Scorch (Virtues & Lies Book 2)

by Alexandra Silva

  Everything buzzes around us in the silence as Christopher holds me tight. Pressing a chaste kiss behind my ear, he inhales deeply.

  “Forever will never be enough, Arabella.”

  Rolling us onto our sides, he slips out of me before turning me to face him. His arms wrap tightly around me so that I have to fight his hold to get a good look at his face.

  Christopher is so fucking handsome with his pouty lips and sharp, stubbled jaw. His eyes always suck me in with their intensity and warmth. There’s always so much love and affection in them that it’s staggering for a man as hard and imposing as he is. And the most miraculous part of it all is that every single ounce of it is mine.

  All that love. All that affection. They’re all mine. For me. And that is the most incredible thing of all.

  “Never enough, beautiful.” He smiles softly, and it’s the lopsided smile I love so much. The one that shows just how hard he’s having to work not to let all the feelings out at once.

  Silly man—it’s always been so obvious. From the moment he spoke to me. Always so sure of us.

  “I love you.”

  It’s never felt so good to say those words. My entire being is lit up by it. I’m so full that I might actually burst, and even so, everything inside is still and calm once more. Although I’m still sad and tired, I feel something other than our loss.

  I feel a love so deep that it’s woven into the fabric of the universe. A perfect love for a couple of broken people.

  Isn’t that a beautiful thing?

  “I love you more.” Caressing my face with the backs of his fingers and the pad of his thumb, he kisses the top of my head.

  “Always more.”

  “Always the most, morena.”

  Chapter 23

  Arabella

  Darkness greets me as I open my eyes. My body is sore, and all I can smell is our sweat and Christopher’s cologne. God, my head is so tender, and my eyes feel like I’ve gone a couple of rounds with Anthony Joshua.

  My chest squeezes as I stretch, and the ache shoots through my body. It’s proof that last night happened. Proof that it wasn’t a dream, but as I search the bed, my heart winces and panic has me sitting up far quicker than my body can handle.

  “Christopher?” I have no idea why I whisper his name, but it’s dark and cold. It feels like the middle of the night, even though the crack of light from beneath the bathroom door says otherwise. “Christopher!”

  Shuffling off the bed, I wrap the duvet around me. I’m about to go find him when the knock on the bedroom door startles me. And it takes me a moment to calm and logic to filter through my thoughts in order for me to realise that if it was someone wanting to hurt me, they wouldn’t have knocked.

  At the second, louder knock, my heart is calmer, and I can manage a coherent “Yes.”

  I pull the duvet tighter around me as the door opens, the light from the other room flooding the bedroom.

  “Mrs. Sinclair…” Murphy’s eyes flit down to the floor like I’m standing naked or barely covered. “Your husband is trying to call you.”

  “Oh.” I’m taken aback by his use of my marital name. I don’t know why. “Ryan, you don’t have to call me Mrs. Sinclair anymore. I’m here.”

  “The orders are the same.”

  Of course they are.

  “Thank you,” I say, turning back to the bed.

  “Your phone.”

  He doesn’t enter the room. Extending the phone, he waits for me to take it from him, where he stands. When I do, he excuses himself and closes the door softly.

  I debate ignoring the call that comes through almost instantly, but I can’t. I thought we’d wake up to each other. After last night…

  “Belles?” Christopher’s muted voice comes from the device in my hand.

  Holding it up to my ear, I take a deep breath before I reply. “Christopher.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  I shake off the unease in my chest as I drop the duvet back on the bed and head to the bathroom. I’m fully prepared for the chaos we left behind last night. However, when I go in, it’s all cleaned up. The basin is still cracked, the mirror is gone, but apart from that it’s all clean.

  “Why are you quiet?”

  “I just…the bathroom…”

  “Oh, ummm…I had someone come clean it up after you fell asleep.”

  I don’t know what bothers me more—the fact that he allowed people to potter through our room when I was asleep, that I didn’t notice it at all, or that he’s made it sound like he hasn’t slept.

  “I didn’t want you waking up to all that shit.”

  Turning the shower on before I sit on the toilet, I wait to see if he’ll carry on. But he’s quiet, and my chest hurts with the silence between us. It wasn’t like this last night…this morning?

  “I had to come into work.” His voice has that tone that suggests he’s not saying everything. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “I wish you had. I …”

  “Belles, I need you to tell me something.”

  “Anything.” The word blurts out of my mouth before I can stop it. I know I’m fucked with his sharp intake of breath.

  Standing, I pace from one end of the large bathroom to the other as I wait for him to ask me whatever it is that’s bothering him. I have a fair idea of what’s coming, but I don’t understand why he’s taking so long to come out with it.

  The longer I wait, the tighter my chest becomes. My stomach turns and twists with my building anxiety.

  With the steam from the shower, the air is becoming too thick and impossible to breathe.

  “What do you want to know?” I ask, opening the door to the bedroom, and as I’m about to head back towards the running shower, my eyes catch on the bedroom door.

  It’s partly opened when I watched Murphy close it. Although I know I shouldn’t, I start for it.

  “What did they say to you?”

  “Who?” I try to sound as normal as possible. Managing to keep my voice steady, I breathe as easy as I can.

  “What did they say to make you leave me?”

  My steps falter, my ribs constricting my lungs and heart. The crux of his question is that it doesn’t matter what I say, he’ll hurt. And I don’t have it in me to cut him any deeper.

  If that’s even possible.

  “I need to know.”

  “Why?” The lilt of my voice at the end is a dead giveaway that I’m anxious over what to say.

  “Because,” he answers dryly. “I need to know what needs to be done.”

  Peeking through the crack in the door, I search the sitting area.

  My heart hammers the longer I look without finding anything.

  “Belles!” Flinching at the irate edge of his voice, my gaze meets another.

  Shit.

  Angry blue eyes meet mine, and I can’t hide.

  “I need to go.”

  “What? No!”

  “Christo—”

  “You don’t leave that fucking hotel.”

  “I-I have to go.”

  “Arabella, I swear if you leave…”

  Opening the door, I step out. I’m shivering just from the look he’s giving me.

  “Arabella!”

  Taking a deep breath, I try to slow my pounding heart and to swallow down the lump in my throat before I say anything else.

  “I have to go, cariño. I’ll see you when you get back. Okay?”

  Christopher doesn’t miss a beat though. “What’s going on?”

  “I love you.”

  “Belles? Arabella!”

  Ending the call without replying, I stand as tall as I can manage. After last night, I knew this was coming. I just didn’t realise it would be this soon.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “What do you think?”

  Fuck.

  Chapter 24

  Christopher

  Something’s wrong. That’s all that goes through
my head as I look at my phone one last time to make sure that she did put the phone down on me.

  “Well? What did she say?” Leo stops and looks at me from where he’s sat at his desk. “There has to be something more than what they said last night. It doesn’t make sense for her to go after Tomasz without us.”

  “She put the fucking phone down on me.”

  “They’re all hiding something. There’s a key point we’re missing because she wasn’t in any fit condition to be making decisions when…” He swallows, eyes drifting back down to his desk. It takes him longer than usual to carry on, and in spite of the war going on inside my head with my logic and feelings and all the other shit, my heart hurts for him and for her.

  Taking a deep breath, he carries on with gravel coating his voice. “When I saw her at the hospital, she was not in any condition to be making decisions. She was hurting and breaking. I know Arabella and she wouldn’t walk away unless she was forced, not when she was that vulnerable.”

  “That was before all this happened. We’ve all changed, Leo. This shit…it’s corrupted all of us. We’re not the same people—you said so yourself.”

  “Not corrupted, Christopher. We’ve evolved. Bigger, badder, and better, remember?”

  Monsters are monsters. There’s no pedigree between fiends. You are what you are. You accept it and survive, or you deny it and let it choke you to the bitter end.

  Good, evil, or anything else in between— “A monster is a monster.”

  “So what?” His shrug is genuine in its indifference. “Who the fuck cares?”

  Not me. Not him. Not a single one of us.

  Looking at my phone one more time, changing the conversation, I murmur, “She put the fucking phone down on me.”

  It works.

  Leo’s trying not to laugh; I can tell by the way he’s pressing his lips together, looking back down at the desk with shaking shoulders.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “I thought you said you made good?”

  “We did.” I look at my phone one more time and then redial her number. “She won’t let me look at her. Not properly. She’s hiding from me…in front of me. Before my very eyes, she won’t let me see her.”

  The line rings once, twice…three times before it goes to voicemail. The entire time the voice in my head keeps telling me something isn’t right.

  “You need to own that shit.”

  “Own that shit?”

  “Yeah. If you treat her like she’s breakable, you’re making her weak. Cassie taught me that. After the attack…” Pausing, he takes another deep breath. It doesn’t matter how much we try to move away from it, that night refuses to slink into the shadows of history. “I did all the things I swore I’d never do. I treated her with kid gloves when she needed more from me. I regret that. I regret making her weak when she is anything but. Don’t do that—in the end you’ll despise yourself.”

  I try Arabella’s phone one more time. It rings and rings until it goes to voicemail.

  “Something’s off.”

  His face morphs into a stony grimace that says he’s getting down to business.

  “Yeah, you think?” he spits dryly. “That guy last night…he wasn’t one of the Russians. His English was too good. He was too open.”

  “Open? Motherfucker said fuck all.” I have the busted knuckles to prove it.

  “No.” Standing, he rounds his desk before he sits on the edge of it with one of those looks on his face that tells me he’s got too much going on in his head. “I mean, he wasn’t worried or scared about being seen. He walked into Whitehall with a gun and went for you. Don’t you find it odd?”

  “They also walked into that underground party and tried to take Cassie.”

  “That was different. That guy used one of the old emergency tunnels to get in. He wasn’t brazen. That prick last night…”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  Leo’s smart, perceptive, but he doesn’t have the best track record at seeing what’s right in front of his eyes. But then neither do I, apparently.

  “What Fleur said to me at the hospital. I know you all think it was coincidence. I know it’s a common saying, but for her to bring it up then?”

  “Charles Winterbourne is too much of a people-pleasing pussy to do anything that stupid.”

  “I don’t trust him,” he says, standing as he grabs his suit jacket from the back of his desk chair. “And you can’t say he’s a pussy when he’s Foreign Secretary. He had to get there somehow.”

  True, but I’ve known him all my life. He and our fathers grew up together. And besides— “If you’re right, that would make him a mole. You know what happens to the cunts?”

  His nod is unconvinced.

  “Don’t you think that it’s all a big motherfucking coincidence? My grandfather, Fleur mentioning that saying, Charles nominating the Russian…and then last night after you dragged Arabella to the dinner…”

  Gathering his wallet, phone, and pack of smokes from his desk, he distributes them through his pockets.

  “You think we’ve been breached?”

  “No. I think we’ve been turned out.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying we’re the only ones getting fired at.”

  “No one knows about us unless they’re one of us. The illusion of democracy has to be maintained, and you can’t do that if people know.”

  “This isn’t about the Order, Christopher. It’s us. Why else are they pushing us aside?”

  I shrug.

  “Come on, man! Think about it,” he says, checking the time on his Breguet masterpiece. “We don’t follow the rules.”

  “Leo…”

  “We don’t keep the peace like they do.”

  “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “It makes perfect sense. They get rid of us and they can replace us.”

  You’re not irreplaceable. Charles’ words resound in my head.

  “Dad and Benedict would neve—”

  “They don’t have a choice if we break the rules. If we keep pushing…”

  If he’s right, we’re beyond fucked.

  Dialling Arabella one more time, I wait for her to pick up, but it goes to voicemail again. Unease grows deep in my gut, and I’m about to tell him I have to go when he does up his suit jacket and heads for the door.

  “So what? We just sit back and take all the shit?”

  “Fuck no. We just have to find the reason why they want to replace us. And I am certain it has everything to do with my grandfather.”

  “We need to find him.” I follow him out of his office.

  “That’s just it, he’s disappeared. Gone. I know people were saying he’s laying low until the whole Fairfax Capital shit blows over. But the firm is running again; no one cares about what happened anymore.”

  “Is Fred still looking?” It’s a stupid question, but with so much going on…

  “Freddie can’t find anything on him or the bloke from last night. That’s another red flag. The guy is a ghost. Secret Service kind of ghost…Casper is certain. Not to mention, he had no tattoos, no noticeable scars or anything that could distinguish him. Nobody has laid a claim on him, and all of a sudden they blame the fire on an undetermined terror attack?”

  “It’s all well and good that you see all of this, but without evidence, it’s a conspiracy theory. We don’t work like that.”

  “Something isn’t right, Christopher,” he grits as we walk down to the lifts. Nodding at some of the employees at their desks, he adds, “I tried to ask Wayne if he’d heard anything down the grapevine, but since he’s been put primarily on Cassie duty, he’s out of the loop. Since when does your dad keep him at arm’s length?”

  “Wayne might be family, but he’s not on the inside. He’s security.”

  I don’t miss the miss the way my statement lands—his annoyance is palpable.

  “Something went down at the hospital after the attack. Francis knew about
my dad and grandad. What if he knows something else and he’s not telling us?”

  The ride down to the lobby from the twenty-second floor is quiet as I try to make sense of what he’s saying in my head. There’s so much going on right now on top of my worry that Arabella is about to do another runner on me.

  “What did he tell you after he dismissed the rest of us?”

  “He and Benedict weren’t exactly forthcoming. They gave me another lecture on keeping my head down and focussing on the promotion.” I don’t need to tell him about my clash with Charles. He’ll use that to bolster his suspicions. And I need cold, hard proof. “They’re pushing for silk in the next couple of years.”

  “Queen’s Counsel by thirty? They’re not playing around. Is that what you want?”

  “Did you want to start up your own fund during political and economic crisis?” I ask as we exit the lift. The lobby is empty and quiet. The security guard pacing up and down behind the turnstiles stops when he hears us and returns to his post behind the reception desk.

  “I’d never thought about it before Francis and Benedict suggested it. But it’s worked out, and in a way it’s better. I don’t have to worry about carrying anyone, about letting anyone down. It’s just me and my name. But Queen’s Counsel isn’t like running a hedge fund.”

  “The caseload is lighter, but the cases are bigger, longer, higher profile. Perfect for getting my name out there in a more serious and appealing way. That’s what they want. To build something other than just a privileged facet. Less parties and more politics. They’ve got it all figured out.”

  Stopping in his tracks, he checks his watch again before he says, “None of that makes sense with what they did with Arabella. It makes no sense that we’re being kept in the dark.”

  “They told me to trust them.”

  He laughs caustically. “Really? Because it’s starting to feel like we’re on our own, and that’s not how this works.”

  “We’re being herded.”

  “You think they’re herding us? Fuck, Christopher, we’re being picked apart. That night…”