All The Pretty Little Lies (Second Sons Duet #1)

31. Talon

TALON

I can't help but grin as I watch Alex and Zaire finish up their handiwork on Ivanov. The sight of the bastard's frozen ass would be almost comical, if it weren't for the gravity of the situation. I've seen some creative torture methods in my time, but a liquid nitrogen enema? That's a new one even for our twisted little family.

"Talon, we need to move," Oscar's voice cuts through my thoughts, sharp and urgent. I turn to see him with his arm around Vesper, her face buried in his chest. My heart clenches at the sight. She's been through hell, and it's not over yet.

"Right," I nod, snapping into action. "I'll get the gear packed up."

I move swiftly, gathering Alex's toys, an assortment of computers and their accessories, and our arsenal of weapons. The weight of the guns is comforting in my hands, a reminder of the power we wield and the protection we can offer Vesper. My father used to joke that I was born with a gun in my hand, and my skills with them would attest that’s true.

As I load the car, I can't help but replay Oscar's words in my head. Mario’s involvement in Vesper's abduction changes everything. We're exposed, vulnerable. The beach house, our safe haven, might as well have a target painted on its roof. There’s no one for miles.

I glance back at Oscar and Vesper, still locked in an embrace. Oscar's usually stoic face is etched with concern, his blue eyes dark with worry. He's whispering something to her, probably reassurances, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. He knows as well as I do that we're far from out of the woods.

“We’re ready. I’ll drive,” I yell to Oscar slamming the trunk shut.

Oscar walks Vesper outside, his arm protectively wrapped around her waist. Her steps are unsteady, and I can see the way she leans into him for support. The sight stirs something primal within me, a mix of protectiveness and a darker, more possessive emotion that I'm not ready to name. Oscar has always been in love with Vesper. It’s not shocking that Zaire fell almost as quickly. But, me. I barely knew her. But the longer I’m around her, I can see why the twins fell so fast. Despite everything she has been through, she’s still held on to her eternal light. It’s no wonder I seem to be gravitating towards her orbit just like they have.

As they approach the car, I open the back door for them. Oscar gently helps Vesper inside, his movements careful and tender. It's a side of him I rarely see, this softness that seems reserved only for her. He slides in next to her, and I watch as she immediately curls into him, her head resting in his lap.

The sound of her muffled sobs fill the car, each quiet gasp like a dagger to my chest. I grip the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles turning white as I fight the urge to reach back and comfort her myself. But this isn't my moment. It's Oscar's, and I respect that, even as jealousy gnaws at my insides.

I turn the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life. The familiar purr does little to calm my nerves as I throw the car into drive and peel out of the gravel driveway. Rocks spray behind us, a cloud of dust in our wake as we leave the beach house, and the nightmare it now represents, behind.

The tires screech as we hit the main road, and I push the speedometer well past the legal limit. The darkness of the night envelops us, broken only by the occasional streetlight and the glow of our headlights cutting through the gloom. In the rearview mirror, I catch glimpses of Oscar stroking Vesper's hair, whispering words of comfort I can't quite make out over the rumble of the engine.

Her cries gradually soften, but the pain in those quiet whimpers is no less potent. Each sound twists something inside me, fueling a rage I've been trying to keep in check. I want to turn this car around, go back, and make Ivanov suffer even more for what he's done to her. But I know that's not what she needs right now. What she needs is safety, comfort, and time to heal.

As we speed down the coastal highway, the ocean a dark, ominous presence to our right, I can't shake the feeling that we're being watched. Every set of headlights in the distance sets my teeth on edge. Is it Victor's men? Have they already found us? The paranoia is suffocating, but I force myself to focus on the road ahead.

"How is she?" I ask Oscar, my voice low and rough with emotion.

"She's falling asleep," he replies softly, his hand never ceasing its gentle caress of her hair.

“Do you really think her uncle did this to her? It doesn’t make sense. Unless, he knew we were going to stop her from getting to the airport,” Oscar offers.

“That’s not possible,” I argue back. “It’s something else. Something we’re not seeing.”

The miles stretch out before us, an endless ribbon of asphalt disappearing into the night. I settle into the rhythm of the drive, my body on autopilot while my mind races. The soft hum of the engine and the occasional whisper of tires on the road are the only sounds breaking the heavy silence.

Hours pass, marked only by the changing of the sky from inky black to the muted grays and the pinks of dawn. In the rearview mirror, I catch glimpses of Vesper, still curled up with her head in Oscar's lap. Her face, relaxed in sleep, looks impossibly young and vulnerable. Oscar hasn't moved, his hand a constant, soothing presence on her hair.

As the sun begins to climb higher in the sky, the familiar silhouette of our warehouse looms on the horizon. The worn brick facade and rusted metal roof belie the state-of-the-art security system hidden within its walls. A wave of relief washes over me as I guide the SUV through the concealed entrance, the heavy steel doors grinding shut behind us.

I park in our designated spot, killing the engine. The sudden silence is deafening. Oscar stirs, carefully maneuvering Vesper's sleeping form.

"I've got her," he murmurs, scooping her up effortlessly. "I'll take her up to the penthouse."

I nod, watching as he carries her to the elevator, her blonde hair cascading over his arm like spun gold. The doors close, and I'm left alone in the cavernous garage.

With a sigh, I turn to the task at hand. The trunk is packed to the brim with our gear, and I methodically begin unloading. Each piece of equipment is a reminder of the night's events; the computers Alex used to hack Ivanov's security, the weapons we didn't need to use but were prepared to, the medical supplies we thankfully didn't have to break out.

I'm hauling the last box out when I hear the unmistakable rumble of another vehicle approaching. Tensing instinctively, I relax when I recognize the sleek black Audi pulling into the garage. Zaire and Alex are here.

The car barely comes to a stop before Zaire is out, his face a mask of barely contained fury and concern. He doesn't even spare me a glance as he strides past, making a beeline for the elevator. The doors open as if on cue, and he disappears inside.

Alex emerges more slowly, his usually cheerful face drawn and tired. He moves to help me with the remaining gear, but I wave him off.

"I've got this," I tell him. "You look like hell. Go get some rest."

Alex ignores my suggestion, grabbing a box of his precious tech. His eyes narrow as he peers inside, and I brace myself for the inevitable tirade.

"Jesus, Talon, did you just throw everything in here like a goddamn caveman?" He pulls out a tangle of wires, his face contorting in horror. "This is delicate equipment, not your dirty gym socks!"

I roll my eyes, hefting another box onto my shoulder. "Oh, I'm sorry, princess. Next time we're fleeing a potential mafia war, I'll be sure to pack your toys with silk pillows and rose petals."

Alex mutters something that sounds suspiciously like "Neanderthal" as we make our way to the elevator. The doors slide open with a soft ping, and we step inside. The ascent to our penthouse is smooth, but the tension in the air is palpable.

"So," I begin, desperate to break the uncomfortable silence, "where'd you get the idea for that liquid nitrogen stunt? That was creative, to say the least."

A ghost of a smile flickers across Alex's face, a welcome change from his earlier scowl. "Believe it or not, I saw a video about making ice cream with liquid nitrogen. Got me thinking about other applications."

I can't help but laugh, the sound echoing in the confined space of the elevator. "Only you could watch a cooking video and turn it into a torture method. Remind me never to piss you off when you're in the kitchen."

Alex grins, some of the weariness lifting from his features. "Please, as if I'd waste good nitrogen on your sorry ass. You'd get the dollar store version, maybe some ice cubes down your pants."

The elevator doors open, and we step into the luxurious penthouse. The open-plan living area is bathed in the soft morning light filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows. In any other circumstance, the view of the city skyline would be breathtaking. Today, it just makes me feel exposed.

We make our way to the tech room, Alex's personal sanctuary filled with more screens and gadgets than a NASA control center. As we set down the boxes, I can't help but notice the way his hands linger on each piece of equipment, checking for damage.

"You know," I say, leaning against the doorframe, "for a guy who just turned a man's ass into a popsicle, you're awfully precious about your toys."

Alex shoots me a withering look. "These 'toys' are what keep us alive and off the grid. A little respect wouldn't kill you."

I raise my hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I bow to your superior nerd knowledge. Just don't expect me to start treating your laptops like Fabergé eggs."

He snorts, already engrossed in setting up one of his monitors. "As if you even know what a Fabergé egg is."

"I'll have you know I'm very cultured," I retort, puffing out my chest in mock indignation. "I've seen 'Anastasia' at least twice."

Alex's laugh is genuine this time, a welcome sound after the tension of the past few hours. "Right, because an animated movie is the pinnacle of historical accuracy. Next, you'll be telling me you're an expert on Russian history because you've played Tetris."

I can't help but grin. "Hey, those falling blocks taught me everything I need to know about efficient packing. How do you think I got all your precious gear in the car so fast?"

"Oh, is that why my hard drives are stacked like Jenga pieces?" Alex quips, raising an eyebrow as he pulls out a precariously balanced tower of equipment.

Our banter continues as we unpack, the familiar rhythm of our friendship providing a much-needed distraction from the gravity of our situation. But even as we joke, I can't shake the nagging feeling of unease that's settled in my gut.

"Alex," I say, my tone suddenly serious, "I need you to run a full security sweep. Check for any breaches, any unusual activity in the past 48 hours. If Mario’s involved, we can't be too careful."

Alex nods, his fingers already flying across one of his keyboards. "On it. I'll set up additional firewalls and reroute our digital footprint through a few more proxy servers. It'll slow down our connection, but it'll make us harder to trace."

I clap him on the shoulder, grateful for his expertise. "Good man. I'm going to do a perimeter check, make sure we're locked down tight."

As I leave Alex to his digital fortress, I can't help but feel a twinge of envy. His digital world of code is so much more straightforward than the mess of emotions and loyalties we're dealing with in the real world.

I make my way through the penthouse, checking each window and door, assessing the locks and security systems. It's a routine I've performed countless times, but today it feels different. More urgent. More necessary.

As I pass by Oscar's room, I pause. The door is slightly ajar, and I can't resist peeking inside. The sight that greets me sends a jolt through my system.

Vesper lies on the bed, her golden hair spread out on the pillow like a halo. She looks peaceful in sleep, the worry lines that have marred her forehead for days finally smoothed out. But it's not just her presence that catches my attention.

Oscar sits in a chair pulled close to the bed, his hand gently holding Vesper's. His thumb traces small circles on her skin, a gesture so tender it makes my chest ache.

Zaire stands at the foot of the bed, his usual cocky demeanor replaced by a look of fierce protectiveness. His eyes never leave Vesper's face, as if he's afraid she might disappear if he looks away for even a second. The scar on his neck stands out starkly against his pale skin, a reminder of the dangers we face every day in this life.

I linger in the doorway, unable to tear my gaze away from the scene before me. There's an intimacy to it that makes me feel like an intruder, yet I can't bring myself to leave. The way Oscar and Zaire orbit around Vesper, even in her sleep, speaks volumes about the depth of their feelings for her.

A lump forms in my throat as I watch Oscar gently brush a strand of hair from Vesper's face. His touch is so tender, so reverent, it's almost painful to witness. I've known Oscar for years, seen him in the heat of battle and in the depths of despair, but I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at her.

And Zaire, the wild card of our group, stands as still as a statue, his eyes never wavering from Vesper's sleeping form. The tattoos that cover his arms seem to writhe in the dim light, creating a mesmerizing pattern that only adds to the surreal quality of the moment.

I find myself wondering what it would be like to love someone that deeply, that completely. To feel so connected to another person that their pain becomes your pain, their joy, your joy. The intensity of their devotion is almost palpable, filling the room with an energy that's both exhilarating and terrifying.

A part of me yearns for that kind of connection, that sense of belonging. But another part recoils from it, recognizing the vulnerability that comes with opening yourself up so completely to another person. In our world, love is a liability, a weakness that can be exploited by our enemies.

Yet looking at Oscar and Zaire, I can't help but think that maybe it's worth the risk. The way they stand guard over Vesper, ready to face any threat that might come her way, speaks of a strength that goes beyond physical prowess or tactical skill. It's a strength born of love, of unwavering loyalty and fierce protectiveness.

I think about my own feelings for Vesper. The way my heart races when she's near and the overwhelming urge to keep her safe. Is that love? Or just the natural protective instinct of a friend and ally? The line between the two seems increasingly blurred, and I'm not sure I'm ready to examine those feelings too closely.

With one last glance at the trio in the room, I force myself to turn away. The ache in my chest lingers as I make my way back downstairs, each step feeling heavier than the last.

As I reach the main floor, I throw myself into the task of securing our hideout. I check and double-check every lock, every alarm system. I review the camera feeds, scrutinizing each frame for any sign of unusual activity.

But even as I go through the motions, my mind keeps drifting back to that room upstairs.