Thirty-Five

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It would be easier to ask questions of a brick wall.

Charlie's pale blue eyes were intense and focusing on my face as we move down the hall toward Ryker's office. For questions of true substance, he held back, keeping a tight lid on his secrets. Others, if they were silly, he gave freely.

I learned his favorite color was a specific shade of green—the brightness of grass when the sun hit it right after sunrise. He was a daredevil, skilled in martial arts as well as a proficient with guns. He grew up in a single parent household—his mother died when he was young.

My heart broke for him. I'd experienced the same pain as a child, losing the person who I view loved me best. Curious, I asked about his father, but he refused to answer a single word about him.

Obviously, there friction was there. A shadow came across his eyes, darkening the sublime color something akin to a thunderstorm, and his hands fisted. Tongue caught to the roof of my mouth, I tuck away his reaction and save it for a rainy day.

All in all, Charlie was more of a mystery after our discussion. My brain whirls when I think back to our game. He didn't want to answer the difficult questions, but pouted if I didn't ask the ones he posed to me.

His sullen face—complete with pouty lips and narrowed eyes—makes me laugh to think about. My laughter and Chris' silence carries us all the way to our destination, but when I cross the threshold, the happiness dies in my throat. Darcy.

They had found her.

Her frame rests in a plain brown, wooden chair. She's dirty, her hair windblown and caked with blood and her limbs are tied to the arms and legs. I wilt where I stand, drawn to heal her despite her role in what nearly cost me, Charlie and Chris' lives.

Dark, worried eyes assess me from her face. Her features twist as her mouth opens, and she gasps a deep breath. Yet, not single word leaves her mouth. When I move closer, the sight turns my stomach.

He cut out her tongue.

"Father," my voice wobbles, breaking awkwardly as his arms close around me. "Her tongue... Why?"

He sucks his teeth and pulls me closer, banding me against his chest. "She spoke lies to me and drew you in. She could have killed you. To still breath air is a blessing for her."

Or a curse.

I know my father well. Killing to save me has never been a qualm for him. He'd burn the world for me—to keep me safe.

The older I become, the more I learn I'd do the same, without question.

"Did you learn anything before you..." I wince, glancing at Darcy again, "cut out her tongue?"

"She spun a tale of epic proportions." Ryker chuckles, hugging me tighter for a moment before he releasing me. I stumble away, falling into a chair near his desk with Chris' help. My... lover's face pinches and his lips flatten dangerously. He doesn't like this, and frankly, neither do I. "It's good to see you up and walking Chris."

"Thanks to Blue," Chris' eyes cut to me and flash back to Ryker's in less than a second. "She's the reason I'm walking around."

"Indeed." Ryker smiles. "She was quite set on saving you—despite the secrets you keep."

Stiffening, Chris closes his grip around my shoulder. He's not worried about me per se, but the way Ryker's lips roll across the word 'secrets,' goads a reaction. It slices through our mental bond and I reach out, aiming to calm it.

His muscles, nearly atrophied from the stress relax. Charlie stands near Darcy, eyes still narrowed into slits. They bounce back and forth, climbing us and reading the room with precision I don't want to examine, but I don't care,

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