Road To Fire (Broken Crown Trilogy #1) - Maria Luis Page 0,75

side, giving us some much-needed breathing space. Honestly, we need more than this but since Isla and her siblings are downstairs, in the kitchen, I simply drop into the chair and cross my ankles.

Calm.

Cool.

Christ, it’s not working.

My chest shudders with a big breath that does little to mitigate my boiling blood. I crack my knuckles, one by one, before I cave and do what I really want: slam out of this room, trap Isla alone, and show the world that I can fuck her as many times as I feel like it.

Let’s just face it, the only one in this car who’s scared is you.

I wasn’t scared then and I’m not scared now.

I haven’t been scared since I was eight years old and being held down by the king, a knife in his hand, while my father watched in horror as I thrashed and cried for help that never came.

Jaw stiff, I motion to the computer. “Get him on.”

Guy doesn’t ask me to elaborate. He doesn’t say anything at all until Damien’s face appears on the screen. And my younger brother looks like he’s seen hell and come out the other side: unshaved beard, red-rimmed blue eyes, a cigarette sticking out of the corner of his mouth, lit with a tendril of smoke curling in the air.

The only times he smokes is when he’s struggling to piece together intelligence.

“Fuck,” Guy mutters beneath his breath, echoing my thoughts exactly.

This is not going to be good.

I smooth a hand over my skull. “What happened?”

Damien plucks the fag out of his mouth, stamping it out on an ashtray. “Good news first or the bad?”

I exchange a wary glance with Guy, who only shakes his head and says, “Good. After today, we could use whatever we can of it.”

Stiffening at the less than subtle jab, I keep my gaze zeroed in on Damien.

“I spoke with Clarke earlier,” he says, leaning back in his chair and propping the end of a pen in his mouth. “We’re in the clear for the queen’s new security system. The only people allowed in her rooms are Clarke; the select staff she chose, who we’ve vetted; and the three of us. Anyone else tries and they’ll be experiencing the shock of a lifetime—literally.” A bitter smile curves his lips. “Granted, I won’t be seeing the outside of this estate for at least the next fifty years, so I suppose we’re only talking about the two of you.”

Guilt plucks at my conscience. “It won’t be fifty years.”

“You’re right—it could be longer.”

Ignoring the trace of awkwardness, Guy props an elbow on the desk, wheeling closer. “Did the queen protest?”

Damien arches a dark brow. “What do you think? Of course she did. But Clarke phrased it exactly as you instructed: either she accepts the new security measures or she’s out of Buckingham Palace and back to Scotland within days.”

“Good,” Guy mutters, letting out a sigh, “that’s good.”

I nod in agreement. “All right. Give us the bad news.”

The easygoing expression on Damien’s face shutters as he flicks the pen away. I hear the hiss of a Zippo, then watch as he lights a new cigarette and takes a short drag, sucking the nicotine into his lungs before releasing it all in one smooth go. He drops the lighter to his desk. “We’ve a massive problem.”

“When don’t we have a problem?”

Damien points the cherry in my direction. “Touché, but here we are. Two words: Alfie Barker.”

My fists clench. “What about him?”

The man is still being held at the Palace, since he won’t give us the names of his co-conspirators, even after suffering a beating at my hands. Truthfully, I didn’t expect him to hold out as long as he has. Men like him—single fathers, widowers—always crack, and they crack early. I don’t blame them. If I had a family depending on me, I’d do the same.

But Barker hasn’t budged, not that first night, not in the few nights since.

It’s . . . unusual.

“We’re not going to get through to him.”

My gaze collides with Damien’s. “You know something,” I utter, voice low. “What did he say?”

“It’s what he hasn’t said.”

“Explain,” Guy says, his eyes locked on our younger brother, too. “What the hell are you talking about?”

With the filter fitted between his lips, Damien inhales then taps the ashes from the cherry. “There’s a lot of time to think when you’re on house arrest. And I can’t stop thinking about Barker.” His blue eyes shift to my face, an almost impersonal wave of curiosity flitting