Stepbrother Thief(123)

I take another deep breath to calm down as Gill calls up to Cliff and waits for him to unlock the attic door. When Gilleon does open it, he just barely cracks it and speaks quietly with Cliff. I can't hear what they're saying, but I'm grateful when Gill pushes the hatch back in place. The last thing I'd ever want is for Solène to witness the gruesome aftermath in the stairwell.

“I have to go, Regina,” Gill says suddenly, turning to look at me and laying a hand on my shoulder. He leans in close enough that I can feel his breath on my lips. “I need to see this through.”

“What happened down there?” I ask as Gilleon presses his forehead against mine. “What happened to Aveline?” Gill's lips purse, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he closes his eyes and breathes deep. The air smell likes blood and gunpowder now though. I think we could both use a break outside.

In the distance, I hear sirens and my body stiffens.

“Ewan will take care of it, don't worry.”

Gill stands up straight and reaches out for my hands, frowning at the blood on the backs of my knuckles. After a moment, he makes the connection and reaches up to touch his own head. I raise an eyebrow, hoping I don't have to pry an explanation out of him.

“Aveline used our contact and went in without me.” Gill's pursed lips turn into a frown and his blue eyes shift away from my face and over to the staircase. “It didn't go well.”

I lift my hand up, unable to keep my fingers away from his dark hair.

“I should've let you go,” I say.

It's not a question.

Gilleon looks back at me and shakes his head.

“We'll never know what might've happened if I'd gone. Maybe I'd be lying down there bleeding? Maybe I'd be dead?”

“Maybe Karl would be,” I whisper, dropping my hand to my side. “Now what?”

“He sent eight people here to deal with me.” Gill smiles, but it's a grim expression on his blood splattered face. “When they don't come back, there'll be hell to pay.” He sighs and the stiff smile disappears as his tattooed hand runs over his face. “I should never have dragged you into this. Regina,” Gill turns back to me, eyes flickering with anger, “you should never have had to step in like that. I think I owe you another apology.” He tries to make a joke out of that last bit, but it falls flat in the copper tinged air. In the scent of blood.

“Love is selfish, Gilleon. You said it yourself. But it's also selfless.” I take another breath, but the smells are starting to get to me and all it does is make my stomach roil. Still, I don't drop my gaze from Gill's. “You were willing to leave me to keep me safe, to suffocate in isolation. Well, I'm willing to die for you.” I hold up a hand before he can protest. I realize it's still shaking and drop my fingers to my mother's pendant. Mom, I'm sorry. Sorry you got dragged into this, that you paid the ultimate price. But I still love him. I do. I really, really do. “What do we do now?”

“We don't do anything. You head up into the attic with Dad and Solène while I deal with this. Once the house is cleaned up, I'll have someone take you guys to a hotel.”

“No.” I cross my arms over my chest and then glance down at the floor until I locate my revolver. “This is my house now, Gill. This is my life. And you … you're mine. It's us now, or it's nothing at all. You promised to give me that.” I move over and pick up the gun, cradling it in my fingers like it's made of glass. When I turn back to him, I hope he can see how fucking serious I am. “So I'll ask you again: qu'est-ce qu'on fait maintenant?”

What do we do now?



The answer to my question is surprising, to say the least. I'd been expecting … well, I don't really know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this. Who would ever expect to wear a designer dress to take out a bad guy? To be more specific, a designer dress with body armor underneath it. Makeup, heels, diamonds in my ears and around my neck. It's a nice look, I'll be the first to admit—I mean, I'm wearing a navy striped Marchesa Notte gown, so what's not to love?—but it's definitely a little uncomfortable with the vest shoved up underneath it.

I know I'm not fooling anybody—there is most definitely a bulky bulletproof vest under my outfit—but Gill insisted on it. I'm even wearing the knife I found earlier strapped against my lower back—scout style I guess it's called. It's better than having it stuffed in the front pocket of Gilleon's hoodie, that's for sure. Now, the chances that I'll ever have to use it … or that I'd even be successful in using it? Pretty slim.

I glance over at Gilleon, sitting bathed in the ambient light from the front porch. The lines of his face are tight and his jaw is clenched hard, teeth gritted together as he stares at the steering wheel and works through whatever it is he needs to go over before we leave.