley would do.
“Fuck,” I hiss and run back to the farm. I draw my gun, barrel loaded, and keep low under the windows in case anyone is watching before peeking through the corner.
Everything is calm for a moment, only the hum of the wind, then the engine growls. A tall man in a suit gets back into the truck. It’s toodark to make out his face. I take out my phone and hit record as it reverses onto the road, then drives into the horizon.
“Kane.” Alessia snaps her fingers in front of my eyes, carrying a plate of homemade snacks. “Look alive. I need your brain switched on today. And stop caressing the arm already, she barely grazed you.” She rolls her eyes and walks away, muttering something about how I wouldn’t last a day in Sicily.
I hide my plastered arm under my sleeve and follow her into the lounge, to attend the undesirable guest—Daniel Etheridge.
I knew it was too late the moment Mason took a punch from him and didn’t retaliate. Mason doesn’t restrain. He doesn’t make exceptions. But he made one for her that night. Since then, he hasn’t just broken rules, he’s obliterated them. The girl has been his kryptonite from the moment she set foot here.
No one saw it.As always.
No one heeded my warning.As always.
And now it’s too late. He would sooner let her brother tie him to a horse and drag him from York to London, William Wallace style, than give up on that fucking princess. Even if she gave up on him, what’s left of him won’t be worth keeping around. I should know. I live with the ghost of my father, who in all the ways that matter died a decade ago. Mason will be no different.
But Reginald’s mind is made up. Grants are a line of stubborn dickheads. Reginald wants his truce. Mason wants Eva. And neither one of them is going to back down. Usually, the one who wins is the one Alessia sides with. But something tells me that won’t be enough this time.
“Krumiri?” Alessia offers the plate to Daniel Etheridge.
His eyes drop to the savories, then flick to Alessia before he shakes his head with a polite smile.
“Your sister likes them,” Alessia insists, all but shoving the plate in the golden boy’s face.
Daniel purses his lips, then takes one out of courtesy, but doesn’t eat it.
This is going to be catastrophic when Mason returns, with or without the princess. I moved my father out of the lodge after Mason learned about our buried secrets. Did I think he would hurt him? Probably not, but you never know with Mason. When it comes to her, the fucking tense doesn’t matter. Her past, present, future—everything is fair game to him. At least now my father can come back. My short moment of bliss, over.
