Page 63 of Brutal Reign
Dinara finishes typing, shuts her laptop, and rises from her chair. As she heads for the door, she pauses, turning. “What if we find out she was working with Simon willingly? What then?”
I swipe a hand over the back of my neck. “Then I deal with it.”
“I’ll get the tablet prepped and start digging.” She lingers in the doorway like she has more to say.
“Use your words, Dinara,” I say, already turning my attention to the document in front of me.
“Is this some fucked-up Syndicate revenge plan or is this, like, for real with Hope?”
I raise my head slowly. Dinara’s not someone I usually discuss my personal life with, but she knows I was sent to kill Hope in London five years ago and didn’t. She’s good at reading between the lines. But I don’t like the idea that anyone, including her, would think this is only some calculated power move.
I drop the pen and rest my head in my hands. “I’d have married her if she was some florist in Idaho. She was always meant to be mine.”
Her eyes widen. “Okayyyy. I did not expect you to say that.”
“One more thing,” I say, holding up a hand. “Can you hack into Kin’s birth records? Figure out who the father is?”
She tilts her head. “You don’t think he’s Simon’s?”
“Hope says he’s not, and Simon was ready to abandon him on the island when we attacked. He wouldn’t if it was his kid.” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “I want to make sure he doesn’t become a problem in the future.”
What I don’t say is that the timing of Kin’s birth nags at me, and there’s something about him that feels familiar.
Hope says he’s not mine, but I can’t shake the possibility.
Not that it would change anything.
But I’m not a man who likes gray. I prefer black and white, and definitive knowing.
She’s quiet for a moment before nodding. “I’m on it.”
After Dinara leaves, I spend another hour looking at financial reports for our legitimate businesses and other shit I missed while I was away. Finally, I sit back and rub my eyes, the lack of sleep catching up with me.
The soft shuffle of footsteps in the hallway pulls me from my thoughts. I tense, reaching instinctively for the gun in my desk drawer, before my brain registers the lightness of those steps. God, my brain is fried.
I rise from my chair and move to the door. When I pull it open, I find Kin standing in the dim corridor, looking lost and impossibly small. His dinosaur—a blue stegosaurus with ridiculous spikes—is clutched under one arm, his other hand rubbing sleepily at his eyes.
“I can’t find Mama,” he says, his voice small and uncertain.
I freeze. What the hell am I supposed to do with a scared kid at the ass crack of dawn? I could wake Hope, have her deal with him, but she’s probably exhausted. Maybe Dinara’s still up.
When his lower lip quivers, something shifts in my chest. It’s a feeling that I don’t have a name for. “I’m sure she’s still sleeping.”
His blue eyes study me with a wariness that reminds me of Hope. “How do you know?”
I lower to his level, keeping my movements slow. From my back pocket, I pull out my phone and tap the screen a few times until the security feed for his room appears.
Hope’s still form is visible, curled beneath the covers of the larger bed on the far side of the room. I had it brought in last night, assuming she wouldn’t want to squeeze into Kin’s small twin.
I tilt the screen so he can see.
Poor kid was probably disoriented in his new room.
“She was very tired from our trip.” I keep my voice gentle. It’s the same tone I used with Kamilla when nightmares woke her. “We should let her rest.”
Kin stares up at me, and I stare down at him. I’m supposed to do something right now. I’m the fucking adult, but I really have no idea what that is. Except, maybe that’s not entirely true. I used to know what to do. Kamilla would wake up crying, panicked from some nightmare or stomachache, and I’d bring her tea and toast, and sit on the floor beside her bed until she felt better.
I clear my throat. “Are you hungry?”
