Page 110 of Love Bleeds Red
His expression shifts, and his eyes almost darken. I can tell he wasn’t expecting my question, and I’m glad I struck a nerve.
“Time is a finite resource, Leon. And mine is running shorter than I’d prefer.”
I let his words linger in the air, while I read his body language. This is why he’s paler than normal. Thinner. Like he’s aged years in the span of months.
“You’re sick.”
“Dying,” he says. “Six months left. Maybe eight, if I’m fortunate. Pancreatic cancer. Quite ironic, considering it’s one of the most vicious ways to go.” He clears his throat and adjusts his voice so he’s all business again. “Which is why I’ve been working to ensure my legacy continues. The charity, my work with The Brotherhood… I need someone overseeing that brute, Orlov. I’ve known for years that he’s a live wire.”
“And you think I’m that person?” I point to my chest. “If I didn’t want in years ago, then why the hell would I want in now? You’ve kidnapped and tortured the people I love. I want no part in your sick empire.”
Alfred gestures vaguely around the estate. “All of this could be yours—the properties, the offshore accounts, the network of contacts across three continents. Senators, judges, policecommissioners, customs officials… they’d all answer to you. You’re making a mistake if you throw this offer away. I’ve watched you, I know you have the stomach for this. You’re more like me than you think, son.”
“I’m nothing like you,” I spit.
“Well let’s have a test then? What if I told you, you could only save one of them… Bailey, or your lovely mum. Difficult choice, I know. What would you do?”
I pull out my gun and aim it at his head. “How about I kill you and walk out of here with both of them?”
He throws his head back and laughs. “I was right about you having the stomach for violence.”
“This isn’t a game. I’ll fucking kill you right here. Where is she?”
“Oh, I know you’d kill me, which is why I made it so you need me to get to her. Reconsider my offer, and I’ll make sure she remains unharmed.”
It’s times like these that I wish I had Jasper’s smooth talking skills, or Damon’s ability to get out of situations. I can see that Alfred’s losing his patience, and now, knowing he has such little time left on this earth, legacy or not, I have no idea what he’ll do.
So I do the only thing I can. Lie through my teeth.
“You’re right,” I say, forcing my voice to stay level. “I do have the stomach for violence. And I’m starting to see what you mean about making hard choices.”
Alfred’s expression shifts, interest flickering in his eyes. “Go on.”
I glance at Bailey, hoping she’ll understand what I’m doing. I can’t hurt her. “All these months searching for her, I’ve done things I never thought I’d do. Hurt people. Destroyed lives. Broken laws.” I pause, letting that sink in. “Maybe I am more like you than I wanted to admit.”
Bailey’s eyes go wide but she stays quiet, observing every detail.
“I knew it,” Alfred says. “I could see it in you as a child. That spark of something special.”
“But I need to know she’s safe first,” I continue, lowering my weapon. “Before I agree to anything. I need to see my mother, make sure she’s unharmed.”
Alfred studies my face, searching for some sign of deception. I force myself to meet his gaze steadily, channeling every ounce of acting ability I’ve ever possessed. Bailey’s grip on my back lowers, until she’s holding the loop of my jeans.
“Very well,” he says finally. “I suppose a good faith gesture is in order. Follow me.”
Once we’re behind Alfred, Bailey takes my hand and squeezes once, a silent indication telling me she’s here, she understands what I’m doing.
But as we follow Alfred deeper into the estate, toward whatever fresh slice of hell he’s prepared, I can’t stop thinking that we’re prey walking right into his web.
And this time, there might not be a way out.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
BAILEY
Every stepdeeper into the house has my body screaming to run. These corridors are new to me, but still, familiar smells linger in the air. Sir’s expensive cologne mixed with a sterile, clean scent that stings my nostrils. I’ve never quite understood the power of smell to recall memory until recently. It’s visceral and automatic, bringing those thoughts to the front of my mind even when I try my hardest to push them down.
I need to keep moving, one step in front of the other. I need to be strong—for Leon. For his mom.
