35
Wren stiffens next to me as we sit on the opposite side of the table, the restaurant around us busy, the talk loud and boisterous but the table we join is the complete opposite.
Kingston nurses a glass of wine as his eyes watch us take our seats before him. Isobel grins at Wren like a child might on Christmas morning and suddenly leans across the table, snatching Wren’s left hand.
“Nice rock!” She beams, fingering the stones on her finger, eyes wide, “so pretty.”
Wren carefully tugs back her hand, “thank you.”
“You’ll make a fierce queen,” Isobel comments.
“It’s taken you far too long to come to me with this information,” Kingston muses, rubbing his bottom lip with his middle finger, the rings there catching in the light, “seeing as you’ve had it some time now.”
“A few days,” I agree, ignoring the fact that he already knew I had it.
“And why is it only now I am seeing it?” He asks, flicking his eyes to Wren, “was my trade not valuable enough?”
My nostrils flare, “Don’t push it, Heart, I don’t care who you are, you’re on my territory.”
His laughter is light.
“Don’t mind my brother,” Isobel tuts, “he enjoys an argument far too much and does it often.”
“It just seems that your brother is an asshole.” Wren comments, her fingers curling into a fist atop the table as she glares at King.
“I am so very pleased I turned up when I did,” King suddenly says, “A fire like yours should not be snuffed out quite as soon as Valentine had intended.”
“Enough,” I snap, “I have your information.”
“I know you do,” he leans back, waving over a waiter, “But let’s eat first, I’m fucking starving.”
I didn’t have time for this shit.
I wasn’t particularly fond of the Heart’s. Kingston was infuriating but powerful, a ruler with an iron fist. With no information on the man, it made him unpredictable. He overthrew a notorious ruler for the throne, opened new trades and businesses in Europe and has never been challenged. Most don’t like him, but they leave him be mainly because he’d flatten an army in a second and never blink an eye.
Isobel was chaotic. A charming and kind exterior that hides something a lot more insidious underneath. There’s a darkness in her eyes that screams violence but again, like Kingston, no one knows much about her.
Even if I didn’t like them, they were fearsome and respectable and I had to accept that this trade was worth it. He could have used Wren as a bargaining chip, blackmailed me into handing over the information, instead he did something not many men would have done in this line of work.
After ordering food, King forces the conversation onto lighter topics, steering away from anything Syndicate related. Wren has relaxed a little next to me, talking to Isobel about the tattoos that adorn her skin.
It’s only after we have eaten and the restaurant has emptied a little more that he holds out his hand.
I pull the flash drive from my pocket and hover it above his open palm.
“What plans do you have with the information?” I ask.
“It does not concern you,” King replies, “But I will not use it until your business with the organization is done.”
“You’re going back to the UK?”
“Tonight,” King confirms, “There are matters to be addressed and I’ve been gone too long.”
I drop the flash drive into his hand, “That has everything Ainsley uncovered, including scanned electronic copies of the images she got.”
“Thank you,” King dips his chin in a nod and stands, Isobel following. He steps away but stops at my shoulder, his hand suddenly falling there, “For the record, I meant what I said, I respect you and your family however,” he pauses, bending, “I respect your woman a hell of a lot more for what she has endured. Take care of her.”
And then they’re gone.