Page 12 of Stormhold

“And is that supposed to make me feel better?”

He lifted a nonchalant shoulder. “I only brought you in today to find out if you were actually involved with the incident. It’s not every day I get door deliveries from an assassin. I just thought you could offer me some insight, but it’s clear that you don’t know anything either. If that is all, I apologize for wasting your time, Ms. Esteal. I will ask Mikhail to drop you back at the Codex.”

This was the first lead I had in thirteen years, and I wasn’t going to let it slip out of my hands just because the Stormholds were involved.

“You brought me this far. I want to know more,” I said instead, fixing my stance as I held his intent gaze.

“And why would I tell you anything?” he asked dryly.

“Even if you don’t, I’m involving myself. The man he mentioned, the one with the four fingers? I want him.”

He raised a brow. “And why might that be?”

I paused, thinking for a second before I answered.

For someone like Arkane Stormhold, my past wouldn’t be a secret or even the “terrible incident” the police declared it to be. He would know some of the truth or maybe even all of it, especially since he brought me into his world.

He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t know every single detail about me, at least the most relevant ones, so I decided to test the theory. “I suspect he was one of the men involved in murdering my family.”

“I thought you had no family, Ms. Esteal.” He paused, his sharp eyes regarding me. “Or should I say, Ms. Queen?”

So he did know. Years ago, when the Valerians rescued my sisters and me and placed us in Twin City, they gave us new identities for our safety. To this day, I still didn’t know why those men killed my family. Everyone thought that Lylah and Jason Queen’s daughters and niece were dead, but we were still alive.

“So you know,” I said flatly.

“I make it my business to know everyone who stirs trouble in my city, Bellerose,” he repeated his words from the other night.

“Then you know very well why I want to find those men.”

His brow raised further. “It’s a bold argument you make. There are many men with missing fingers, and you were what… sixteen when it happened. Not one person could identify those men. The reports merely state they belonged to a local gang. It was simply a robbery gone wrong, Belle. You shouldn’t involve your personal vengeance in my family matter.”

“It was more than a robbery gone wrong, Stormhold,” I said calmly. “I know because I was there, and I don’t ever forget. Plus, there is nothing personal about it. I simply want to find and put an end to them.”

“And you can. I just don’t want to be a part of your business.”

“I already am if you’re looking for the same man as I am, Stormhold. We both want the same end for him.”

He remained quiet, his impassive gaze studying me before he asked, “Why would I help you?”

“Helping each other,” I explained. “Yes, I know I don’t have the same power or influence as you, but I know how to kill, and there is nothing that slips my eye. I could be useful or maybe offer a different perspective. I don’t know, but you can trust me, Stormhold.”

He smiled, but it was cold. “I never trust an outsider, Esteal.”

I sighed. “Fine, don’t trust me. I don’t trust you either. Rather, I’ll give my word that I’ll never betray you. I really don’t know anything about September thirteenth other than what I learned today. I only want the life of the men who killed my family. Other than that, I won’t interfere in your business. We’ll be crossing paths either way if whatever Alan Dumfred said was true.”

He thought for a long minute, his face giving nothing away as his eyes searched mine. It took everything in me not to break eye contact, not because I was intimidated by his power but because his presence enthralled me.

“Fine,” he said slowly. “But only to an extent. It’s dangerous. Both for you and me.”

A small smile lifted my lips. “I wouldn’t expect otherwise.”

“Take a seat then, Ms. Esteal. We have a lot to discuss.” He gestured to the pair of side-facing leather seats in front of his desk. “Would you like a drink?”

“I’m good, thank you,” I murmured as I took the seat. For some reason, my voice seemed to take a softer tone when it came to him.

“I insist,” he muttered as he glided out of his seat and walked to the minibar by the bookshelves.

Without his long coat, I could finally appreciate the material of his vintage Italian suit clinging to his body, tailored to fit him in all the right places. My eyes followed as he poured water from a decanter. I didn’t think I’d ever been fascinated by a simple act. Everything about him was sophisticated and intentional.