I want to roll onto my side, curl into a ball, and just… disappear into the floor.
But the floor is nowmoving.
Or rather, the jet ismoving.
Because we’re about to fly.
I sit up suddenly, my gaze going to Lazarus. “You’re going to attack from the air?” I ask, dread filling my veins. “Are you…?” I can’t finish the question. I… I can’t stomach to evenconceivewhat I intended to ask.
He said he was going totakethe town. Notdestroyit. But maybe I misunderstood?
All my friends…
“Please,” I whisper, staring up at him and not caring at all that he can probably see my heart breaking. “Please don’t hurt them.”
He gives me an unreadable look. “Your family?”
“They’re like my family, yes.” I probably shouldn’t have admitted that out loud. “We’ve been through hell, Lazarus. I wouldn’t have stolen your money otherwise. But they needed a safe place to be… to befree. The omegas have started over there. They’ve built that town from scratch.Pleasedon’t destroy it.”
A myriad of emotions seem to tumble through his features, the chief among them—fury.
He’s angry that I have the nerve to ask him for anything. I get that. But I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try to save my friends.
“Please,” I add again. “I’ll do whatever you want. They don’t even know what I did. Please don’t punish them for my sins. They’ve… we’ve…” I close my eyes. “Please…sir.”
I’m aware I look weak. Broken.Stupidly naïve.Especially as a tear escapes my eye. But this is my worst nightmare come to life. A trap I idiotically waltzed right into.
I was suspicious. However, then my brother used thebeereferences, and I… I thought it was really him.
Only now I realize it was Johan.
God, he’s good.
In another situation, I would be impressed.
Though, right now, I’m anything but.
“Whathellhave you been through?” Lazarus demands.
“Gideon Henderson?” Johan suggests. “It would explain why she went on that mission last month.”
My eyes spring open, my focus on him in an instant.He knows about that?
God, of course he does.
What don’t these men know?
“How long have you been watching me?” I demand, aware that my emotions are having whiplash. But I… I deserve answers.
Or, well, I probably don’t.
However, I’m going to push for them anyway.
“Years, little cat,” he replies.
Little cat?I nearly echo.
But my chin is suddenly caught in Lazarus’s hand, and he’s bending so that his chiseled features are the only ones I can see. “What hell, Ms. Bianchi?” he repeats.
