Chapter 39

"And I don't know what to do to stop it, either!" I finish on a semi-hysterical note two hours later, having taken the rest of the afternoon off from work by pleading a bad headache.

Kent extends an arm across the table to squeeze my free hand, the one that's not currently clutching my second glass of whisky like a lifeline. I lift it to my lips and down the rest of it in one, then raise it shakily toward the bar.

Dave nods and walks over with the bottle, topping me up with a stiff double.

Kent and I are back at the gang's bar, the safest place to talk outside the villa itself. I'd called him frantically outside the restaurant, begging him to meet me here as soon as he could. Roger went back to work after giving me the rest of the details he'd overheard, and I'd grabbed a cab.

It's only my second time in the bar, but I've quickly come to consider a place of safety and security. The only people allowed in here are the uppermost members of the gang, all of whom I trust, and the people they personally bring in. And no serious business is discussed with guests here, no matter how trusted they are.

Kent had called ahead and gotten Dave, who is on duty today. Nobody else was in, so we didn't even have to kick people out and cause any potential whispers of gossip. Everything is totally safe here, I remind myself, glancing around.

The underground bar is homey, despite being a dive. I lean back into the booth, taking a deep breath and a small sip of whisky this time. I can't get plastered, which I will if I keep downing these like water, even if my adrenaline is pumping so hard that it feels like the alcohol hasn't even touched me.

"Nick, just slow down," Kent says, taking a drink of his own whisky. He looks calm and collected, the complete opposite of my frantic energy. My curls are wilder than ever, because I've run my hands through them so many times, and my silk shirt is rumpled.

I smooth my hands down my front and attempt to run a tidying hand over my curly mop of hair, too. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, once, twice, three times. Gradually, my shoulders drop from up around my ears and my heart rate begins to return to a normal pace.

"That's it," Kent says softly with a smile. "We have to approach this sensibly, Nick; we can't just fly off the handle based on third-hand information. You know that. Now, tell me again who this Roger dude is?"

I take another deep breath before answering, trying to slow it down, as requested. I'd rushed in here like a madwoman and babbled almost incoherently while spilling out the story, Kent looking baffled and alarmed at my panic.

"Roger is the valet of the Alpha's mansion," I explain.

"And how did he get all this information about Charles's murder plot against his own mother?" Kent signals at Dave for another drink.

"He overheard Charles talking in his office," I say. "He was going to drop off some paperwork and heard Charles yelling over the phone. Apparently–" my throat closes up with a lump, and I have to take another sip of my drink before I can force more words out.

"Apparently, Charis – that's Charles's mom – had no idea that I'd been set up," I continue. "And now that I've been killed in a police chase, running from the cops with a car full of drugs that she now knows I was never peddling in the first place, she's getting suspicious."

"Suspicious of Charles," Kent says, more of a statement than a question.

"Yes," I say. "She only just learned that I had nothing to do with the original drug charges, the ones that sent me to prison. I guess Becki let it slip one night – Charles is furious with her for it – and Charis got so upset that they had to call in a doctor to sedate her.

"Charles had never trusted her with the truth, because he knew how close Charis and I were," I explain. "He was worried she wouldn't go along with the plan to frame me, even though I was on board at the time."

"But now she knows," Kent says.

"But now she knows," I confirm. "And suddenly, my tragic death is looking a hell of a lot less tragic and a hell of a lot more suspicious. She's started asking questions, searching out Charles and her husband and my father."

"Which is making Charles nervous as hell, I'd assume," Kent guesses.

"Yep." I take another drink of whisky, holding it in my mouth for a few moments to feel the burn of it on my tongue before swallowing it down and letting the warmth travel down my throat and into my stomach.

I wouldn't normally recommend alcohol as an emergency remedy for a bout of panic, but I'll make an exception for myself just this once. Any port in a storm, as the old saying goes.

"Nick, you know this guy better than I do," Kent says after a thoughtful pause. "Do you really think he'd murder his own mother, just to keep her from asking questions?"

I give Kent an incredulous look.

"Okay, okay, stupid question," Kent says with a laugh. It's a pretty bleak and humorless laugh. "Yeah, you and I both know that he would."

"He would," I agree.

"But why?" Kent asks. "I mean, what purpose would killing his mother serve? She doesn't know anything, not for sure. She only suspects that something about your death wasn't on the level. What could she possibly do with that information? Who could she tell?"

"She could tell the police," I suggest. "And she could tell them about the drug charges, the original ones. How I took the fall, even though it was really Charles's fault."

"But to what end?" Kent asks seriously. "Nick, think about it. Who is going to believe her? Even if they do believe her, what can they do about it? You're dead. Your 'body' has been cremated, weeks ago now.

"There's no way they can prove anything, and they don't have any incentive to, anyway. They'd be going up against one of the most powerful members of the Alpha's household, based on a mother's gut feeling and some nebulous maybes."

"I know that, and you know that," I counter. "But Charles is a paranoid mess, Kent. He's unraveling, I can see it. I saw him grab Marcus at that party last week, and he was blitzed out of his mind. Slurring his words and practically dragging Marcus off by the cuff of his sleeve."

Kent looks doubtful.

"Kent, come on," I say. "You know as well as I do how he'll go to pretty much any length to cover his own ass. Do you really think he wouldn't murder his own mother to save his skin?"

"No, that I believe," Kent says. "But she can't actually do any damage to him, and it's a huge risk to murder someone like that. Is he that foolish?"

"He is if he's panicked and unstable," I say. "Which I'm pretty sure he is. He's unraveling, Kent, I'm telling you. If nothing else, he'll be afraid of what the power of rumor can do. It might not land him in prison, but it can discredit him to the Alpha and make him lose the crown that he thinks he's going to seize.

"He's borderline delusional, Kent. He'll do anything to keep the power he's already gained, and he's frothing at the mouth for more. He won't let anything, not even a potential rumor, get in the way of that. He won't think it's worth the risk."

"All right, all right," Kent relents. "But what are we supposed to do about it? And – please don't take this the wrong way, Nick – but why should we care?"

I pause, twirling my whisky glass in my hand and staring down into the amber liquid as it shimmers in the low-level lighting above.

"Charis and I were always close," I say. "I've actually suspected from the beginning that she couldn't possibly have known the truth about me taking the fall for Charles. It wouldn't be like her, not at all."

I look up at Kent, pleading with my eyes and my voice.

"I can't let him just murder her, Kent. Not on my account."

Kent sighs and scrubs a hand over his face.

"All right, I get it," he says. "Look, we can't jeopardize our own interests for this – I'm sorry, Nick, but you know we can't. But keep an ear out, and I'll do some asking around, too. If there's anything we can do to help this Charis woman without it putting ourselves at risk, I promise we'll do it."

"Thank you," I reach across the table to grip Kent's hand tightly in my own. "That's all I ask."