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My brother glares down at his empty lowball glass as if it personally offended him. Then he rises from his stool to pace the kitchen.
I nearly jump out of my skin when his phone vibrates across the kitchen counter a moment later. And I don’t get a chance to look at who’s calling before he snatches it up.
“Yes?” he demands—definitely not the way he would answer if it were Natasha. Then he heaves a breath, his free hand rising to knead his brow. “No, I haven’t either. She’s not back yet.”
It must be Tatiana calling to check in. And from the sounds of it, she hasn’t heard from Natasha. Biting my lip, I fight back the tears that threaten and glance toward Lance for reassurance.
His deep-blue eyes are dark with concern, his brow pressed together in a fierce scowl. And he shakes his head. He’s got nothing—no clue how to make this situation better.
“Maybe I should go—” Killian starts, but he stops abruptly, and I can hear the vague tenor of Tatiana’s voice as she cuts him off. “Well, then, what do you suggest? If she’s in trouble, we can’t just sit here and do nothing!”
I tense, my heart breaking into a sprint at the word trouble.Does Tatiana know something?
“Fine. I’ll wait until sunrise. But after that, I’m going after her. You can help or not.”
Killian hangs up, and from the way he white-knuckles the phone I can tell he desperately wants to throw it. Instead, he slams it down on the counter with unnecessary force. And I cringe as I hope it can take the abuse.
Sighing heavily, he slumps back into his chair and scrubs his face with his hands.
“Tatiana hasn’t heard from her either, then?” I venture, gently trying to prod information from him.
“No, and she’s confident Natasha would call by now if she were able. Which means something definitely went wrong. But we have no way of knowing what.” He lets his hands fall from his face, and his eyes are suddenly bloodshot with pent-up emotion. “I should have insisted you go with her,” he says, looking at Lance.
“Maybe,” Lance agrees curtly, his expression carefully guarded.
And my heart twists because I know how much he wanted to go—how willingly he would put himself in harm’s way to help.
“But Tatiana doesn’t think you should go after her now?” I prod again, trying to redirect my brother into a more productive line of thought.
“No. She thinks if Natasha is trapped inside and hiding, we don’t want to expose her by jumping the gun.”
I nod. It makes sense.
“She’s right. Of course. The worst thing I could do is accidentally reveal her presence. But I just can’t stop thinking what if he found her? What if he overpowered her like I could? I’ve underestimated Lucian before, and I’ll never forgive myself if I do it again.” Killian’s fingers comb into his hair once more, and he tugs it like a tormented soul looking for relief through punishment.
“It’s not your fault, Killian,” I whisper.
“What does it matter whose fault it is if I lose her?” he demands.
And the tortured look he gives me now sends a shiver through my bones.
29
LANCE
Between Quinn and I, we’ve done our best to talk Killian off the ledge, but I can see him breaking down. Mentally, he’s holding on by a thread, and it rattles my foundations to see my foster brother—a man with unparalleled willpower and unshakable strength of nerve—so close to shattering.
He stopped talking nearly an hour ago, preferring to sit in sullen silence as he contemplates all the horrors his wife might be enduring at this very moment. And while I sit up with him, steadfast in my vigil, I’m glad we moved to the living room. Because Quinn was starting to look like she was asleep on her feet.
Now, she’s curled up on the small sofa, her head resting on the arm of the chair, where it fell off her knuckles when her body finally succumbed to sleep against her will.
I shift stiffly as I cast her a surreptitious glance, and Killian seems to stir from his reverie. His eyes land on Quinn, and for the first time since Tatiana called, I see his expression soften ever so slightly.
“I should carry her to bed,” he murmurs. “She’ll wake up with a sore neck if she sleeps like that.”
“I’ll take her,” I offer. “You should be ready and available for Natasha when she gets home.”
It’s an empty hope, and we both know it, but it’s all I can do to avoid the crushing devastation of the alternative. Killian nods, settling back onto the couch and clasping his fingers as he returns to his comatose state.