Page 101 of Sinful Palace

“So then you should take me to the White House,” I said, folding my arms. “I want to talk to my mother.”

Logan’s nostrils flared. “You’re so fucking stubborn.”

“I think I’ve earned the right to be a little stubborn considering you locked me up and tortured me for months over something that turned out to be someone else’s fault,” I said, narrowing my eyes.

It was the first time I’d brought up the elephant in the room; the fact that I was essentially innocent this whole time. Yes, I hit Chloe all those years ago, and yes, I tried to run without calling 911, but things weren’t what they seemed. I wasn’t a sociopath, and I didn’t mean for any of it to happen.

Logan exhaled heavily and held his hands up, palms facing me. “Fine. I’ll take you to see her,” he muttered. “But I’ll be listening to every word.”

“I know.”

He grabbed a tissue and leaned down to wipe the beads of sweat off his sleeping sister’s forehead. Then he looked back up at me. “I’ll get your security detail, and then we can go.”

An hour later, we pulled into a spot on West Executive Avenue. Before I could leave the car with Mal and Adam, Logan reached over and grabbed my thigh, squeezing hard. My body immediately flushed with heat in response. “Promise me you’ll be careful,” he murmured, moving his face close to mine.

I swallowed hard and nodded as his spicy cologne filled my nostrils. “I will.”

“If anything goes wrong, I’m coming straight in.”

“I know.”

When I arrived outside the Oval Office, my mom’s secretary greeted me with a pleasant smile. “Hi, Willow.”

“Hey, Lauren,” I said, returning her smile. “Is my mom here?”

“Yes, she is.” She glanced at her computer screen and frowned. “There’s no appointment scheduled for you, though.”

“I didn’t plan it. I just want to have a quick chat with her. Mother-daughter stuff.”

“Sorry, that won’t be possible. She’s on a call with the Australian Prime Minister right now.”

“I can wait.”

“You might be waiting a while,” she said, arching a perfectly-plucked brow.

I shrugged. “That’s okay. Just let her know I’m here when you can, please.”

“Fine.” She waved a hand to shoo me away from her desk. “Take a seat over there.”

There was a small waiting area on her right with a low coffee table and two tufted chaise seats made with pale blue and gold fabric. I sat down on one and stared up at the paintings hanging on the opposite wall. President Rutherford’s portrait had been added to the collection recently.

I stared at his face, wishing he could channel his spirit through the art and tell me the truth about everything. “Who killed you?” I murmured. I jerked my thumb toward the Oval Office doors. “Was it really her?”

“Willow?”

I jerked my head around to see Jamie Torrance staring at me from the hall. My cheeks instantly flooded with heat. I probably looked completely insane, sitting here muttering at paintings.

“Talking to the portraits?” Jamie went on, stepping over to the waiting area. He sat down next to me. “Don’t worry. We’ve all done it. One time I had a few too many whiskeys after a bad meeting and spent five minutes mocking President Kenworthy’s beard. Not exactly my proudest moment.”

I smiled. “To be fair, he looks like an eighteenth-century lumberjack in his portrait.”

Jamie chuckled. “He does. What are you up to, anyway?”

“I came to see my mom.”

“Ah. That’s nice,” he said, reaching over to pat my shoulder.

With a frown, I suddenly remembered a conversation I had with an Order initiate when we were ‘kidnapped’, hustled into vans, and taken to the secret society’s main ceremonial chamber. His name was Richard, and he was the one whose uncle had failed the final initiation test and later told him all about it.

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