Page 110 of Twisted (Never After)

She swallows, huffing out a breath like my questions are frustrating. “And his goons. Ian, his assistant? He gets drunk and lets things slip.”

Her fingers rip into my forearm, breaking the skin. I jerk back, hissing from the pain, a small trail of blood oozing from beneath her grip and dripping onto the ground.

“They’ll kill you. Do you hear me? Once they get what they want, they’re going tokillyou.”

My stomach deep dives to the floor, my heart slamming against my ribs.

“I can help you,” she says again, nodding down to the box. “Thiscan help you. Barter for your freedom.”

Irritation swims through my veins because this woman is doing anything but giving me answers, and quite frankly, she’s freaking me the hell out. “I don’tneedany help. I promise, I’ll be okay.”

A door opens from one of the cottages in the distance, and her gaze flies behind me before coming back to mine with a frantic look.

“I found it,” she whispers. “Nobody knows. And you shouldn’t tell them.”

My forehead scrunches. “Foundwhat?”

She reaches out, handing me the box. “The lamp.”

* * *

I’m notsure when Julian had time to arrange things for everyone to leave, but the next day, we’re loaded up and ready to go.

We’re outside the main building’s entrance, Julian’s arm wrapped around my waist possessively, hugging me to his side while we listen to Ian complain about not being on the private jet. And I’m reeling on the inside, my eyes watching as the driver throws my suitcase into the back. The one that has the lost lamp.

God, what the hell am I supposed to do with it?

I was tempted to take it straight to Julian, but something held me back. I don’t know who has eyes and ears here, and if it’s that easy for Jeannie to overhear people talking, then I don’t want to risk someone else finding out what I have. I can just tell him when we get back home.

“I don’t understand. We’re all going to the same place,” Ian complains, crossing his arms as a driver loads his and Aidan’s luggage into the back of the car. I watch him closely, Jeannie’s warning whispering loudly in the back of my mind.

“I want time alone with my wife,” Julian replies. “There are things we’ll be doing that I’m sure notallof you would like to hear.” His eyes flick to Aidan, and I elbow Julian in the side.

“Don’t look so glum, Ian. At least I put you in first class,” he says.

Ian scoffs, throwing his hands up and storming over to the car, sliding into the back seat. Aidan follows, pausing just before he sits down, his hand on top of the door and his eyes locked on me.

He looks downtrodden, and a small pang hits my chest, because I know that nothing between us will ever be the same.

I don’t hold any hate toward him, just a profound sadness for what we lost. He was my first love, my first everything, and while I don’t know how things ended up this way, I have to believe it was for the best.

Maybe one day we’ll be able to stay friends, after the hurt has healed. And really, I have Aidan to thank. If it wasn’t for him loving me, I wouldn’t know the difference. Because my love for Aidan is like a warm sunny day, and my love for Julian is a blazing inferno.

“Remember what I said, princess,” Aidan says.

Julian’s hand tightens around my waist, and I reach up, pressing my palm to his chest, sliding it over and turning his face toward me, bringing him down into a kiss.

It’s probably a bitch move to do right in front of Aidan, but my concern is with the man I chose. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, but I’m going to show him all the reasons why it won’t.

We break apart and I move toward the car, glancing around one last time to see if I catch a glimpse of Jeannie. But she’s like a ghost, and she’s nowhere to be found.

My stomach churns, hoping like hell that nothing happens to the lamp, and I’m freaking out that I didn’t hide it well enough. I have no idea how we’re going to get it through customs, but right now I only have the mental capacity to freak out about one thing at a time.

It isn’t until Julian and I are on the private plane that I think about it again. I’m sprawled out on the couch, drinking sparkling water, watching him stare at something on his computer screen, a slight crease forming between his brows beneath his reading glasses.

“Are they going to check our bags?” I ask.

I probably shouldn’t just blurt it out like this, not when there are flight attendants and pilots and a number of other people around to hear, but if I don’t at least figure out the customs situation soon, I’m going to puke.