Page 122 of Thorns of Deceit
FORTY-SIX
RAVEN
Amorning fog clung to the docks, curling around the ankles of the men loading crates, the quiet lapping of water against hulls underscoring the tension in the air.
My mother stood motionless beside me, her gaze vacant and her coat flapping in the frigid Glasgow wind. She looked like a shell of a person, completely hollow and broken.
But she was breathing. She was alive.
Aiden’s hand pressed gently to the small of my back, steadying me.
“She’ll heal,” he said, voice low. “I’ve arranged for the best care. Dr. Tristan Bennetti should be waiting for us when we get back to the yacht.”
Across from us, my newly discovered aunt clasped my hands, her eyes glassy but strong.
“We’ll see each other again,” she whispered before brushing a kiss against my cheek. Her husband stood like a solid, protective wall.
They’d severed ties with Duncan years ago, but not the organization. Aiden had insisted that keeping alliances with the right people mattered.
He trusted these people. And I trusted him.
He shook hands with my aunt’s husband, then with her, nodding. “Keep things contained here. Handle the fallout.”
“We will,” she assured him. “Until the new heir is ready.”
My stomach twisted at the word.Heir.
I glanced at my mother, but she either hadn’t heard or chose not to react. Ever since I regained consciousness in that cold dungeon, she hadn’t reacted to anything.
Not when I bathed her and changed her into clean clothes. Not when I cried seeing the state she was in. The angry purple and black bruises covered her body, marring her ivory skin. Except for her belly. That patch of skin remained untouched.
Duncan wanted to make sure he got his heir. And I… I wanted to see him killed over and over again.
“We have to go,” Aiden said, yanking me from my dark thoughts.
He moved, helping me into the sleek black boat, then reached for my mother, handling her with reverent care. She wordlessly stepped down into the cabin like a ghost drifting toward its grave.
Inside, the warmth hit. The walls gleamed with lacquered wood and polished brass while seats were lined with velvet. After the events of the last several hours, the luxury put me at ease.
I took a seat and held my mother close, and then Aiden wrapped himself around both of us.
The low rumble of the engines started up before it took us across the water.
No sooner had we set foot on Aiden’s superyacht than an indignant voice pierced the air like a dagger, and my mother flinched in my arms. Her first reaction to anything since we found her.
“Would someone like to explain why I was dragged away from a black-tie fundraiser?” a booming man’s voice barked as he stormed toward us, coat flaring behind him. “I’m not an on-call doctor, Aiden!”
“Nice to see you too,” Kyran grumbled, ignoring the man and heading for the cabin. They must have had similar encounters in the past.
“Welcome aboard, Doc,” Tyran added, following his brother.
The doctor’s Italian leather shoes squeaked on the wood floor, and Aiden shot him a glare. “You know the rule: no shoes on the boat, Tristan.”
Ah, this had to be Dr. Bennetti.
He looked to be in his mid-forties, judging by the sprinkling of gray at his temple.
“Fuck you, man. You dragged me onto this monstrosity, so you’ll put up with my shoes. Besides, your combat boots are still on.”
