Page 221 of My Unhinged Alphas
The Apostle doesn’t respond to him. His attention stays on me. “If he is involved with the people moving against Lena, I haven’t found the link. If he’s acting separately, I don’t yet know why he chose now.”
I look away from the screen, toward the blood on the floor, toward the door Lena disappeared through.
“Convenient,” Havoc says softly.
The Apostle’s voice doesn’t change. “No. Merely true.”
I don’t know which is worse.
Knox says, “Then until you know more, you don’t get to tell us what she needs.”
The Apostle is quiet for a moment. When he speaks again, his tone has cooled. “You are already involved more deeply than is wise.”
“Too late,” Havoc says.
Yes, I think. Far too late.
Whatever this was when it began, it’s no longer a mission.
Then his attention shifts from him to Havoc, and finally to me, though all I can see is the vague outline of his face on the screen.
“One more thing,” he says.
None of us answers.
“If any of you hurt her, no rank in the Brotherhood will protect you from me.”
Havoc’s mouth curves faintly. “Good to know.”
Andrew doesn’t react. “I will be watching,” he says.
Then the screen goes black.
For a few seconds, none of us moves. The room feels different without him in it, though not lighter. The dead man is still on the floor. His words are still lodged in my head.
Andrew’s revelations have changed too much too quickly, and yet the only thing I can think about with any clarity is Lena on the other side of the door, alone with all of it.
We find her in the hall with her back against the wall, one hand covering her mouth, the other curled tightly at her side. She has wiped at her face, but not well enough to hide that she has been crying.
She looks up when we come out, embarrassed almost immediately, as if grief is something she ought to apologize for.
Knox stops in front of her. His voice is gentler than it was in the room. “Did you mean what you said?”
She stares at him through wet lashes. “Which part?”
“That you choose us,” Knox says, ever practical. “And I want you to think it through practically. We can never provide you with the level of protection he can.”
“He can go screw himself,” Lena says between sniffs.
Knox says nothing for a moment. Then, “You don’t have to decide that tonight.”
“I know.” She swallows. “I still mean it.”
Something in his face eases, though he tries to hide it.
She looks at all three of us then, and the effort it costs her is plain. There’s blood dried on her hands, a red mark on her cheek, and grief in her face for a mother she barely remembers and a father she has only just learned has been alive all along.
“I meant every word I said, and more,” she says.
