There was a young teacher at Eton who died the same year Toby had died. She’d vanished on her way home. When her body was found, the coroner had said that she'd been stabbed and that her head was shaved. The pit in my stomach grew. No. This was not reality. This wasn't right. I didn't believe it.
My brain tried to inject some common sense.
Think of all the opportunities he's had to hurt you. But he hasn’t. This is Bridge. He operates by the rules. Not once has he hurt you. Not once has he hurt anyone that you've seen, not even Bram Van Linsted, so think about your source.
His father hated him. And likewise. So the question was, why? Why would he perpetuate a rumor like that about his own son?
I had a feeling that I needed to understand that properly before I delved into the validity of everything he'd said.
Downstairs, I could hear movement around the house.
Before anyone decided they needed to come in here, there was one more thing I wanted to check. For my own sanity, I kept telling myself. Even though I knew full well this was probably not an answer I wanted.
His father had said that when Bridge was just a boy, he’d stabbed a teenager and then shaved his head. Who was that boy?
Because if I knew the answer to that, I would have a better understanding of what the fuck was going on.
But before I could start diving into any research, footsteps drew closer to the door. I immediately cleared out my search history and put my phone down before sitting up. I adjusted my tank from last night which had shifted and showed a significant amount of side boob.
Despite our weird relationship limbo, I wanted the footsteps to belong to Bridge. After everything that had happened, why did I still care? Had I really thought sleeping with him would be a good idea?
In your defense, he has a really nice dick.
I laughed at myself and covered my face. God, I was the worst. The literal worst. I had caved.
To really good dick.
I snorted and flopped back on the pillows just as he opened the door. His voice was gruff and growly. "Yeah?"
I sat up and smirked at him. " I see you’re up."
He stared at me for a long moment before he cursed under his breath. "I'm fucking sorry, okay?"
Well then. "News flash, the last thing a woman wants to hear after you wake her up at five in the morning and shag her senseless is that you're sorry. No wonder you're so bad at this."
He flinched. "We leave in an hour. Do you want coffee? Croissant? I can have something brought up.”
"Wait, so the prisoner gets choices? That is impressive. I might like this prison. What are the outfits? I need to know, is the jumpsuit gray? Because honestly, that's going to wash out my skin tone. Orange, too. Orange on my skin can wash me out. It depends on the shade of orange. If we're talking like a deep tangerine, that'll actually look really good."
He rolled his eyes. "Emma, we can be adults about this. That shouldn't have happened."
"Wait, are you talking about the part where you kidnapped and terrified me, or the part where you fucked me so good that we passed out and you nearly crushed me to death? I'm so curious."
A flush crept up his face. Okay, so he was capable of embarrassment.
"Look, we'll talk when you're feeling more up to it. And you can have breakfast or not. Your choice. We do leave in an hour though. The chopper's getting ready."
"Nutjob.”
"Get dressed Emma. I don't have time for this."
I laughed. "Oh, sure you don't. Too busy kidnapping someone else? Just a question… How long are you going to keep me here? Or is this part of your disappearance thing to ‘protect me’? It's funny how kidnapping is used as protection these days."
“I'm in no fucking mood for this."
“Oh really? You were in a hell of a mood earlier this morning."
With a curse, he turned away, closing the door behind him.
"Amateur," I muttered.
I jumped up to get ready. While I had to deal with him, I was more than well aware that I was walking into the lion's den today. And Bridge was right. That was my own doing. If I refused to quit because I insisted on being part of taking Middleton out, then I had to keep up the charade. A charade of my own making. Because I was the fool who’d walked into Middleton's office and demanded a job.
Sometimes I missed Toby and the way he would look at me and shake his head and say, ‘Fucking hell, Ems. Once again you didn’t look before you leaped.’
And I certainly had not. At the time, all I had been interested in was access to Middleton. So far at least, we hadn't found anything on the flash drive I’d copied off his phone. Either it was clean, or he had some serious encryption on it or something. Because Telly and East had found nothing.
After everything that I had already done, including dealing with his creepiness and his fucked-up clients, I wanted something to show for it. But it might be getting too dangerous to stay.
You're the one who said you didn't want to run.
And I didn't. I was no runner. But I was going to need help. A lot more help. And I was persona non grata with Bridge, and presumably the rest of the London Lords considering I had texted the girls and so far not one of them had responded.
I was going to have to solve this on my own. Which meant I'd have to go elsewhere for help. I wasn’t dumb enough to go to his father again. I did want to know why he was so invested in his son and the choices he made about marriage though.
I might have to talk to my own father. It was a last resort, but one I was willing to take. Just as I was hopping out of the shower, Livy finally texted back.
Livy: I'm sorry he's taking drastic measures Em, but we should probably talk. Going to see his father was a shitty move. He’s hurt. Give him time.
The heat, that hot wash of embarrassment that spread over my skin, happened fast. Like a rush. They knew. And they were taking his side.
What did you expect them to do? You did meet with his father. And you know Bridge hates his father. Even after meeting Darcy, you still met with him. That was on you. They're just protecting him.
I still couldn't swallow the sting. Maybe he was right. I did get myself into these scenarios. And sooner or later, I wouldn't be able to get out of it.
Eight
Emma
Bridge wasn't kidding. The new paradigm did suck. Matter of fact, it sucked sweaty monkey balls. We had taken a helicopter from the top of the Elite mansion. I recognized the grounds as soon as we were on the roof for the helipad. He had really brought me to this place.
On the one hand, I was horrified. On the other, it was ingenious. If Middleton was after me, stalking me, watching me, he would never in a million years think to look for me here. The grounds were fortified for starters. Since being named Director Prime, Ben had shored up any past security loopholes with the help of East and Telly, so nobody was getting onto the property without us knowing. And then, of course, it was morbid as hell. Somewhere deep below, my brother had died. And these people, these men, specifically, had let it happen. Francis Middleton, Bram Van Linsted, and Garreth Jameson. They were supposed to look out for him, but they hadn't. They'd only looked after themselves, and now I was in this situation.