Sound of Madness A Dark Royal Romance - Maria Luis Page 0,112
the steering wheel while the other hooks around the back of my headrest. His computer sits at a crooked angle on his lap. Under the weight of his heavy gaze, I feel slain, stripped down to my soul.
A sharp breath cuts past my lips.
“I live this life because it’s all I’ve ever known,” he expels roughly, “and I do it to perfection because that means survival. But you, Rowena”—he shakes his head, those dark strands slipping over his temple—“you found the strength to walk away. I won’t be the one to drag you back, do you understand me? I won’t be the one to use you, just to save my own fucking skin.”
Thud-thud. Thud-thud. Thud-thud.
Madness.
“We leave right now,” he adds, already closing his laptop, “and no one will ever know that we were here.”
I stop him with a finger to his wrist.
“I could have stayed in that stairwell,” I confess on a shaky murmur, “and no one would ever know that I had the chance to save a queen and chose instead to take her with me to the grave.” His blue eyes burn bright, and his throat works with a visible swallow. I force the difficult words from my own: “I could have left the Palace and fled London, and you would never know who I am. And I could sit here now, aware that the noose is closing around your neck, and be content with the fact that at least I’m alive. Beauty is fear, Damien. It’s feeling the chill all the way down to your bones and pressing onward anyway. I’m stronger than you know, stronger than anyone ever realizes. Stronger, even, than I realize.”
His palms clasp the back of my head, startling me to my core with his ferocity, and then he drags me over the gearstick and captures my mouth with his. I taste cloves, feel heavy muscles rippling under taut skin, and hear the moan that rises in my throat like a benediction. The kiss is over before it’s even begun when he pulls back to growl, “Beauty is you, Rowena.”
Beauty of character.
Beauty of soul.
For better or worse, Damien Godwin has already ruined me.
From our vantage point, Broadmoor Hospital appears before me like Mt. Everest. A mountain to scale and defeat, come hell or high water. Its double doors beckon me closer even as its barred windows mock me for daring to enter.
“Don’t let security take your jumper, do you understand?”
Ignoring the trio of floaters that have become my personal little stalkers, I glance down at Damien’s fingers pinning a red poppy to my left breast pocket. The metal brooch winks under the sunlight. If he hadn’t told me, I’d never know that it’s been outfitted with a camera and audio. Like Odin himself, who sacrificed an eye to see all things, Damien allows nothing to fall to chance.
“Understood,” I tell him.
“Good girl.” Turning his left wrist over, he unfastens a black watch and motions for my hand. “This,” he tells me, looping the supple leather straps around my wrist, “is if you need me. Tap this button here”—the screen shimmers to life, glowing red around the edges—“and I’ll find you.”
“Damien, I don’t think—”
“Wherever you are,” he reiterates, “I will find you.”
Sweat coalesces on my spine. The heat from the sun overhead, maybe, or the gritty determination in his voice. Either way, I give him a firm nod that I pray translates to Don’t worry, I have this. When I stepped into Buckingham Palace ten days ago, this is not where I imagined I’d be this morning—kidnapping a former spy when all I’d hoped was to stop my best friend from being kidnapped herself. But I’ve not stopped running yet, always reaching, always grasping, and I look down at the watch as if it has the power to save us all.
“The mobile,” I say.
He drops the burner phone into my waiting hand. “I’ve already inputted the director for you.”
Self-doubt is a sword cutting me at my knees. “And if she doesn’t recognize who’s ringing her?”
“The call’s programmed to come from your number.”
Nodding, I skim my palms down over the fabric of my skirt. It doesn’t ease the throbbing in my temples or the ridiculous pounding of my heart. I force myself to step back, to step toward the winding front drive of Broadmoor when all I want is to crawl back into the passenger seat of Damien’s car and bury my head between my knees.