“This side?” Jeremy asks. “What’s he talking about?”
I share a look with the guys, but just because I doubt we need to be as hypervigilant about revealing what I am as we’ve been up until now, that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to go spreading the news around either. He’s proved to be an asset so far, but humans are greedy and easily bought. If someone were to trace us back to him, the more information he has that can be used against us, the more dangerous.
“You know those rich execs,” I wave off. “Everything outside of their fancy offices is practically a different world.”
He narrows his eyes, but doesn’t call me out on it. Turning back to Atlas, he asks, “Want me to keep digging? See if I can find anything before someone else does?”
With Lucien out of the room, Atlas turns to Dorian. Of all of us, he’s known Lucien the longest and has a better read on him. So really, he should be the one to make the call if nobody is going to grow the balls to go check with Luce.
“Do it,” he decides with a sharp nod of his head. “The only way we’re going to be able to keep our heads above water is if we know just how deep things go. The more information the better right now so we don’t blindly walk into a trap.”
Jeremy passes Atlas a burner phone without so much as a word. We’ve been keeping ours off since the explosion so less likely to be traced, but whatever Jeremy does, he’s accustomed to keeping a low profile.
Atlas claps his friend’s shoulder before pocketing the phone. “I owe you one for this.”
He snorts. “You owe me a hell of a lot more than a favor depending on what I find. I’ll only call if I have something worth sharing to keep the line secure, so don’t wait up.”
Lucien returns in the same clothes, hair still damp. It will make it easier to blend in this way, and as soon as we step outside, I use a bit of my glamour to darken my hair into a less dramatic shock of color. It’s not a foolproof plan, but might draw less eyes when we’re shopping so we don’t get shot in the middle of the street.
I nearly say any number of things, but everything that comes to mind sounds pathetic and scripted. Like the expected condolences everyone says at a funeral, the same flat words that lose their meaning the more you hear them. The truth of the matter is, thingsaren’tokay, and nothing I say will change that fact. I could say it doesn’t matter who he was as much as who he’s become, assure him we’re here no matter what happens, but what good would that do? It certainly won’t make him feel better or tell him anything he doesn’t already know.
Instead, I slip my hand in his, lacing our fingers together. Because sometimes that’s all anyone needs; to know they aren’t alone as their world falls apart around them, to have something constant to cling to. I might never know the right thing to say, as emotionally stunted as the man beside me, but if there’s one thing I excel at?
It’s surviving, and I’m not going anywhere.
Chapter 8
Lucien
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Imeant Lucien.
It plays on constant repeat, refusing to quiet down. Three simple words, yet they mean so much. Like my childhood wasn’t hard enough, now I have to wonder if the man that raised me was even my father. Did he rip me away from my family, and if so, why? And Maddox; I’m sure he was dropped off in the middle of the night, that much is true, but I’m now doubting the story I accepted as truth all of those years ago.
Why would someone ask a barely stable man to be a guardian for anyone? I get if someone was trying to hide a baby, but there had to be better options.
