Page 35 of Bound By Blood and Lies

“He resisted, Sir,” one of Dad’s men answers in a flat voice.

Dad’s eyes cut sideways. The warning in them is sharp enough that the air around us tightens. My lips twitch, threatening a smile despite the situation. Dad has always been a stickler for respect, rules, hierarchy, and order. He expects the chain of command to hold, and when someone forgets their place, even briefly, he notices. The lackey realises it too. His shoulders stiffen before he bows his head and falls silent again.

“He should be out for the next thirty minutes,” Dad states.

A dark pulse of satisfaction moves through me as adrenaline climbs beneath my skin.The urge to start now, to drag him downstairs and tear the answers out of him piece by piece, burns so hot that I can barely focus. The only thing that reins it in is the thought of Fae. The image of her somewhere cold and bound to a floor like this one forces the heat in my chest to pull back just enough for reason to slip in. If I lose control now, I’ll ruin him before he gives me anything useful.

I pull my phone from my pocket and type into the group chat, my eyes never leaving the body on the floor.

Roman:

Top of the stairs. Need hands.

A second later I add:

Roman:

Bring gloves.

“Thank you for bringing him straight here,” I say, and I mean it.Dad’s mouth twitches at the corner, not quite a smile but the closest thing he gives when he’s pleased.

“I thought you wanted immediacy.”

I roll my eyes. “I thought you said you wanted me to be sensible.”

“Eh,” Dad shrugs. “Nobody saw. This is as sensible as it can get.”

I crouch beside the man and check his pulse out of habit as footsteps scrape the stone behind me. Riggs appears first. He ducks through the panel,his hair is slightly mussed, his cheeks are flushed from the alcohol,and his eyes are bright with that manic energy he uses as armour.

“Jesus, Roman,” he mutters, taking in the unconscious figure on the floor. “You couldn’t have texted for snacks like a normal person? I nearly fell over the bloody fire pit trying to get up here.”

Felix follows him. He’s quieter than Riggs, but there’s something coiled in him tonight that makes his shoulders look broader and his face harder. He looks at the man on the floor like he’s trying to see through skin and bone and find the truth inside it. He flicks his gaze to Dad, gives a respectful nod, then looks at me.

“This him?”

“It’s him,” I answer.

Dad inclines his head toward Felix. “Felix.”

“Sir,” Felix replies, his voice is clipped but polite.

Riggs clears his throat and gestures at the body with theatrical reluctance. “So, we’re… carrying him, yeah? Or are we doing the classy thing where we just throw him down the stairs?”

“Try not to leave blood in the nave,” Dad responds as his gaze slides to Riggs.

Riggs blinks, “Love that you have boundaries, Mr Longstaff. It’s very wholesome,” then grins like he’s just given the nicest compliment.

Felix lets out a quiet huff and shakes his head as he crouches beside the body. His hands move over the bindings with precision, checking each knot and testing the tension against theman’s wrists. He works methodically, then straightens slightly and looks up at me.

“Straight to the dungeon,” I answer the unasked question.

Dad steps back, giving us space to take over, but his presence doesn’t fade. He watches in silence as Felix and Riggs move in to lift the man, one taking his shoulders, the other hooking an arm beneath his knees. His head lolls forward and knocks against Felix’s chest with a dull thud that echoes in the stone space.

“He’s built like a fridge. What have they been feeding him? Protein and lies?” Riggs huffs under the strain.

“Focus, Riggs,” Felix barks, and Riggs chuckles as they adjust their grip.

“Thanks for this, Dad,” I say, walking up and pulling him into a half hug, half handshake as he pats me on the back.