Page 52 of Hidden Heir

“Don’t bring the child,” he says as he reaches the door.

My defenses immediately flare and I clutch her to my chest. “Her name is Tiffany. If this is a family dinner then she’s very much included.”

“We will be discussing things no child should hear,” Kreik remarks, turning back to me. “She’s only a sprout after all.”

If we were on friendly terms I’d assume he was making a flower joke. His words don’t earn a smile from me though, only a pulse of curiosity. Maybe he’s serious about us getting to know each other and I should give him the benefit of the doubt.

Kreik disappears into the house but leaves one of his guards stationed with us.

“I can watch her,” Selina says, nodding to Tiffany who relaxes a bit now that Kreik is gone.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” Selina leans forward and briefly tickles Tiff’s stomach, earning a few soft giggles. “We can have a picnic for dinner. How does that sound?”

Gettinginto a car with Kreik is oddly terrifying. Unsure of the dress code, I chose a simple green dress with a flared skirt from the closet of infinite clothes Leon provided for me. They were a gift because I’d turned up here with so little, and he’d explained that because he had no idea what I liked to wear, he provided everything from a catalog. There are more clothes in there than I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s like I have my own personal clothing store and I appreciate his generosity.

I settle into the seat, watching the world pass by through the blacked-out windows. The leather from the car seat sticks to the backs of my thighs so I’m very conscious about moving, considering Kreik sits across from me. The last thing I need is some awkward skin-on-leather fart sound to make me look ridiculous in front of him. My heart is going fast enough as it is.

He doesn’t speak. In fact, he barely even looks at me. I tell myself he’s just as nervous as I am, and that he feels guilty for how he treated me. He may be unsure of how to talk to me. Hopefully, Leon will ease the tension between us and we can have a nice meal together.

Fiddling with the hem of my dress, I force myself to say something.

“Where are we going to eat?”

“Spanish restaurant.”

“Is it near here?”

“No.”

“Oh. I’ve never had Spanish cuisine before.”

Kreik doesn’t reply.

“Of course, I don’t think I’ve eaten beyond the frozen section at the grocery store.” I chuckle but it fades quickly as Kreik still doesn’t respond. “Is Leon meeting us there?”

“No, we’re picking him up.”

Thank god. The sooner he’s here, the better.

Soon, the world outside grows unfamiliar. Finally, the car pulls to a stop and Kreik climbs out with his cane clutched in his hand. “Come,” he orders, then strides away before I have a chance to unbuckle my seatbelt.

I hurry out of the car and follow him across a large, empty parking lot. Salty air tickles my nose, and a chill wraps its long fingers around my bare skin arms. It was so warm earlier that I didn’t bring a jacket, but I regret it now as the sun disappears from the sky, hiding behind the gigantic warehouses we’re walking toward. I’d be concerned about why Kreik brought me here but as we approach one of the buildings, I spot a couple of guards I recognize.

We walk inside and my heart lifts, eager to see Leon just so I can look at a friendly face. While I can’t imagine what’s so important that Kreik wants us to discuss it over dinner, I hope it’ll be a good outcome. If Leon’s in a good mood, maybe I can approach him about my new flower store.

I follow Kreik down a long, barely lit corridor and then into a large, open area filled with shipping containers. There’s a different kind of chill in here, one that seeps across my skin, turning it into gooseflesh. I wrap my arms around myself tightly, very aware of the loud clacking of my heels as we walk.

“Sir.” A man breaks off from a group in front of us and hurries forward. “We weren’t expecting you today.”

“A fleeting visit,” Kreik replies. “I heard there was a problem with a shipment?”

“We were waiting on Leon,” the man says.

“I’m here now. Show me.” Kreik follows the man who hurries toward one of the largest shipping containers. I follow at a slower pace, letting my gaze wander around. There are more containers than I can count, some of them towering above us like buildings as we walk. An unfamiliar coppery scent carries on the air, and most of the people we pass don’t even look up. They’re all business with manifests and clipboards. One group is absolutely swamped handling multiple black trash bags and my curiosity rises.

What is this place?

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