Page 36 of Poisoned Pawn

“He ain’t doing a good job so far.”

“Maybe if he didn’t have you three arseholes breathing down his neck, he’d do a lot better,” I snap back.

“Enough. This isn’t helping anyone. Carter, let me talk to my sister. Please.” Her please is tacked on begrudgingly.

Star is right behind me, as I knew she would be, and she pleads with her eyes. Pulling the phone from my ear and placing a hand over the mouthpiece, I say, “Watch what you say. No clues on where we are. Keep it basic.”

“I don’t even know where we are,” she snarks and holds out a hand for the phone.

“That’s because I fucked you into oblivion,” I say, leaning in close and keeping my voice low, but my hand may have slipped from the mouthpiece a little. Her cheeks pink and her breath hitches as she snatches the phone and turns her back to me.

I can hear Roxanne calling Star’s name, and I get immense satisfaction at knowing she heard me.

“Rox…”

“Has he hurt you? Did he…?” Roxanne’s half question raises my brows, and I sense there is a story there.

She hesitates, and I step up behind her, brushing her back with my front, and whisper in her ear, “Did I hurt you, princess?” I feel a tremble run through her body before she gets her emotions under control.

“No, he didn’t hurt me.” Her words are firm, certain, but tainted with the smallest lie. Because I hurt her. And she enjoyed every fucking second of it.

She goes to take a step forward, but my hands on her hips stop her. “Uh-uh, stay right fucking there.”

I hear Roxanne asking where we are, but Star deflects and tells her that we are safe before asking if they are all okay. Roxanne tells her they are all fine and no one was hurt. I check my watch. This call has lasted longer than it should have. I take the phone from Star’s hand.

“Okay, time’s up. Koda, find him,” I say then end the call and pocket the phone.

“What the fuck, Carter? It’s a burner, right? So they can’t trace it. Why are you being so secretive?”

“I’m not in the business of sharing. Information comes at a cost, a fucking valuable one. Giving it to the wrong people gets you killed, or are you skipping over the part where you’ve been shot at and attacked in your own home?”

“As if I need a fucking reminder. How else did I end up here.” Her eyes scan the room, looking out the windows to the view beyond.

It’s a beautiful view. Headland for miles and not another soul to be found. The nearest village is over a thirty-minute drive away.

“Don’t get any ideas. There is nothing and no one for miles.”

“Of course there isn’t. So, what’s the plan, huh? Are we just supposed to hide out here forever?” she asks, waving her hand around the room.

“What’s the matter, princess, I thought you’d be used to being locked away?”

I know I’m goading her, but I need to get her riled up enough to let something slip because I know she’s keeping shit from me. After the request for her hit came through, I did something I don’t usually do and ran a search on her. There are limited records of her under the name Anastasia up till the time her and Roxanne’s mum was murdered, and Roxanne entered the foster care system. But there is nothing on Anastasia from then up until five years ago when she miraculously reappeared using the name Star Kavanagh.

“Oh, I see what you’re doing, and it won’t work. You think I’m naive, that I’ve been protected and hidden away like some princess, but you’re wrong,” she says, pointing a finger at me.

I take a step toward her. “Is that so. Then tell me why you no longer use the name Anastasia?”

As soon as the name leaves my mouth, her whole demeanour changes. The shutters come down, her eyes widen and her face pales.

“Don’t say that fucking name. That is not my name,” she says, her words are low but said with such force. She backs away as I move closer, her shoulders tight, and she raises a shaky hand to stop me from coming any closer. “That girl…she doesn’t exist.” She shakes her head as if to expel the very thought of Anastasia from her mind.

Screw this. I march forward, invading her space and shoving her hand aside as it lands on my chest and grip her face. She flinches at my touch, and it’s like someone hit me with 2000 volts of pure fucking rage.

“Who the fuck hurt you?” My voice is strained, and the words come out as a gruff demand. Her wide eyes are pinned to mine as I hold her face, pleading with me to leave it alone. But I can’t. For some inexplicable reason the thought of someone hurting her, touching her, has filled me with so much hate, so much anger, that I can’t see past my need to make them pay.

I feel her as she tries to shake her head, to lie to me.

“Was it Kavanagh? ‘Cause I’ll fucking destr—”