The Havoc We Wreak (The Four 3)

TWENTY-SEVEN

After making my request, I held my breath as Caiden stared down at me, his gaze conflicted. I hadn’t planned to get involved when I’d come here, but when I saw the look in his eyes…it could end up breaking him, if he had to do anything to hurt Allan. Despite everything, he’d pretty much grown up with him, and I could see that he still cared for him. Allan’s betrayal had cut him deeply, and if I had to push past my own discomfort and misgivings to save him beating himself up over this, then I would.

“I want to try it my way, first,” I said firmly. “If it doesn’t work, Zayde can help me. Right, Z?” I glanced over at him, and he nodded silently.

“Okay,” Caiden finally said. “For the record, I’m not fucking happy about this, but we’re running out of time here, and I don’t wanna waste time arguing about it.”

I nodded. “Good. Come on, then. Bring him into the light.” I waited, seated on Caiden’s chair as the boys manoeuvred him into position. Caiden had been behind him, and when he came around to the front of Allan’s chair and Allan took in both of us in front of him, his face drained of all colour, panic clear in his watery blue eyes.

“This will hurt,” Zayde warned, but I don’t think Allan was listening, too busy staring at me and Caiden in dismay. He flinched as Zayde ripped the tape from his mouth in one swift movement, his jaw working.

“Be right back,” I murmured, hopping up from the chair and jogging over to the room where Cassius and Weston waited.

“Water,” I explained, pulling the drawer open and grabbing a bottle.

“Hey, Winter.” Weston’s voice stopped me in the doorway. “Thanks for doing this.”

I gave him a small smile, before I rushed back over to Allan. Both him and Caiden were frozen in position, the air between them thick with tension.

“Allan? I have some water for you. I’ll have to tip it into your mouth.” His pale, teary eyes swung to mine, and he gave a slight nod.

I pulled the cap off the bottle and carefully tipped it up, letting it trickle into his mouth. He swallowed and gave me a grateful look. Placing the bottle back on the floor, I took my seat once again.

Then I got up. “Zayde? Can I borrow your knife, please?”

He raised a brow but handed it to me. I walked around behind Allan and carefully cut through the restraints binding his hands. He sighed with relief, flexing his hands and rubbing at his wrists. As much as I should feel anger at him for what he’d done, and I did feel anger, I also felt an overwhelming sense of sadness.

“Would it be okay if I asked you a few questions?” I returned to my seat in front of him.

“What questions? What is going on here?”

“I was wondering what you were doing at the castle tonight. With my mother, of all people.”

“I’m afraid I’m unable to tell you that.” Allan shook his head slowly, his expression exhausted.

Taking a deep breath, I decided to take a gamble. “Does this have anything to do with your family connections?”

“What?” His shocked intake of breath told me everything I needed to know.

Mentally crossing my fingers, I continued. “I know. I know about my mother, about your Strelichevo connection.”

He swayed in his chair a little, his face going from white to a deathly grey. For the first time, I was truly worried for his health.

Caiden must’ve been thinking along the same lines because he rushed over and placed his hand on Allan’s back. “Bend down. Head between your knees,” he instructed.

Allan obeyed without protest, holding the position for what felt like an eternity before he finally lifted his head. “I’m okay, now,” he croaked. “I suppose I may as well fill in the rest of the details, since you seem to know so much already.”

Finally. We were about to get some answers.

“I suppose I’d better start at the beginning…”

Caiden pulled up a chair next to me and reached out for my hand, threading his fingers through mine. Zayde rested his hand on the back of my chair as he came to stand behind us, his other hand on Caiden’s shoulder, offering silent support.

Allan started his story, his words slow and halting, and the puzzle pieces began to click into place.

“I was born in a small village in Belarus. Mikhail Strelichevo’s mother was my sister. Your grandmother was my best friend.” He swallowed hard. “Not only my best friend, but the girl I’d fallen in love with. Unfortunately for me, my love was unrequited.”

“My grandmother? I never knew anything about my grandparents,” I said quietly.