“When?” she asked.
“How soon can you get here? Because I got to tell you, Princess, I’m not feeling the love.”
Pain ran through her as she realized her position.
“I’ll get a flight first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Can’t wait,” Jonathan said. “And, Adria, bring those pictures with you.”
“It’s a trap,” Elena said, pacing around the room.
“It’s most definitely a trap,” Eric said, methodically checking the magazine of his Glock before sliding it into a hidden compartment of his tactical duffel bag.
“So what? We still have to go. You don’t know Jonathan like I do. He is going to kill them,” Adria said, throwing clothes into a bag. She paused, then yanked open her bedside drawer and removed three different knives, wrapping each in silk before nestling them between layers of black clothing.
“He’s expecting you when?” Elena asked, watching as Eric added a coil of thin wire to his bag.
“I booked the 3am redeye. Should be in New York by six. We are meeting for brunch.” Adria’s face twisted in disgust at the absurdity of it all as she zipped her bag with unnecessary force.
“Keep the flight,” Elena said. “But we can get on my plane right now, be there by ten tonight. I could have a ground team there by midnight.”
Adria stared at her, dumbstruck. “You have a plane? That is so high profile.”
Elena shrugged. “Sota doesn’t care. He likes making a show of things.”
Adria’s mouth twitched. “Apparently.”
A few hours later, Adria, Elena, Eric, and a small team boarded Elena’s plane. The eight of them planned to rendezvous with Elena’s men just prior to pulling into Jonathan’s manor. By midnight tonight she would either be dead or on her way to finding the boys.
The thrum of the jet engines vibrated through Adria’s ribcage. Beneath the blue-tinged cabin lights, Adria pinched the bridge of her nose until stars bloomed. Bryson’s face flickered behind her eyelids—bloodied but defiant. Then Seth’s gentle eyes and Kaydon’s crooked smile, then Bryson again, but younger, laughing. Then she saw the group bloody and dead.
If Jonathan had laid even one finger on him, on any of them, she’d carve the bastard’s heart out with an ice cream scoop.
Eric’s hands moved in practiced rhythm—click, check, load, secure. Across the aisle, Elena’s hushed voice carried as she spoke to Sota on the phone.
Adria wondered what Sota thought of all this. It was still hard to wrap her mind around the fact that Bryson’s sister was Sota King’s Regent in command.
The cabin fell quiet. Eric slid into the seat beside her, his shoulder warm against hers. Three duffels—hastily packed with clothes for the boys—sat in the seat opposite, their weight somehow more substantial than their size. Elena settled across, eyes calculating. Adria turned to the window, her reflection fractured against the night sky.
“When we get there,” she whispered, breath fogging the glass, “Jonathan is mine.” Her voice was steady, but her hand trembled against the armrest.
CHAPTER 9
LOCATION UNKNOWN
Bryson woke up to the soft murmurs of his brothers talking. His body was sore from the contorted sleep the cells forced him into. Head resting on the concrete, he acknowledged a pounding headache, but Kaydon’s voice was his Advil.
He missed Kaydon and Seth’s touch more than he could ever articulate.
It hurt even more that he had to keep them in the dark, but he only needed to keep them waiting just a little longer. If the timing lined up, Jonathan would be here any day, and Bryson needed to have him on site in order to execute his plan.
“He’s pretending to sleep,” Bryson heard Seth say behind him.
“Just let him rest,” Kaydon retorted.
“Worried I’m sleeping too much, Killer?” Bryson asked, willing himself to sit up without vomiting.
He had eaten little and barely drank. That, paired with the mental stress of dealing with Regan, was a debilitating combination.
