Page 5

Chapter 5

Fantasia

T he half hour I take to compose myself doesn’t feel like nearly enough time. My skin is feverishly hot in every place Piers’s fingers touched me, even after I splash cold water over my face and neck. My own hands trace and retrace his path over my face, sending sparks down my nerves every time. I feel more unstable now than I did running from gunmen in the airport.

I hate this. I hate that Piers has this power over me, even now. He didn’t kiss me on the lips, but I’m blushing hard enough that even my collarbone feels hot.

It would be better to stay in my room until Piers finally gets bored enough to leave, but somehow I don’t expect I’ll get that lucky. Does he plan to stay here himself? In what room, with me in the master suite and Barnes and Armstrong taking the other two? Will he be satisfied crashing on the couch? For how long?

What the hell was his goal in coming all the way here?

It can’t just be that he wants to know why I ordered Achilles to kill him, surely. I meant it when I told him it doesn’t matter now. I’m powerless and an ocean away. At least I would’ve been if he hadn’t followed me. I pose no threat to him now.

My fingers curl on the edge of the sink, squeezing so hard my knuckles go white.

Is he just here to gloat? Was kissing me part of some ridiculous attempt to humiliate me?

This is why I can’t hide up here. I need these answers, and I need to stand my ground until Piers gives them to me. I won’t let him haunt me for another year, not when I’m not even allowed a glass of wine to dull my awareness of him.

Straightening to my fullest height and raising my chin to an imperious angle, I leave my room and go in search of Piers.

A quick peruse of the second floor tells me he’s not here. I’ve yet to explore the third floor, which is probably attic space and perhaps more rooms that can be used for offices, but I doubt I’ll find him there. Instead, I try the downstairs.

Before I even hit the bottom step, I hear his voice coming from the den, quick and agitated. I slow my steps, hanging back just outside the threshold of the door.

“I’m not going to apologize for going behind your back,” Piers says firmly. “I did it because I knew you’d interfere, and I was right.”

“ Of course you were right ,” another voice says through the speakerphone. I recognize it instantly, and my heart jolts.

Why is Piers on the phone with Achilles?

“ I would’ve interfered because this is the worst fucking idea you’ve ever had ,” Achilles continues. He’s furious, practically shouting. Even through the phone I can hear him loud and clear. “ This isn’t your place, Piers, and it never was. This is a family matter- ”

“Which family?” Piers snaps, and I flinch. “Warwick or Ashwood? Because you seemed perfectly fine with exiling her from the Ashwoods forever.”

“ A judgement you agreed with at the time ,” Achilles hisses. “ Don’t try to pretend like you had nothing to do with this now. And don’t you dare insinuate that I did this because I don’t care about her. She’s still my sister . I can never forget that, no matter what she’s done. Sending her away means protecting her from Ashwoods who would mean her harm, and you know it .”

I have to fight not to audibly gasp. I hadn’t realized Piers gave his blessing to my banishment. At the time it had seemed only logical, considering how hated I was by the majority of the Ashwoods, that I should be removed from London as soon as possible. But had Piers had a chance to veto that punishment? Is he here purely out of guilt for his part in my exile?

It shouldn’t make a difference to me, but it does. I deserve to be where I am, as much as I hate it. I’ve made too many mistakes, hurt too many people. Achilles might think this distance I’ve gained will help me ‘heal’, but I’m far beyond repair. It’s for everyone’s benefit that I’m here, where I can’t do anymore harm.

And if Piers thinks this is a bad idea, when he of all people should want me gone, then he’s a fool.

“She’s still a Warwick by blood,” Piers says, making my stomach twist with disgust. Why is he fighting for me based on that technicality?

Yes, my father was Marcus Warwick, the head of the Warwick family. But to me, he was never a father. Not really. He was a shadow looming over my childhood, always watching but never seeing me. Not the way I wanted him to.

I remember being eight years old, standing in the Warwick dining room, clutching my mother’s hand as Marcus sat across from us, cold and unmoved. My mother had just finished speaking- listing out all the reasons why I was strong enough, smart enough, ruthless enough to follow in his footsteps. She promised him I could become everything he’d wanted in a successor- and everything she wanted in her revenge. I should’ve been scared, but I wasn’t. I was desperate. Desperate for him to look at me like I mattered. Like I was more than an inconvenience he'd been forced to tolerate.

But all he did was laugh. A sharp, dismissive bark that made my mother’s nails dig into my wrist.

“She’s just a child,” he said, waving us away like we were beneath his notice.

Just a child.

I spent years trying to prove him wrong. I memorized his contacts, his allies, his enemies. I learned to play his own men against each other before I was old enough to drive. I became everything my mother told me I had to be- sharp, clever, merciless. And still, he never looked at me like I was enough.

By the time I was sixteen, I knew better than to expect warmth from him. But I still thought he'd choose me- that he'd finally see me as someone worth trusting with the family legacy.

When I found out he’d chosen Piers, I begged him for an explanation. His answer was simple: “You don’t have what it takes. You’re too emotional. Too weak.”

He was dead to me the moment he passed me over as his successor. I even killed him to make sure he knew it. Carrying the Warwick name, along with the Ashwood name through my mother, has felt more like two burdens than two boons. Both my mother and my father have only ever brought me misery.

I’d just as soon forget them both.

“ And you’re a Warwick by choice ,” Achilles shoots back. “ You are the head of the Warwick family, by choice. Or have you changed your mind about that too? ”

“If I’m the head of one of the most influential mafia families in London, but I can’t even support the woman I-” Piers cuts himself off, but after a moment starts again. “What is the fuckin’ point?”

There’s a tense silence. Then Achilles asks, more quietly than before, “ What good do you think you’re doing there, Piers? What do you expect to achieve that doctors and therapists can’t? ”

“She doesn’t just need medical help,” Piers insists. “Who does she fucking know here, Achilles? Not her bodyguards. There’s no regular staff in the house for her to form connections with. She needs companions. She needs friends-”

“ You flew across the Atlantic ocean to be her friend? ”

Piers is silent for a long time, long enough that I realize I’ve been holding my breath because black spots are starting to float in my vision. I inhale shallowly, not wanting to miss a single word.

“Yes,” Piers says at last, and it sounds like he’s admitting defeat. “Yes, all right? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“ What I want to hear is what the hell makes you think she still wants to be your friend. ”

My brother says this in his gentlest voice, and that’s what makes my eyes prick with tears.

“ You are a living reminder of her worst mistakes ,” Achilles goes on, hammering another nail into my heart. His voice lowers, obliterating his individual words, but I hear Piers sigh hard in response to whatever else he says.

Silence stretches again. I swallow the tears making my throat ache. At last, Piers replies, “I’m not leaving.”

“ Piers- ”

“I’ll get a hotel room for now. I’ll keep my distance. I- I just need to make sure she’s okay.”

“ This is not a good idea. I stand by it- this is your worst idea ever. ”

“Yeah, well,” Piers says, his voice bitter, “I didn’t fuckin’ ask you.”

Achilles’s curse is cut off by the beep of the call disconnecting. As soon as Piers hangs up, the phone starts ringing again, but the abrupt cut off tells me Piers has turned it off.

Before I can rethink it, I’m barging into the room, almost slamming into Piers when I do. His phone goes flying out of his hand, hitting the floor with a thunk , but it’s me he reaches for to make sure I won’t fall.

“What are you-”

“You can’t leave,” I blurt. My fingers curl into fists in his shirt, and it’s only then that I realize I’m breathing hard enough to be panting.

Wait, no- he can’t do that now. He can’t leave after refusing over and over again to go. I don’t care that all of ten minutes ago I was wishing Piers would leave me alone. Now that he’s been convinced to stay away from me, I- I can’t bear the idea.

Piers’s dark eyes widen, then narrow as he frowns. “Were you listening the whole time?”

“I don’t know, but I heard enough,” I say stiffly. “Besides, I’d rather know when you and my brother are trading humiliating truths about me behind my back.”

He steps away from me, pulling his shirt out of my grip. His sharp half smile is back, and I don’t like it. It looks like a mockery of his old self. “I thought you’d be relieved that I’m going. You’ve been trying to get rid of me all day. Besides, I didn’t call him to talk about you. I had to tell him about the attack at the airport. You just so happened to be there.”

My hands, now that they’re empty, curl into fists. He’s being crueller than he was up in my room, and I’m not prepared for how much it hurts.

“What did he say about it?” I ask instead, my words clipped. “Does he have any idea who those men were?”

“We’ve figured out that they were Crowes. Ring a bell?”

I glare at him, but shake my head. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard the name before.”

Piers nods, like he assumed as much. “They’re an Irish gang. No idea what they’re doing here or what they want with you, though. Achilles has agreed to try to contact their boss for answers.”

And then the conversation devolved from there, it seems.

“Why change your mind now?” I demand. “Why leave? Because Achilles is telling you to instead of me?”

Piers’s arrogant smile twists, but only for a moment before he recovers it. “Yeah, that’s about right.”

I could slap him, but that might be what he wants. “Where do you plan to go?” I demand.

“I told Achilles. I’ll get a room in a hotel.”

“But where -”

“Why does it matter to you, love?” Piers demands, stepping up to me again so suddenly I almost trip back. “You’re not hunting me anymore, right? So you don’t need to know where I am every second… if you’re not trying to finish what you started.”

“You think I’m still- ” I stop myself, the words catching in my throat.

That might as well have been a slap in my face. I do step back then, dazed, my chest hurting. Piers doesn’t move for a moment, but when he speaks again his voice is a little softer.

“I’ll be back, all right? Don’t worry about when. Just… know that I’ll be around if you need me.”

I don’t respond. I can’t even look at him anymore. My eyes are fixed on the floor, but I don’t see it. I don’t understand why his accusation hurts so much when he’s right. Our history damns me. But to accuse me of trying to kill him now, when there’s absolutely nothing to gain from it-

Does he think I’d turn on him without a reason? He told Achilles that he was here because he thought I needed a friend . But that’s clearly not true, not if he believes that about me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Piers’s shape move toward the door. Once again, I don’t move to stop him, and I don’t open my mouth to beg him to stay. This was the right choice from the beginning, and it’s a choice I have to respect.

Even if him leaving feels like being torn in half.