by K L Clare
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. And as well as you know me, you should know that pushing that one fucking button will net you nothing more than my anger.” I was doing well to maintain an undemonstrative disposition, but if he pushed. . . . “I will aid you whenever you need me—not only because you mean something to this family, but because at times, we’ll each require the other’s competence.” Pouring myself a couple of fingers, I added, “But I will not work for the government.”
Martin nodded and cleared his throat. “The determination that accompanies your commitment defines you. Your mind can’t be broken, and your ability to compartmentalize is brilliant—the agency needs you. If I were your handler, we’d be bloody unstoppable. I wish your father were here to witness the man you’ve become. There was a time when he had questioned if you would ever harness your power and give it purpose.”
“I doubt my father and I could have both survived this period of my life.”
“You would have killed him,” he said, his words having no cloaked meaning. “You’re the better man, or you will be once you have children of your own.”
In my youth, I loved my father something fierce, and I worked hard to make him love me as well. But Martin was right. If my father had lived, if he’d had the chance to force his cruel mental tactics and physical punishments onto my younger brothers as he had with me—his training to cultivate natural-born warriors—I would have killed him.
I shot my whisky in an attempt to dull the emotional sting and quickly poured another. “My father does quite well these days lying up on the hill with his father. Let’s move on, shall we? Let’s discuss the fate of my children, since you so kindly brought them up.”
“Ellie’s children, you mean.”
“When have I ever spoken in a dodgy manner? Elle will never have children with anyone other than me. Therefore, we are discussing my children.”
“All right.” He filled our glasses again before meeting my eyes. “We’ll avoid direct references to your wife during our professional conversations as best we can.”
All I could manage was the slight drop of my chin. Christ, the idea that we even needed to have these exchanges was fucking me up quite good. I thought I had gone far enough to keep Elle safe and provide her with the peace she deserved. The goddamned Order had been eradicated and a mutually beneficial understanding reached with the Crown. Yet apprehension still gnawed at my gut.
With the personal matter settled, it was time to bring my brothers into the meeting. I grabbed my mobile and sent a quick text to Thomas: War room ten minutes with John.
“When my brothers arrive, we’ll discuss our suspicions about a potential reformation of the Order and how that affects my children. But first, if you would, I need you to dive through your recollections to a time when Simon Parker’s family might have been connected to mine.” I tossed the copy of Elle’s photo onto the table before him. “The commissioner believes you may know the meaning of this.”
He eyed me warily. “The commissioner? You’re working with the Met Police? That creates a considerable conflict for me. I can’t—”
“Not me. Elle. She is friends with his sister. My wife is conducting a separate investigation in which I am not involved. She doesn’t know that I’m aware.”
“She’s lying to you?”
“I’m allowing it.” My tone was curt, and the price he or anyone else would pay for interfering in my wife’s business was evident.
Back the fuck off or risk death.
Martin conceded with an indirect nod. He then reached for the photograph in front of him, but quickly drew back his hand. He studied the faces without touching it. “Oh, Christ.” He swallowed hard and his face paled.
“What is it? Tell me what you see,” I pressed.
“Your sister . . . I see your sister.”
14
I shoved back from the conference room table and sprung to my feet. “What the fuck are you talking about, Martin? The woman in that photo was Elle’s sister—Isobel James, the woman Simon Parker murdered.”
Martin shook his head, the photo now held tightly in his hand as he continued to stare at it. “No, son. The young woman in this photo was Richard’s daughter, your sister.”
What the—my sister?
“You’re mistaken. You know I’ve never had a sister.” I went over to his side of the table, snatched the picture from his hand, and waved it in front of his face. “Look closer, goddammit. What is the connection here between Ethan and Simon Parker?”
“Calm yourself, William. It seems there are two separate matters to be worked out. Shall we wait for your brothers or get started?”
Martin was tall and lean. His quiet demeanor commanded respect, and he had a brilliant mind. And because he was a smart man, he knew that I could easily take his life. Nevertheless, my superior physical stature and aggressive behavior did not intimidate him as it would an ordinary man.
As luck would have it, Thomas entered the room with John close on his heels. Thomas gave a slight nod, his eyes revealing apprehension. He and I were rather perceptive with regard to each other’s state of mind, and his visible concern indicated that he understood the type of situation he had walked in on.
“Brother,” he said, reminding me to check myself.
I reciprocated with a nod, then pictured Elle’s pretty smile. She was all that mattered. The muscles in my shoulders relaxed, and I gestured towards Martin’s seat. “Yes, sir. We’re ready to listen.”
My brothers and I sat opposite of our longtime family friend.
“First, let me offer my apologies. This news should have been passed on to you from your father,” Martin said, holding up the photo. “I can’t speak to the notion that there was a direct link between Ethan and Simon Parker. But I will follow up on that potential business connection you mentioned a while back and let you know if that client was somehow linked to the same Parker family.”
“Truth is,” he added, “I’m quite certain this young woman in the photo was your sister.”
“Our mother would never give up one of her children,” I said.
“Of course not, but your father would,” he countered. “The goddamned son-of-a-bitch promised me this would never come back to hurt Mary. I warned him that placing his illegitimate daughter with Edward James could become problematic given the connection between the two families. ‘Two birds, one stone,’ he’d told me.”
Thomas reached for the photo and stared at it. “How can you be so sure? She doesn’t look anything like our father. My brothers and I inherited his distinct features.”
Martin shrugged. “You’re men. She was a near perfect image of her mother. I knew her mother—she was an agency asset. We lost her to a mission six months after she delivered the baby . . . Isobel.”
Panic beat through me, and I lost my breath for a minute. One word was trapped on my tongue. I would not say it out loud. I would not taint her name.
Lissie.
“Tell me Ethan didn’t know . . . didn’t know he was fucking his own sister,” I said. “Tell me that my brother did not have a child with our half sister.”
One could have heard a pin drop in the seconds that followed when Elle stepped into the conference room. She immediately stilled, her lips pressed in a tight line. I recognized the look on her face. It was a fusion of heartbreak, anxiety, and determination—one of the many expressions in which each of her emotions was a striking contrast of the other.
She heard me.
“He did not . . .” Elle finally said. She put out a hand to catch herself on the doorframe.
I was on my feet in an instant, gathering her into my arms before she collapsed. “Look at me, Elle. Breath in . . . let it out. That’s good.”
She followed my breathing pattern, willing her anxiety to ease.
“I’m fine now. I promise. You can let me down,” she said after catching her breath.
“Are you sure? I can take you upstairs.”
“I’m s
ure.” She steadied on her feet and rested her palms against my chest. “She wasn’t my sister, and I’m still hurt by the deception, because I did love her. But now, at least there is some comfort in knowing that she was yours. She wasn’t just some random stranger our fathers plucked from the streets.”
“But think what this means.” I blundered through the words, doing my best to soften the blow for her. “Consider the implications . . . the future effect . . . for Lissie.”
She shook her head. “We are her parents now. We’ll protect her.”
“She will hate us when she learns the truth.”
“No, Will. I don’t believe that. Lissie will never learn to hate. And the fact that Isobel is your sister will be of no consequence—not in the way you’re assuming.” Then she nailed me hard with those eyes.
My clever wife was holding one more card in her hand than I had.
“Explain,” I ordered.
Her gaze burned into mine. “Isobel is not Lissie’s mother.”
15
Thomas slipped the photograph of Ethan, Isobel, and Simon Parker into his pocket before Elle noticed it on the table. “Let’s leave them to sort this out privately,” he said, directing John and Martin out of the war room. “We’ll settle the remainder of our business after lunch.”
My eyes were locked onto Elle’s. She should have known better—no space existed between us. We were one, and we’d already learned the hard way that there was no room for secrets.
She allowed her hands to drop from my chest and stepped backwards until she was against the wall. I placed my palms on that same wall, one on each side of her head, and confined her to my space while taking away hers, making it ours.
Her eyes were filled with enough fire and strength to counter my challenging stare. My wife parted her lips, and small breaths escaped through her mouth.
“You had an anxiety attack, and you beat it,” I said.
“I did. I can. Because I have you.”
“Yes. That’s right, baby.” Christ, my cock was hard, and I had to force my brain to focus on the matter at hand. What had she done to get that piece of information about Isobel? I dropped my head close to hers. “Elle. What did you do?”
“Nothing,” she whispered.
“You’re lying to me.” I brushed my lips along her cheek, stopping at the corner of her mouth, and pushed my erection into her stomach. That particular answer may not have been a lie, but I wanted to express what she already knew—that she would never get anything past me. Not for long, anyway.
She gasped, surprised that I was turned on rather than angry with her. Her face bloomed with the color of desire, and her breathing accelerated.
Fucking hell.
I wanted to thrust my tongue into her mouth and taste her. I inhaled through my nose and exhaled against her rosy skin. Her scent intoxicated me further.
“Tell me what you know.”
She did not. Instead, my beautiful little drug lifted onto her toes and pulled me to her lips, demanding that I take from her what she knew my body and soul craved.
And so I did. I drew her bottom lip between both of mine and sucked, the sweet taste sending vibrations through my blood.
“There was a second DNA test,” she said hoarsely.
I nodded and pulled her back to my mouth, pushing past her lips with my tongue this time, to take the bruising kind of kiss that I needed. I had to get it out of my system if we were to move on with the conversation.
Elle whimpered against my mouth. I lowered my hands to her waist, and we fell deeply into another kiss that was softer but equally impassioned. It was a plea on my part. I was begging her to keep us from losing our way.
She broke first, and we stared into each other. Then she touched my face in the way only she could. She’d heard me.
“You never opened the envelope with Lissie’s paternity results. I read the reports and realized the maternal sample Ethan had submitted didn’t match Isobel’s blood type. There’s nothing more to what I know than that.” Elle dragged her nails through the scruff on my jaw. “I have no idea who the biological mother is, but I intend to find out. And Will? Please don’t try to stop me,” she added.
“If you need my help—”
“I’ll let you know. You have enough on your plate. Leave this to me.”
I would let her have it. She needed a complete win, and it had to be one she achieved on her own. Thomas and I would stick to our plan. He would monitor her activity and come to me if my wife were in any perceived danger.
“My resources are yours, baby. You know that. But promise me you’ll be careful. Remember who we are. . . . We will always have enemies lying in wait.”
My consent put a smile on her face.
“Elle, I mean it. You must understand that your security is no longer only about the bloodline. The money, our titles . . . these are things I’m forced to factor in now. You’re a billionaire countess, and your capitalist husband is disliked quite a lot for his cutthroat tactics.”
She kissed me. Her lips were warm and luscious, and my cock was well aware.
“Billionaire countess sounds rather obnoxious.”
I grinned, shaking my head. “Of course you would take offense to the two least harmful words but to none of the rest. Knew that before it left my tongue.”
“Will,” she said close to my ear, her voice throaty. “There are so many ways to better use your tongue right now.” Her hand slid down the front of my trousers. The little witch ignored my erection and went straight for the bollocks. “Or I could use mine.”
“Now who’s the naughty one? Just you wait until I get you in my bed tonight—”
The war room door slid open with its typical rush of air, and my mother walked in.
Elle ducked beneath my arm and stepped away, blushing. My erection swiftly deflated.
My mother smiled at my wife. “I remember how beguiling it was to be in the throes of a brand-new marriage, dear.”
“It seems the Hastings men know how to captivate a girl,” Elle said as she pulled my mother’s hand into her own. “But right now, this one needs to spend time with you. We’ll be leaving for London in the morning.”
“But everyone is in the kitchen. I came to say we are waiting for the two of you to join us for lunch.”
Elle was setting me up to tell my mother what my father had done—how he had betrayed her with another woman. It would break her heart. Mum lived in her own world. One where her husband was a hero, and in her eyes, he was a wonderful father as well. He never told her that he treated her children severely down in the training center. She never visited. He had made it clear she was not welcome in the basement when he spent time with his sons.
He had never shared with her the worst pieces of himself.
I would never do that to Elle, would never allow her to live inside a fantasy in which she believed I was something other than the bad guy. I wanted Elle to love me through every stage of my evolution, from who I was to the better man I wanted to become now that I had her. I needed her to see into every dark corner of my soul and still love me . . . to heal my damaged pieces with her light. And she did.
I need her to stay for this conversation. She’s the strong one.
But she wasn’t staying. She wanted me to give my undivided attention to my mother.
Elle transferred my mother’s hand from hers to mine.
“Mum, we need to talk. Elle will send plates here for us.”
My mother looked up at me. “No. We must eat with the family. Shall we meet privately in the drawing room after the meal?” Her soft brown eyes held mine, and I could see denial and fear eclipsing the happiness they had portrayed over the past few days.
I shook my head. “I’d rather not wait. We’ll sit here and do this now.”
Wicked Games
From: Ellie
To: Isobel
We have more in common than you know, Isobel
Hastings. That should have been your name all along, but because your father hid the truth, it was never who you were. He gave you to my father when you were six months old, and you became someone else. Like me.
Our fathers chose for us to live our lives not knowing who we are. But they are gone now, and we are free. If only you were still here with me. You would be my sister-in-law, not my sister, and that is okay with me.
Did you know, Isobel? You knew who I was, but did you know who you were?
The more I learn about your father—Will’s father—the more I believe he had his own game. Richard Hastings was a chess player, and his children were his game pieces. His sons were the knights, and you were a pawn. He lost, though. The endgame is here, and he did not survive to see it.
I’m sure I’ll dream of Richard tonight. It’s inevitable. His motives weigh heavily on my mind today. I would much rather dream of my husband—the once knight who is now king.
You lied, and your lies will always hurt. You were lied to, and those lies are also a source of pain for me now. I don’t understand how to sort through it all yet, but know that I’m strong enough to handle it.
Dr. Clarke believes my anger has cooled, that moving forward, anger will come from a place other than grief. As difficult as it was, I found a way to open my heart to the anger, to embrace it, and it became the bridge that is slowly reconnecting my pieces.
None of this means the anxiety will leave me. I may never be free of the panic that slinks around my neck and steals the breath from my body. So I will continue to thank God for Will every day, because he believes in me, and that’s how I overcome the internal assaults.
I fear there is more to come from your photo, Isobel. I’m not convinced that learning who your parents were resolves the meaning behind it.