that hidden part of his mate touched his senses as he felt her drift into sleep. It reached out to him, and still locked to her, buried deep inside her, he felt the tears she still held inside, felt the pain, the rage, and the ragged uncertainties that filled that dark corner of her soul.
“Don’t cry. Be brave, Peanut,” Mark’s voice whispered through her mind, as it did each time she tried to sleep, tried to escape the guilt that had plagued her for so long.
He was trying to give her a message that had been unable to penetrate the shocked, terrified senses of a fifteen-year-old child.
He’d always told her that her tears healed all her wounds. He’d told her she didn’t have to be brave all the time, that was what big brothers were for. And he had hated the pet name, Peanut, that his best friend had given her.
It was the only clue he had to give her.
Jason had betrayed them.
“I have you, Gypsy,” Rule whispered against her ear then. “You can cry now, baby. You don’t have to be brave alone anymore. Never again, sweetheart. You’ll never be alone again.”
CHAPTER 28
Kandy wasn’t waiting on her as Gypsy assumed she would be the next morning as she was taken from the hotel to the secured base where her parents were being held until Gypsy’s forty-eight hours were up.
So far, neither Dane Vanderale nor Dog had come forward, but with a weary heart she knew it no longer mattered. Rule would take care of the situation before the time was up.
Inhaling slowly, deeply, she stepped into the surprisingly comfortable rooms they were waiting in. The sitting room was tastefully appointed with a private bathroom and small bedroom off the side.
Her mother sat alone on the sofa, while her father stood at the small window on the far left side of the room that looked out onto the desert.
There were no security cameras, no electronic security period in the building she had been taken to. Old-fashioned locks and radios were used, though the weapons the Breeds carried were anything but old-fashioned.
Her mother looked up as the doors closed, her tear-swollen face still appearing far younger than her years while her green eyes were dark with grief.
“Gypsy.” It was her father who moved quickly to her, stopping a second before touching her, his gaze suddenly frantic as he stared down at her. “Mr. Wyatt said we couldn’t touch you,” he said hoarsely, the hand that had dropped to his side lifting, then falling helplessly before he raked both hands through his hair. “I haven’t hugged you in so long, have I, baby girl?”
Baby girl. That was what Mark had called her. It was what her parents had called the tiny, delicate little bundle they’d named Kandy Sweet.
Gypsy felt her throat tighten, the tears she could feel building in the ragged depths of her soul threatening to spill at any moment.
She swallowed tightly as a hard, single shake of her head did nothing to dispel the emotions tearing her apart.
“Jonas will release you sometime tomorrow,” she stated, unable to answer the question. “There’s a gag order on the crime you’re being held for until you can be questioned regarding the reasons for trying to betray the Breeds—”
“They’ve always meant more to you than anyone else did.” Her mother’s tone was hoarse, tears and anger filling her voice as she rose shakily to her feet.
“That’s enough, Greta,” Hans demanded, turning to her, his expression tortured. “For God’s sake, let this go.”
“When you were five and the Breeds revealed themselves, you cried for them and told Mark all you wanted was for someone to save them. Until then, Mark hadn’t involved himself in hacking, or in trying to save anyone. He was a good boy who loved his family . . .”
“Mark still loved his family,” Gypsy stated, her heart breaking, burning in pain as the accusation deepened in her mother’s eyes.
“For God’s sake, he acted as though you were his child,” her mother cried painfully as her father turned and paced away, a grimace contorting his face. “From the moment you were born. He even diapered and bathed you.”
“Because otherwise she cried in constant pain because her diaper wasn’t changed often enough, or stank of urine because she wasn’t bathed regularly,” her father finally bit out, turning back to the room as Gypsy’s gaze swung back to him in surprise. “We were too busy building a business that went nowhere and running a store that was no more than a fucking joke.”
Anger filled his tone as tears fell down her mother’s face once again.
“That isn’t true,” her mother sobbed.
“God, Greta, it is true. Mark was barely ten when Gypsy was born, and within months he was the one caring for her, because we were too damned busy or too damned drunk,” he assured her with such loving gentleness that Gypsy had to turn away from the sight of it or lose control of the tears she was barely holding in check. “By the time Gypsy was fifteen, neither of us even knew who or what our child was becoming, except that she was Mark’s. And Mark made certain we didn’t forget it if we tried to step in.”
“No . . .” Greta fought to disagree, the pain that filled her expression so great that the hollow grief in her eyes was almost alive.
“For God’s sake, admit it.”