Page 23 of Prodigal

“You can tell your girlfriend she has nothing to worry about.” He winked at her just as André appeared out of nowhere to stand behind his sister and glower at Gideon. “We can have a redo on the movie, but I don’t know when I’ll be back, so maybe in a day or so?” He took a deep breath, holding André’s gaze. “Unfortunately, I’ll have to say no visitors for now, but wecan revisit that at a later date,” he said quickly when Juliette’s expression fell. “How’s that?”

She nodded, clearly disappointed. “Okay. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Juliette.” He got a small smile from her as she wheeled herself away. Her brother didn’t move though. He waited until his sister was out of sight before speaking.

“Why can’t she have her friend over? Are we hostages?”

Something about him antagonized Gideon, always putting him on the defensive. “Do you think you’re a hostage, André?”

“If we can’t leave and people can’t visit us? Yes.”

“Hmm.” Gideon moved closer to him. It was like he couldn’t help it. He was being pulled closer by the anger and distrust in André’s eyes. “There are people out there who clearly want to hurt you and your sister,” he murmured when he got close enough to smell André’s subtle cologne. To feel the heat emanating from his skin. “You want to lead them straight here?”

André’s lips parted, but he didn’t speak for a few moments, as if he were rethinking what to say. Gideon found himself staring at those lips, his entire body tense as he waited for them to move. Wondering about their taste and texture. His belly tightened. So did the area much lower.

Fuck.

“What do you know about who’s after us?” André asked finally.

Gideon’s gaze jumped to the other man’s only to find André focused on his mouth. Well, shit. It took a while for Gideon to make his throat work. “I’m on my way to find out now.” He turned away, suddenly breathless. “Don’t wait up.”

“Wait.”

And he did. With his back to André, he waited.

“The girl, your…friend from earlier.”

The significant pause before André finished his question made Gideon turn back to him. “Her name is Ree. A childhood friend.” Although, why he was explaining anything, he couldn’t really say.

“Right.” Didn’t sound as if André appreciated or believed the explanation. “Is she okay?”

“Her father died.”

“Shit. I-I’m sorry.”

Gideon shrugged as he turned around. “Don’t be. I killed him.” He didn’t stick around to see André’s reaction.

8

Honestly,it didn’t faze Gideon much to be listening to two members of The Council plot his death as he sat inside an SUV parked just outside their secret meeting location.

“He cannot be allowed to come in and take over.”Prislaya Chopra sounded as if she really hated him, as if he’d offended her personally. The notion made Gideon swallow a laugh.

She’d hated his father just as much, if he recalled his father’s stories correctly.

“There’s nothing we can do right now,”Ennis Canto told her. His voice was low, steady, in direct opposition to the hatred that colored Prislaya’s words. Gideon had yet to see or hear Canto get riled up.“If we make a move at this time, we risk alienating some of our allies.”

“They should be here with us!”Prislaya hissed.“You and I can’t be the only ones who want that smug bastard to go back to wherever he’d been hiding for the past however many years. In a body bag.”

Gideon chuckled as he shifted in his seat. They’d been in the SUV for almost two hours, an hour earlier than the designated meeting time for the two council members casually discussinghis impending demise. His ass hurt and he was hungry. Plus, he wanted to get the fuck back to his place already.

To see André.That part he refused to acknowledge. He couldn’t possibly want to see André when he knew André didn’t want to see him. André hated him, maybe even more now since Gideon had confessed to killing Ree’s father before disappearing like a goddamn coward. He’d raced out of the penthouse without looking back. He didn’t want to see the fear and disgust in André’s eyes.

What did it matter?

He couldn’t answer that, but he also couldn’t help it that he’d spent damn near all the time on the jet staring at his phone, wanting to text André. Like a fucking weakling.

He cleared his throat, focusing on the voices blaring through the SUV’s speakers from the mic’d up drone—operated by one of the tech guys in the second SUV parked behind them—that hovered just outside the windows of the building across the street. It was a quaint little red and white church sitting on the corner of a quiet street in a tiny town just outside Washington.

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