Page 94 of Forbidden Bond

“No, you don’t,” he said and stepped back. “You got it so right. All those years we…” His jaw moved, something was on his mind, and from his lack of eye contact, it wasn’t something he wanted to share. “Look at where we are, Sersh, and how we got here. All my life, everything I worked for…”

“I know,” she said and caught his hand. “I know how screwed up things are, and I’m sorry for my role in how we got here.”

He extricated his hold from hers. “We’re past the point of apologies. The game has changed, there are new rules now, for both of us.”

“They don’t have to be different. You can’t let yourself be—can’t let dad’s choices, my choices, dictate who you are.”

“Isn’t that what I’ve always done? What am I? In this fucked up mess, what the fuck am I?”

An identity crisis? Strat was right, her brother was riding these rapids. Any drastic choice made now may be irrevocable later. If he felt this way in six months, a year, fine, changes could be good, but not now, not in a hasty reaction to shock.

“You’re mad.” Staying calm was kind of condescending, but yelling wouldn’t accomplish anything. “Lach, please, talk to me. We can figure this out. I can help you figure it out.”

“Stay out of my life, Sersh,” he said and opened the door. “Go back to your huddle, but if I find out you told Imogen any of this, that you involved her…” He shook his head almost like he didn’t recognize her. “This isn’t a game.”

As he marched out, the words rattled in her skull. It wasn’t a game. Her impulsive, selfish actions endangered people she loved. Wasn’t that the same thought she’d had over and over? Why didn’t she do something about it? Instead of sitting around on her ass, she needed to grab control.

THIRTY

NOWHERE WAS EXEMPT from distress or rubberneckers. At work, people whispered. At Stag, everyone watched. Her apartment wasn’t her apartment. The loft echoed with trauma’s past. And the mansion… didn’t fit without her guy.

After insisting on dropping Strat off at the mansion for some respite and a checkup with the doctor, she and the rest of her team drove for hours. Not far. Just around the city, up one street, down another.

The sun set before she called a destination. Her grandfather’s house. Wasn’t home, it was practically foreign to her, so why was she drawn there?

Lupe.

Having lost the love of her life, it was a wonder that her grandfather’s housekeeper kept going. They’d been together seven years. On first talking to the woman, after her grandfather’s death, she’d pitied her. Not in a sad, pathetic way, but keeping their love a secret for so long seemed cruel. Her own relationship with Connel had just become public at that point. Like an idiot, she concealed the freedom of the revelation to spare Lupe’s feelings.

Maybe she’d got it all wrong.

Lupe and her grandfather kept their relationship a secret and everyone kept their lives, kept their alliances, played their roles, for seven years. Seconds into her selfishly announcing her relationship to Conn, lives and connections started to wither.

“It’s not a game,” she whispered, standing on the sidewalk gazing up at her grandfather’s house.

“You okay, Bluebell?”

“Security still here?”

“Our people.”

She nodded. “Good. I’m going inside.”

Stranger and Familiar stormed a path up the stairs to open the front door. No one hesitated to accommodate her.

Daly stayed close, which, as she went into the office, was reassuring. The couch, the desk, everything was in place. And in the nook by the fireplace was his chest. Her grandfather’s chest.

“What are we doing in here?” Daly asked.

Hock passed by to go to the opposite door, the one her father dragged her out when—no, she wasn’t going back there.

The chest. Crouching by it, she touched the lock and twisted to look up at her bodyguard.

“Can you open it?”

“Aye.” Hunkering with her, he retrieved his lockpick and got to work. A couple of seconds later, he opened the lid an inch. “Done.”

“I don’t know what’s in here.”

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