The Hellion (Wicked Wallflowers #1)(20)

Black nodded and glanced over her shoulder. Adair came forward, hand extended. “When you are done here, it will be returned to you.”

Triumph glittered in his green eyes, and if she were as ruthless as the late Diggory himself, she’d have plunged the tip of her dagger into Adair Thorne for that gloating victory. Tamping down a curse, she tossed it at his feet. Her palms went moist as he bent and retrieved her most cherished weapon. “If anything happens to that, I’ll end you, Adair Thorne.”

His eyes flashed fire. “Did you just threaten me?”

“I gave you a vow.” She glanced over at his brothers. “All of you.”

Bereft at the loss of her family and now her dagger, her heart wrenched viciously while all these strangers stared on. And before she did something like crumple before them, she stormed into her new rooms, slammed the door hard behind her, and turned the lock.

Cleopatra leaned against the wood panel and, borrowing support, slid herself down to the floor. She squeezed her eyes shut, and a single tear slipped free, rolling a path down her cheek.





Chapter 6

The house quiet since night descended, Adair climbed the stairs to the main living quarters in this, his new temporary home.

It had been one day.

One day had passed since Cleopatra Killoran had made herself at home in Ryker and Penelope’s home.

In that time, her belongings—after being searched and rid of additional hidden weapons—were delivered to her rooms. Meals had come and gone. Trays were delivered and taken away.

And there wasn’t a single thing Adair trusted about her actions.

Calum and Niall had since gone off to their own residences, ensuring their respective wives remained free from any harm a Killoran might inflict. However, Penelope, Ryker, and their babe resided under this roof with their enemy still. And not a single Black would ever know even a displaced hair on their head by the Killorans.

He reached the main landing and stopped alongside a crimson-clad servant. “Anything?” he asked from the corner of his mouth.

At first glance, one would only take the tall young man as a proper servant. “Nothin’, Mr. Thorne. Not even a hint of sound in ’er room.” When he spoke, however, Finch revealed the hardened tones of a London street tough. One who’d gone from guard inside the Hell and Sin to temporary servant.

Adair’s muscles went taut. “Someone’s had eyes on her?”

“Maid went in, went out with the dinner tray about an hour ago.”

Some of the tension left him. One could never be too careful where a Killoran was concerned.

“Adair!”

They looked toward Ryker’s wife, who came racing down the hall.

Finch immediately sprang to alert, but quickly took in her carefree smile and flushed cheeks as she skidded to a stop beside him.

“Hello, Mr. Finch.”

“Your Ladyship,” the footman greeted, and dropped a belated bow.

“You are dismissed for the evening.” The guard hesitated, and then beat a quick retreat. The ever-cheerful viscountess turned her focus to Adair. “If I might speak to you? There is a matter of import I’d discuss.”

With him? He eyed her warily, and with a nod at the other man, sent him back to the shadows he’d occupied at the end of the hall. Adair looked to Ryker’s wife. “Is everything all—”

“Fine, just fine,” she hurried to assure him. His sister-in-law looped her arm through his. “Walk with me for a bit.”

Adair hesitated, lingering his gaze on that suspicious doorway.

“I trust that given Cleopatra hasn’t left her rooms in a day now, our halls are quite safe,” she said wryly.

“I’m not afraid of the girl,” he said curtly.

Penelope winked at him. “I was jesting, Adair,” she said on an exaggerated whisper. “Come,” she urged, and it was spoken with the same persuasiveness that had managed to convert Ryker Black from ruthless, unbending gaming hell owner to one who sought his wife’s opinions and . . . took in Killorans.

He fell into step beside her as they walked away from Cleopatra’s chambers. “I’m worried about our guest,” she said when they’d stepped around the corner.

This is what she’d come to him about? “Our guest?” he echoed. Surely that isn’t how they’d refer to the termagant who’d brought him down not once, but twice, in the span of a few minutes—with all his siblings staring on as witnesses, no less.

“Cleopatra,” Penelope clarified. As though there was another person residing with them now.

“What has she done—”

“Nothing,” Penelope said on a beleaguered sigh. “You and your brothers are seeing monsters in even scared young women.”

He snorted. “Cleopatra Killoran was born with less fear than Lucifer him—oomph.” Adair rubbed his stomach, where he’d taken his sister-in-law’s sharp elbow.

“That young woman is afraid,” she insisted, glaring at him.

“She’s a Killoran,” he said in a bid to talk sense into her.

Penelope abruptly stopped, forcing him to halt beside her. Shesettled her hands on her hips. “Are you suggesting they’re incapable of being hurt simply because of their name?”

“Yes,” he said bluntly. Anyone who could take up with Diggory, destroyer of innocence and scourge of the streets, was incapable of it. “That is precisely what I’m saying.”