Page 58 of The Fallen
“Good call if you have,” Blake says. “As Noah said, if Lewis is already here, he could be armed.”
“We've got seven,” Ivy answers. “Assuming they're still here and Daddy didn't sell them.”
Landon nods and takes me back into the house, swerving his way quickly around corridors. He shouts for Neve a few times, less anger in his voice this time, as his head turns into rooms we haven’t checked. No response, though, and that only fires us both up to get to the guns quicker.
We finally turn into a room filled with old hunting gear – red coats and riding boots - and I watch him grab a key from a box on the far side of the space then open up a locked cabinet.
“Keys should be separate,” I mutter.
He pulls out two shotguns, breaks them open and checks the barrels. “Derek cleans them and keeps them ready. No one else touches them.”
“Cartridges should be separate, too. Stupid.”
He glares and shoves a gun at me, followed by another one and the cartridges at the bottom of the cabinet. “Be careful with the attitude. You’re lucky I’m not shooting you, for Christ’s sake. Which might still fucking happen unless I can speak to her.”
I snarl to myself and reach for the cartridges. He can try.
“Give the technicalities a rest and just load them. You do know how, I assume,” he asks, grabbing out his phone.
That doesn't need answering.
A few minutes later, he's called through to his security team to fill them in, and we’re making our way back to the rest of them on the lawn, four shotguns locked and loaded. He hands one to Blake, and I try handing one over to Scott. Never seen a guy look so insulted in my life as he shakes his head.
“I wouldn’t have a bloody clue how to use it.”
The little ballerina snatches it out of my hand instead and snaps it closed. “Luckily, I do,” she says, pointing it away from us to look along the barrels.
Fair enough.
We split up and start moving, and I watch on as each set of two darts off in a different direction. Fine by me. I’m best alone anyway. And this gives me free rein to get on with the shit I like to do when I’m not following society’s rules. Not that I ever really do, but fuck if the thought of her missing and in trouble isn’t winding me up past sense at the moment.
I run around the main house and head for the woods behind the orangery, glancing over to the left to see Landon and Willow do the same towards the stables. If Lewis has got her, he’s not going there. No point. From what Landon said, they’re a near burnt-out ruin now. Lewis will want to make a show of this – make sure they all know how much they deserve because of their refusal to give him money. Might even be stark raving mad for all I know, and if that’s the case, he’s going for all-out pain rather than negotiation.
Chapter Twenty Two
NEVE
Landon’s dismissal was typical.
Of course, he’d banish us all so he can ‘deal’ with the situation, and considering everything else that’s going on, his priorities are way off. But that’s Landon’s way – he’s being just like Father was.
Was.
Tears prickle my eyes, and my throat closes tight with the thought, but I keep moving through the rooms downstairs until I make my way to the kitchen. Betty and Derek weren’t there. Just as well, considering the fire. So, I set about making myself a cup of tea, happy to have escaped Ivy’s glare. I pull open cupboards to find the necessities, but I could barely remember the last time I was in the room, let alone left to fend for myself.
That’s the Brodericks, though, right?
Privileged and wealthy. Whatever we want, we get served.
I pour the boiling water into the mug and look around the kitchen. It’s half the size of my whole apartment, fitted with everything you could possibly want in a kitchen that needs to cater for balls and banquets.
Anger burns through me at the thought of everything we are as a family - dysfunctional, entitled and spoilt. There’s an invisible badge of authority or importance because of some property and name that arguably, isn’t even ours. While I can pretend our privilege hasn’t influenced or swayed us in life, isn’t that just another falsity?
It drives me out of the back door through the boot room until I finally hit fresh air.
I clutch my mug of tea in my hands as if it's my lifesaver because, from here, I can either go towards the stables and witness the destruction from the fire up close, or I can go further into the grounds and visit the orangery.
My feet answer the call from my heart, and I walk on.
