Page 7 of Brutal Reign
“I’ll fight the Syndicate with everything I’ve got, but I can’t do that while I’m worrying about you. Do you understand, Hope? I need to know you’re safe.”
My shoulders sag, but I don't want to make any of this harder for him. “I’ll go,” I agree.
Relief washes over his features. “Listen to me carefully because we don’t have much time. There’s a black Land Rover parked behind the villa. The code is the year you were born. Everything you need to run is hidden under the front seat.” He swallows hard. “This isn’t easy for me to say, but as my only child you’re valuable to both my allies and enemies. The Syndicate will always see you as a threat and they will hunt you down. I’ve arranged papers under a new identity, but you’ll always need to be careful.”
The blood drains from my face trying to make sense of everything he’s saying.
“I’ve left you a two-hundred-million-dollar trust fund, but you can only access it in five years, when you turn twenty-five. I’m sorry,baobèi, but it’s too late to change that. Uncle Chen is the trustee and the only person who knows about this money. Find a way to contact him before your birthday and he’ll arrange everything. You need to be strong, Hope. Stronger than you’ve ever had to be.”
I nod, not trusting my voice. Then I launch myself into my father’s embrace, pressing my face against his chest and breathing in his familiar scent.
Seconds later, the door to his office opens, and my father’s second-in-command, Simon Lau, enters. My back stiffens. I just wanted one more moment with my father alone.
“Boss,” he says urgently. “We need to gather the guards and plan our counter-attack.”
“Have everyone meet us in the conference room. We’ll discuss it there.”
Simon’s eyes flick to me. “What about her?”
“Don’t worry about my daughter. She’s taken care of,” my father replies curtly.
As soon as Simon is gone, Baba holds me at arm’s length, looking at my face like he’s trying to memorize it.
“I love you, Hope. Promise me you’ll never look back. Escape through the back passageways that lead to the tunnels. Go now.”
“Lily?” Chloe's voice yanks me back to the present. “You completely zoned out there.”
“Sorry. I got lost in my thoughts.” I force a smile and flick the damp rag at her. “You could help clean, you know.”
“I could,” she agrees, hopping up to sit on the bar itself, “but I’d rather preserve my manicure.”
A laugh breaks free from my chest. That’s Chloe, hilariously blunt and cheeky.
She’s also the only thing keeping me sane most days. In a way, she’s my opposite, carefree and bold, and she doesn’t take anything too seriously. She came to London from Dublin a few years ago, studying at the local art college and working here to make ends meet, though barely, considering what we’re paid. She does clay sculptures and pottery on the side, living this very bohemian life that I envy because it’s so far from my reality. But her lightness is exactly what I need to remember how to breathe.
She thinks we’re kindred spirits, two girls from different backgrounds learning to make it in the big city on our own.
The story I told Chloe, and anyone that asks, is that I’m estranged from my wealthy family because I refused to study law like they wanted. Instead, I spent the last year “finding myself”while backpacking around Europe. Backpacking is a romantic spin on what I really did after I escaped from Switzerland with nothing but a fake passport and a stack of cash.
I spent months on buses traveling through small European towns and coastal villages where I could disappear. I kept moving—Prague, Barcelona, Nice—always looking over my shoulder, hoping in time the Syndicate would forget about me.
But eventually, the money ran thin, and it was time to settle somewhere. The fake passport my father arranged brought me back to England, where I decided to start a new life in this working-class part of London. It’s a world away from the fancy boarding schools I attended, which makes it an ideal place to lay low and avoid people from my old life.
My guard’s still up. I live like a ghost with no digital footprint or social media, nothing that could lead back to my true identity. But I’ve got a little flat, a job that pays cash, and I’m still breathing. That’s got to count for something.
My father was right. I've had to become stronger than I ever thought possible. A year ago, I was just another Cambridge student, pulling all-nighters, hitting the pubs, and snogging boys whose names I barely remembered.
I was studying history and literature, dreaming of writing a book about rebellious women who shaped our world. That life ended when I went into hiding with my father.
Now, I’m making just enough to survive and keeping my head down, waiting until I turn twenty-five and can reach out to Chen Wei. He was my father’s lawyer and oldest friend, someone I’ve known my whole life. Once he helps me get my inheritance, I’ll go somewhere far away. Maybe a quiet coastal town where I can write a book, or go back to school.
“Are you gonna tie that shirt up and show a little skin or what?” Chloe raises a brow and tugs at the hem of my shirt. “With the match on, tonight will be good for tips.”
I groan. She loves to tease me about playing up the whole flirty barmaid thing for better tips, but the last thing I need is more attention when I'm trying to stay invisible.
“If I had as much to show off as you do, I might consider it.” I pull a face. “And if Darren comes in...” I shudder.
She winces in sympathy. Darren is our creepy-as-fuck boss. I don’t appreciate his lingering looks or the “accidental” brushes behind the bar, but this is the only job I could find that didn’t ask for references and was willing to pay under the table.
