But we’ve come so far since then. There’s no way.
And today, her authenticity was woven through another vow.“I am making you my priority. Even if things seem convoluted, that much should be evident. I love you. I’ll do whatever it takes to preserve this, to be what you need.”
She was trying to convey how twisted up she was in something. I’d sensed it since the day of our wedding.
Talk to me, baby. Tell me what happened.
Kratos.
“While I have you …” I clear my throat of the red-hot ire and heart-wrenching desperation coating it and feign a casual air. “Years ago, there was a group called Kratos. Fourteen members. But another organization hired an assassin, who ended up killing eleven of them. Do you know who that group was?”
He hesitates for a fraction of a second, before he boasts his mock assurance. “I’ll look into it.”
To most, that pause would be indistinguishable. Wells is trained by the best—ex-Navy SEAL and CIA asset. To me, it’s blatant though. Not only do I know him personally, but I also know men like him. I’ve been studying small tells for nearly thirty years.
“Was it KORT?” I press. “I know it was before you assumed your seat, but was it KORT?”
His conflict settles between us like a battlefield until he finally surrenders. “Yes.”
“Who was the agent who took Kratos out?” I dig, assuming he knows.
“You’d have to ask Jared. I think he’s the only one of us that had a KORT seat at that time. As you mentioned, I wasn’t a chair yet, so I’m not at liberty to give you answers.” He’s jumping around the truth like a man on hot coals.
Zara was owned by KORT in the past. Did she know that? When she understood I was part of KORT, did she decide to run? The honeymoon was a perfect opportunity. But it was my idea—or was it? She’d told me that story about her mom.
Fuck. I can’t think straight.
Having a positive past with KORT likely would’ve worked in her favor, but she might not have viewed it that way.
“Did she run?” His tone is tentative because the cognizance of the consequences prowls around us.
They’ll hunt her down and kill her. No questions asked.
“We never had this conversation,” I demand.
“Axel—”
“Don’t fucking say anything other than,We never had this goddamn conversation! As far as you’re concerned, my wife was kidnapped, and I was consulting your private services to find out who was behind it. Figure it the fuck out. And if you find her, you tell me andonly me.” When he doesn’t immediately comply, I boil it down to a scenario he can grip easier. “You think about your wife and who you’d set ablaze for her. Do not turn this into a fucking war.”
He is not a man who appreciates being threatened, but we’ve been friends since we were teenagers, and there’s one thing that we share. Nothing is more important to us than family.
His aggravated rebuke is tangible, even through the phone, but he reels it in and throws another white flag. “Gage will be in touch.”
AXEL
The flight was agonizingly slow. I spent most of it on calls with my CIA contacts, a private investigator, Bernard, and my brothers. I’ve never wanted to extricate myself from my own skin more. Maybe when I was summoned to my house fire, informed two bodies were pulled from within, and discovered my mother was one of them. Maybe then.
But the rage threatening to crack through my outer shell feels foreign. I can’t fucking breathe or see straight or think.
The last sighting of Zara’s trackers was in New Orleans, which is utterly baffling. And then they went off. I can’t have the entire city searching for her, like I would traditionally do, because there’s the risk that some of the officials who are in my pocket are also in KORT’s. Instead, I’ve got my brothers covertly combing the city.
Bernard grabs me as soon as I exit the limo in the garage, towing me inside. An up-tempo swing song is piped through the sound system, and it makes me want to smash a cymbal over someone’s head. We take my private elevator and breeze straightto the penthouse office so we don’t disturb anyone or alert the masses that I’m here.
As soon as we’re inside, I drag my hand over my mouth, willing my lips to stop threatening to quiver. “Tell me you have intel. Or that you have a hunch. Tell me she didn’t fucking leave me. Tell me we can find her before KORT does. Tell me something that will keep me from blowing up the whole goddamn city.”
“You clearly haven’t slept in twenty-four hours, so have a seat before you collapse.” He shoves a glass of scotch in my hand, dipping his chin to it in a command to drink and probably to calm the fuck down. As I guzzle a hefty swill, he continues, “I’ve found some things. And I’m no less confused than you are about what the hell is going on, but I think the possibility of her betraying you is greater than you’d like it to be.”
He should’ve just fucking thrown a hatchet at me. That would’ve hurt less.
