Page 100 of Trapped Truth

LITHONIA - CHILDISH GAMBINO

Leaving Richards’s beloved therapy room, my usual blend of rage and annoyance hasn’t surfaced. In fact, I feel a little lighter. Like I’ve shed a sack of rocks and let it fall to the depths of the ocean below me so I can kick my way to the surface a little easier.

I’m not sure I’ll ever love talking to the guy, but I can appreciate an outlet that isn’t one of my teammates or somehow wrapped up in our case. Hearing Richards’s appreciation for my work with Gunnar doesn’t hurt either. Apparently, he was impressed by how I held my nerve and remained calm.

I allow myself a smug little smile while heading for the elevator that’ll take me to the gym. Blaine rode with me into HQ so Hyland could take Axel for his next checkup, leaving Warner to get some more rest. After recent revelations, Blaine seemed content to be left with a boxing bag and his bottomless rage while I spoke to the doc.

Sabre’s vast workout and training space hasn’t changed since I sparred down here with Warner, and he pinned me to the floor of the boxing ring. It feels like a lifetime ago. The hot memories tickle my mind as I slip in undetected, following the sound of aggressive grunting.

“Have you been here this whole time?” I say in greeting.

Viciously attacking a swinging leather bag, Blaine doesn’t miss a beat. “Yes.”

“I feel sorry for that punching bag.”

“You should pity its predecessor.”

Brows raising, I pan around to spot where a busted heap sits discarded, torn from its hook. “Damn. How’d you manage that?”

“It looked at me the wrong way.”

I’m not sure if he’s joking or not. From the stony set of his jaw and the icy look that’s crept over his face, I doubt he’s trying to be amusing. I suppose I should be glad it’s an inanimate object and not a person on the ground.

“Have you turned up any intel about Angela?” I dare to vocalise the question that’s been niggling at me.

Scar-laden fist cocked, it sails into the bag. Once. Twice. The third time sends the battered leather swinging at such a violent angle, it’s a miracle the chain doesn’t snap clean off from its place in the ceiling.

“Spoke to a couple of old timers still loyal to me.” Halting, Blaine snatches a rag from the floor to wipe his brow. “They recognised the rendered image. It’s her.”

Seismic shocks rattle through my skeleton.

“How is this even possible?”

“I don’t know.” He speaks through clenched teeth, his pitch dropping to a rumble that vibrates with suppressed rage. “From what I knew, she was sent packing over two decades ago then died. All my father wanted was an heir.”

“That’s a long time to survive in the cartel’s world.”

“But she managed it.” Blaine grimaces at whatever thought invades his mind. “Fuck, I can’t even think about what’s been done to her in all that time.”

“From what Gracie told me… she’s protected.” I try to sound comforting. “It sounds like your father treats her as a madam more than an asset. She cares for the other girls.”

“And that’s better somehow?”

“No, but it’s something. Maybe that’s how she survived.”

With the sweaty fabric discarded, Blaine resumes taking out his frustrations on the boxing bag. His knuckles are cracked and bleeding. He’s assaulting the thing like it’s personally responsible for withholding his mother all these years.

“I need to know if she fled Estonia with him.” The remark is made between breaths.

“I doubt he’d leave her behind if she’s that high value to him.”

“Then she could be here. Right now. In England.”

“It’s a possibility.”

Pangs of heartbreak race over my chest. I know what he’s thinking. The woman he’s fantasised about his entire life could easily be within reach. Only nothing about verifying that fact will be easy, let alone staging any attempt at a rescue.

I decide to risk moving closer, gliding a hand over his bunched shoulders. Somewhere in the flurry of anger, he’s removed his shirt. Gnarly burns and slashes tickle my finger pads. I’d do anything to repay the favour to his son of a bitch father sometime soon.