Torn (A Wicked Saga, #2)(59)

There was nothing here.

Shows a totally different city.

I was going to have to get in front of Brighton and see whatever she was looking at to figure it out. Pivoting around, I hurried back up the side of the building, toward the front as my phone went off again. This time it was Ren. My stomach dropped, a mixture of excitement and unease. “Hey,” I answered.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“Um.” I glanced inside one of the broken-out windows and saw a flutter of wings. A pigeon. “Nowhere. Where are you?”

“At the apartment. It’s been taken care of.”

I wrapped my arm around myself, glancing up at the thick clouds as a shudder worked its way through me. That was extraordinarily quick. “Ren . . .”

“What?”

I swallowed hard as I looked around. There was some kind of industrial business across from the old power plant. There were a ton of white utility trucks, but no one was moving about. “We need to talk about what happened.”

He didn’t respond.

I lowered my chin as I worried the inside of my lip. I needed to go to Brighton’s, but I had to take care of this first. “I’ll meet you back over at your place, okay?”

There was another gap of silence and then he said, “I’ll be waiting.”

I hung up the phone and started walking again. I’d taken a handful of steps when I caught a sweet, minty scent that reminded me of Ren’s earlier kisses.

I turned and looked over my shoulder. I don’t know what I expected to see, but there was no one here, and nothing that could be responsible for the scent. Weird.

It took no time to get to Ren’s since the power plant was close to his place. I shifted from one foot to the next the entire ride up the elevator. He opened the door as soon as I knocked, appearing the same as when I’d left, tall and beautiful, and I wasn’t sure why I was looking for something different. Like he’d have the words “I killed someone for you” stamped across his forehead.

Ren stepped aside, and I walked in. The scent of coffee was strong in the air. My stomach turned. He’d snapped Henry’s neck, got rid of the body, and returned home to make coffee.

So cold.

I stared at him as he closed the door, and the unease in the pit of my stomach doubled. Turning away, I lifted the strap of my bag off my shoulders and placed it on the arm of the couch. I didn’t look at the spot on the floor where Henry had fallen.

Ren brushed past me, walking into the kitchen. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No.” I followed, keeping my arms at my sides. “What did you do with Henry?”

“You probably don’t want to know.” He picked up his cup of coffee and took a drink. “No one is going to find him, though.”

My gaze flitted to his and then I looked away, shaken by his blasé attitude. “Who are you?” I blurted out.

Ren slowly lowered the cup. “Excuse me?”

“You’re freaking me out a little. Okay, a lot,” I admitted, placing my hands on the kitchen island. “You straight-up murdered Henry and you’re acting like today is just any normal Wednesday.”

“I did not straight-up murder someone. He was going to hurt you. So will Kyle. I cannot allow that to happen.” He stepped back, crossing his arms. “I am protecting you.”

I stared at him. “I get that you were protecting me, but Henry didn’t even try anything. I wasn’t in immediate danger.”

“You would’ve been. You still are,” he reasoned. “And if you’re wondering if I will do the same to Kyle, the answer is yes.”

My mouth dropped open.

“Why are you so surprised? They will kill you, Ivy. Just because they haven’t tried anything yet doesn’t mean they won’t once they realize they can’t easily use you to trap the prince.”

He had a point, but it was the method in which he had carried it out. And it was more than that, too. This wasn’t like Ren. Not at all. Frustrated, I reached across the counter and picked up his coffee mug. “May I?”

“Have at it.” He gestured with one arm.

I took a drink and immediately recoiled at the bitter taste. “Whoa.” I placed the coffee cup down as I stuck out my tongue. “Holy crap, that is some strong, black coffee.”

“It’s the way I like it,” he stated.

My brows furrowed together. “No, it’s not.”

Ren cocked his head to the side.

“You like sugar in your coffee, like me. Actually, you usually put, like, six or more packets of sugar in your coffee. You don’t drink it black.”

His lips parted. “I like it both ways.”

“No one likes coffee both ways.” Okay, maybe someone out in the world enjoyed coffee both ways, but I’d never met one in real life.

He raised one shoulder. “It’s just coffee.”

It wasn’t just coffee. Something occurred to me then. He’d thrown away the beignets this morning, claiming they tasted bad. I was eating out of the same batch, and mine were fine. Once Ren had been introduced to beignets, he loved them like all people with good taste in fried pastries did. It’s like he’d developed a sudden allergy to sugar. And what he’d done to Henry? That wasn’t like Ren either. Not the Ren who enjoyed sugar in his coffee and on his pastries, but the Ren who viewed all human life as something precious.