Series: Sean Moriarty
Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 113805 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113805 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
“I-I don’t know about any of that, but they knew you owned it and would set people up inside it,” Eden says. “I mean, the only one who did know anything was Rodney.”
“We’ll need to bring in Rodney for questioning,” Simon says. “Intensive questioning.”
“I’ll pick him up,” Uriel says. “We let him stay home and rest up a bit after we spoke with him the first time.”
“Take Johnathan and have him at the warehouse tomorrow,” Simon says. “I think we should watch him overnight to see if he does anything stupid.”
Nathaniel walks back into the room, Abel giggling in his arms.
My son’s happy little face beams even brighter when he spies me.
I stand for him and Abel opens his arms out to me.
Eden growls as I take our son, but I nod to Nathaniel who has a bottle of what looks like medicine.
“Your throat must be aching, Eden,” Nathaniel says and hands her a bottle. “This should help ease the pain, but you need to rest your voice after we’re done here in the office.”
Eden looks like she’d rather toss it in the trash bin.
Leaning down to her, I murmur quietly, “If we wanted you dead or drugged up, we wouldn’t trick you.”
Sighing, she nods her head.
But I can see that while she understands my words, she doesn’t quite believe them.
Trust, it seems, is still something she will need to find in her new family.
“Talk to the woman, Lana, as well,” Simon says almost as an afterthought. “We need to know if she knows anything.”
“I’ll handle that,” Amanda says. “Andrew, you want to come?”
“Sure,” Andrew says. “Ever since Doc here came into our lives, it’s been getting boring for me.”
“Wait,” Eden says, her face full of worry. “You’re not going to hurt her, are you?”
Ah, there my little angel is, caring for another’s well-being and mortality.
“No,” Lucifer says. “We may have use for her, I suspect.”
Sitting back down in my chair, I let Abel trace his fingers around the tattoos on my shoulders and neck. His little fingers tickle my skin and my smile makes his smile grow even larger.
Such a precious little child.
It’s strange to me that his touch is so similar to Eden’s, quieting all the madness inside my body.
“What were you supposed to do once you had information on us?” Simon asks.
“Uncle Mickey wanted me to tell him,” Eden says. “And honestly, I didn’t give him much. I told him the little I saw. I told him about… Jude…” Her eyes look far away, as if she’s remembering that time. “He said that was all he needed. I was supposed to be done with it and he was going to pay me. I was going to leave the city and disappear…”
“The money that was put in your bank account this morning has already been transferred out,” Simon says. “I’m assuming that wasn’t by you. It’ll take time to track down who made the transfer, but I’ll have Jude let you know when it has been returned to you.”
Not that she’ll need the money any time in the future, but I suppose her having the blood money may be of some comfort.
Eden only nods at Simon. “I knew it was too good to be true, anyways. My uncle never did anything that wasn’t skewed in his favor.”
“We need to talk to Mickey sooner rather than later,” Simon says. “If he’s helping the Russians get back in the city, we need to know exactly who is coming back, why, and when.”
“What do you mean speak with him?” Eden asks and sits up straighter.
“At the present, nothing more than a very quiet chat,” Lucifer says. “If we can flip him on whatever the Russians want, it would be to our benefit.”
“I’ll start with going through a back channel,” Simon says, “See if we can pay for his information. He’s certainly not in the best place to decline any decent offer we make.”
Home.
It’s such a bizarre word rolling around in my brain.
Home.
Never has it had more meaning to me than it does now. Never in my life has a word seemed so foreign yet oddly comforting and terrifying at the same time.
I’ve been a nomad for thirteen years, wandering the planet. I’ve been sent to almost every single continent on this rocky earth and felt no affinity for any of them.
This home has a dangerous draw to it.
A sense of something more.
Something I’ve never had before.
Is it safe to have somewhere that pulls me to it?
Is it safe to have something that binds me?
When I was a child, a home was a museum. I was not to be seen or heard, unless it was requested. When I was seen, it was to be paraded about, as if I was something to be shown off like a showpiece.
Boarding schools, summer camps… anything to keep me from being home. My life was a disruption to my parents. A disruption that was better off out of their sight.