Page 136 of Severed Rivalry
Fitz clenches his jaw and pounds a fist into his open palm.
Despite the energy zapping around the cabin, I let them in on what they need to know. “This happens to girls between their fourteenth and fifteenth birthdays on the night of a full moon.”
“But Renée—” Ayla starts.
I nod, holding her eyes.
The clicking of computer keys leads to Liam dropping his head back to stare at the ceiling. “Tonight’s a full moon.”
“Won’t. Fucking. Happen.” Fitz offers.
“The other little girl, Emma, isn’t at risk. Nor are Rosie or Sariah. We save Renée first.”
“If they touch one hair on her head…” Ayla never finishes the sentence because we know it’s no idle threat.
“Princess, you’re staying on this plane,” Christian says quietly.
“The fuck I am.”
“You will not put yourself in danger. Not an option.”
“Again,” she pauses for dramatic effect as her eyes slice to slits. “No fucking way am I staying on this plane when my sister-to-be and my niece are in danger. I want the leader. I want a woman to take him out.”
“Love the spirit, Ayla-girl, but I’m with Christian on this.” Liam side-eyes her.
“The two of you can discuss amongst yourselves and thinkand want whatever makes you feel good, but neither of you will control me.” She looks to me for backup.
“Don’t hate me.”
“Cian,” she exclaims. “How could you? You of all people…”
“None of us can control you, sis.” I look around the room to the men who have protected her in the last year, wanting her wellbeing above all else, and drop my voice as I continue, “But we would all be safer if we weren’t worried about you. If something happened to you, we would all leave our posts.”
She looks from face to face getting the love and respect she’s earned, but with resolve blended in.
“I would,” Fitz says.
“Same,” Ren adds.
“No question.” Liam’s quiet voice is steely.
“Princess.” Christian’s single word carries weight.
“Please don’t make me choose between you and Rosie if it comes down to that. Please don’t rob me of seconds when it comes to Renée’s safety or—” I clear my throat. “Health.”
My sister leans back, threading her arms over her chest. Her crossed knee bounces as she stares each man down. One by one, her resolve weakens until her gaze hits mine. “Fine,” she whispers. “You bring them back to us and I’ll get over it. You fuck up and?—”
“I won’t fuck up.”
“Tracker’s up,” Liam offers.
His eyes dance with a malevolence I rarely see. In this moment, I cheer its arrival. I need this Liam at my side. I need the cold, calculated, give-no-fucks man who plays by his own rules.
I lean forward, waiting with bated breath for his next word. They don’t come. He types, he scrolls, he watches, but he doesn’t speak.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Angel: {dropped pin}
