The Hellion (Wicked Wallflowers #1)(85)

You don’t know if it was him . . . you’re going on nothing more than a report obtained by Ryker Black and his family. Such a detail would have blinded her to all logic before. No more. Although Adair’s brother had proven mistrustful of her and her kin at every turn, he’d still never revealed himself to be anything but honorable . . . and thorough. Whereas Cleopatra had blindly believed and trusted that her kin were incapable of true evil . . . that her family was good. She’d wrongly lectured Adair, and now she would be made a liar in the worst possible way.

She firmed her mouth and hurried from the servants’ quarters. Slinking about the Hell and Sin like the common street thief she’d once been, Cleopatra did a swift inventory of the rooms on the highest floor, then paused. Rubbing her mouth, she looked about. “Black’s office,” she whispered. Of course.

Springing into movement, Cleopatra found the servants’ stairways and descended to the next floor. But for some soot, the satin wallpaper was largely untouched. And though the acrid odor of smoke lingered in the air, the floor might as well have been otherwise unaffected. Still, all of it would need to be replaced. She pressed a hand against her mouth. So much senseless damage. So much loss.

Systematically, she went door by door, passing bedroom after bedroom after parlor, and then a library.

A library. Adair and his family kept a library for their family. Drawn to the room, Cleopatra moved deeper inside to where a walnut console table sat. Atop the marble surface rested a thick leather book. You have more pressing details to attend to than snooping inside Adair’s life here . . .

And yet . . .

Cleopatra opened the volume filled with rows upon neat rows of names and book titles. She skimmed page after page. “It is a library,” she whispered, once again staggered by the depth of the generosity in this family when her own had been so singularly focused on their own wealth and power.

Yes, the Devil’s Den had risen, and the Hell and Sin had begun a gradual fall, but how much more good they’d accomplished than Cleopatra’s family.

Numb, she set the book down.

Squaring her jaw, she set out to find Ryker Black’s office, winding her way through the building.

A muffled crash sounded from the path she’d just taken. A moment later, the pungent aroma of smoke filtered around her senses, holding her frozen, transporting her back to another fire. One that had ended lives and destroyed a home.

I’ll not let Adair lose another part of this club. Familial relationship be damned, she’d not let her brother destroy this hell or perpetuate a feud. Fighting back the fear that gripped her, she raced toward the noise and burning smell. Where is he . . . ? Where is he . . . ? Cleopatra skidded to a stop outside—the library. No.

With all the papers and pages, it was the perfect room to set ablaze if one wanted to destroy a home by fire. Cleopatra pushed the door open, and a wave of heat hit her, sucking the breath from her lungs. Crimson flames already licked at the edges of leather volumes, and hissing and popping embers were spreading quickly along the shelving.

What have you done?

Coughing, Cleopatra frantically eyed the beloved space. There was no way she could stop this. She waved her hand, warding off the thick smoke billowing about . . .

Another loud thump echoed behind her.

She looked back, and her heart crumpled to her toes as fire engulfed the room.

Heat scorching her skin, Cleopatra did a frantic sweep of the brilliant conflagration set.

Terror licking at the corners of her mind and spiraling through her, Cleopatra buried her face in her elbow. She squinted, struggling to see past the thick haze of smoke blanketing the room. Gasping for proper breath, she frantically searched around. Weren’t there any bloody windows in this place? Rushing back into the smoke-clogged hall, she did another sweep. Flames had already consumed the opposite end of the corridor. Fear mobilizing her, she rushed down the lone corridor not yet consumed.

A blast of cool, clean air slapped her face, and she sucked in great, heaving breaths full. Cleopatra struggled toward that blessed window, giving thanks. And her heart promptly fell.

The tiny sill was designed at best for a child pickpocket, and not much more. Hanging out the window, she peered up past the flames spilling from the window below, just as a small body hefted himself up onto the roof. “Stephen,” she cried hoarsely. Damn you. Damn you for doing this.

A moment later, a familiar head of tousled golden hair appeared. Her brother shook his head, befuddlement stamped on his child’s features . . . and then terror. “C-Cleopatra? Why . . . why . . . ?”

She closed her eyes.

I’m trapped . . .





Chapter 21

They’d come full circle.

It was another meeting between two embittered, long-fighting gangs whose history of hatred for one another went back to their tender years. For all intents and purposes, the tense silence hovering in the air may as well have been a re-creation of the meeting four weeks earlier—when Cleopatra had first entered his life.

And nothing had been the same since.

Nor do I want to go back to the bitter, angry person I’d been.

Cleopatra had changed him. Adair, who’d been wary of all, wanted her in his life, as his partner. He, who’d thought himself so very content with his purposeful existence.

He slid his gaze around Broderick Killoran’s office: pistols brandished and bodies tense, his family still remained as jaded as they’d always been. Blinded by their hatred and resentment, they would hold Cleopatra responsible for the crimes of her father.