Page 37 of Hidden Heir

One phone call and I could have warned her that she was in danger, that she needed to get to someplace safe.

She’s dead because of me.

No, wait. She’sdeadbecause of Ant.

The arson at my shop should have been a big enough clue, but I was so caught up in my comfort here that it never crossed my mind that the Irish would actually cast a wider net to find me.

They didn’t just kill her. They clearly tortured her.

I pick up my phone from where it fell on the floor as I was puking, and with trembling hands, I turn it around. Hannah’s mutilated body is still on the screen, a fresh wave of agony cutting through my churning gut.

I’m guessing they tortured her both for fun and for information, but she wouldn’t have had anything to tell them. She didn’t know anything about Ant’s involvement with the Irish.

They killed her to get information about me and I will never be able to forgive myself.

I sob so hard that I begin to choke, the tears constantly streaming down my face while I huddle in the corner next to the toilet.

My god, what have I done?

I hear my bedroom door bang against the wall then the door to the bathroom flies wide open. Leon stands there panting. The moment he spots me, he leans down and grabs me by the shoulders, shaking me.

“Brooke! Brooke, what the fuck is going on?”

I can’t speak. I can’t breathe. All I can do is cry, unable to see anything but Hannah’s mutilated body, the horrible image now seared into my mind.

It’s exactly what I deserve.

When Leon doesn’t get an answer, he gathers me to his chest and curls around me, holding me while I sob. I don’t deserve such comfort but I don’t have the strength to push him away.

Hannah’s blood is on my hands.

“Drink this.”Leon passes me a steaming cup of tea, then walks away to stand near the window.

My phone sits on the table across from me, the screen now dark but it doesn’t matter—I can still see that picture of Hannah. The details are burned into my mind. Leon held me in the bathroom until I sobbed myself to exhaustion, unable to talk or explain anything. He stayed with me, showing me kindness I do not deserve.

“Drink,” he says from across the room.

Leon has turned and is watching me stare blankly at the steaming mug. His command is sharp but gentle, and I follow it by obediently taking a sip of the hot, sweet tea. It burns my raw throat, and I follow that sensation as the tea sweeps down my gullet and hits my raw stomach. Muscles contract, and I fear I’m about to be sick again, but the sensation passes.

Another sip and another wave of pain until my stomach becomes as numb as the rest of me. Once the cup is empty, I set it down and clutch at the blanket around my shoulders. A fresh wave of tears threatens to flood my eyes. I close them to try and prevent them from falling.

I fail.

“Brooke.” Leon is closer now, hovering nearby as he waits for answers. I don’t know how to talk to him. Telling him the truth could have him casting me out, and then nothing will prevent the Irish from doing to me what they did to Hannah.

I’d deserve it.

My thoughtlessness and desperation led to an innocent woman getting killed.

I can’t let that happen again. Not ever. The men that killed Hannah are unphased by suffering and brutality like that. So is Leon.

To the Irish, Hannah was nothing more than a tool, but to me she was my friend. A person.

How do I keep Tiffany safe from those monsters?

“Brooke,” Leon tries again. “Who is that woman to you? Why would someone send you a picture like that?”

I open my eyes and clasp my shaking hands together. Then I slowly look up at him. “Because I caused it.”

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