Page 14 of Darkest Before Dawn (His Perfect Darkness #2)

“Initiate turbo mode,” I tell Alfie, and the computer takes over the wheel. The car hits the ramp at high speeds and sails over the truck. Parachutes deploy, allowing the car to float over the median into the opposite lane of traffic.

“Call incoming. Unknown number,” Alfie tells me.

“Trace it,” I bark and start evasive maneuvers, dodging cars to drive the wrong way down the highway.

“Trace complete. Location, Club Empire.”

“Hamish, I’ve got to go. St. James is calling me. He has Inara.”

“May I ask what you’re about to do next?”

“I’m getting Inara back. Then I’ll deal with everything else.”

“You can’t fight everyone and keep her safe. You need us. You need me. And you need her consent.”

I want to shout him down, but he’s right. I curse.

“Language, sir,” Hamish clips, sounding just like he did when I was a surly sixteen-year-old. I automatically cringe.

A truck veers into my path, and I swerve around it. I’ve lost the cops, but it’s only a matter of time before one of them spots me again. I jerk the wheel, crossing five lanes of traffic to dart into a tunnel.

“I’ve recovered the most recent feed from the townhouse,” Hamish says. “Sending it over now.”

I end the call with him and switch to the line with St. James.

“Where is she?” I ask.

“Hello, Rex. It’s been a while.” He’s joking; it’s been only a few minutes. I can hear his smirk over the line.

“Cut the small talk, Sebastian. You have something of mine. Give her back.”

“Is the lovely detective a toy we’re fighting over?”

“She’s mine,” I snarl in response, but Inara’s accusations echo in my head.

I’m just a possession to you. A trophy you can put on a shelf.

Maybe it’s the after-effects of adrenaline, but her words resonate with me now as they didn’t before.

St. James continues, “The news is all abuzz about a high-speed car chase in the city. And it seems all the traffic lights on roads running east to west turned red. The police are out in force, trying to sort out the gridlock.”

“And?”

“You came to Fraternitas to help you find the Bondage Killer.” He changes the subject. “Is that still a priority?”

“My priority is Inara.”

“So is mine.”

“You have no right to her?—”

“She doesn’t want to see you. She told me so herself. She says you tried to lock her up. I’m just as much of a fan of keeping my partners in a cage?—”

I grimace. I don’t want to be anything like St. James.

“The good detective is shaken.”

“Is she hurt?” That should have been my first question.

“She is unharmed and safe.” Censure rings in his voice. First Hamish condemning me, now St. James. They all think I’ve gone too far.

Maybe I have. But the only opinion that matters to me is Inara’s.

I remember how she pleaded with me. If you ever cared for me as more than just a plaything, you would let me go.

“You can’t keep her from me,” I say to St. James to drown out the memory of Inara’s desperate begging.

“Do you want an alliance with Fraternitas or not?”

“I want Inara back.”

“You can’t fight me and protect her.”

“Can’t I?” I’ll fight all of Fraternitas if I have to.

Except, that would be a waste of resources. Theirs and mine.

What am I doing?

“It would be wiser to turn our entire focus on catching our mutual enemy,” St. James says. Since when did he become the voice of reason?

I’m almost out of the tunnel. In a few minutes, I’ll be at Club Empire.

St. James continues, “I’m proposing Club Empire as neutral territory. I have Inara here, but I promised her sanctuary. You will not harm her.”

I want to snarl that, obviously, I won’t harm her, I only want to protect her, and how dare he even think otherwise—but my screen flashes, distracting me.

The video Hamish promised me appears on my dash. It plays in a loop: Inara walks into her townhouse, visibly recoiling at what she sees. Her body stiffens, her eyes wide. She raises her hands as if to fend off a blow, then sinks down, covering her face and rocking a little.

She had a full breakdown, and I wasn’t there to help her.

I wanted to keep her safe, but she won’t let me.

She’d rather face a serial killer alone than allow me to care for her.

What have I done?

“Rex?” St. James calls me back to our conversation.

“Agreed,” I spit. “Club Empire. Neutral territory. I just want to see her.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged.” His noncommittal tone has me grinding my teeth. “In the meantime, I’ll do my part.” He reminds me of the importance of his role in the situation. “I’ll keep her here. I had to promise you wouldn’t put her in a cage.”

If you ever felt anything for me, if any of it was real, you would set me free.

She ran from me, right into danger. I can lock her up all I want, but if she escapes, she’ll be lost to me.

Even if she doesn’t escape, she’ll still be lost to me.

“Destination, Club Empire. Time of arrival, five minutes,” Alfie announces loud enough for St. James to hear.

“You can park in the underground deck,” St. James says. “And you owe Kaiser a new Jeep,” he adds before hanging up.

Inara

I jolt in my seat when St. James enters the room but relax when I see it’s him.

“He’ll be here in five minutes,” St. James tells me, pocketing his phone. His face is expressionless, but I can tell he’s bracing himself for a fight.

I blow out a breath. I’m huddled on a couch, holding a cup of tea I don’t really want. “All right.”

St. James sinks into a chair across from me. “He wants to see you. To make sure you’re unhurt.”

“So he can drag me back to his mansion and lock me up?” I mutter.

“I won’t allow that.”

“You can’t stop him.”

“Not without risking full war.”

I set my mug down. I’m all jittery, needing to run, to fight. If St. James wasn’t here, I’d run right out of this room.

He must know that because he sits preternaturally still. His gray eyes track my twitchy little movements, but he projects an aura of calm.

His real aura is a thick fog, with something sinister lurking in the gray banks. It occurs to me I don’t really know him, and that if I did, I would probably trust him less than I do Rex right now.

“Why are you helping me?” I ask.

The only sign that the question bothers him is a slight flex in his long fingers. The movement draws my attention to the ring on his finger. It’s silver and in the shape of a skull with onyx eyes. It looks familiar, but I can’t place it.

“Years ago, I tried to help someone I cared about. You remind me of her.” A muscle jumps in his jaw. I hold still, getting the sense that he’s lost in memory. After a moment, he blinks and bows his head. “Back then, I wasn’t strong enough to protect anyone. Now I am.”

I give a little nod, both grateful that he shared and wary of what it might mean. I get the sense that St. James doesn’t open up to anyone. Ever.

He checks his watch and rises. “I should go. Our guest will be here soon, bellowing and ready to break things.”

“Like a bull in a china shop.” Although that isn’t really fair to Rex. He can be subtle and gentle when he wants.

But not lately.

I start to rise, and St. James stops me with a single raised finger. “Wait here. I’ll make sure he’s contrite or at least ready for polite conversation.”

I don’t know if anyone can make Rex back down, but St. James is my best bet.

“St. James,” I call. He stops halfway to the door but doesn’t turn around. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” he murmurs, leaving me with a sense of disquiet.