“Then we’ll watch from the plane,” he says, retrieving his phone and making the arrangements.
***
The next day, Adrian and I are on a private jet owned by Walker Security by nine AM. Savage and his wife Candace are with us as well. Candace is an architect, it turns out, and funny, sweet, and gorgeous. Her dark hair is silk. Her green eyes are bright. The two of us end up sitting at a small booth while Adrian and Savage chat with Blake, who has just boarded the plane.
She tells me all about Savage leaving her to “save” her.
“But he came back,” I say, stating the obvious.
“He did,” she says, “but it isn’t always easy being in love with a man who has enemies. His enemies are my enemies, but I don’t care. He’s the love of my life. We belong together.”
I think of the assassin named Michael. I wonder who he is and how he knows Savage.
And I think of Adrian’s parents. Someone killed them. Someone who wanted his father out of the way. Adrian has enemies, too. He will always have enemies.
“Savage is a complicated man,” Candace adds. “His life is complicated, but when we’re together, it’s not complicated at all. It’s just us.”
She just summarized every moment I’ve ever shared with Adrian.
A few minutes later, the lot of us—me, Adrian, Savage, Candace, Blake, and even Kara, are sitting in a large lounge area with the news coverage on, watching the anticipation of the King Devil’s release. Suddenly, he’s on the screen, smiling at the cameras.
“Would you like to give a statement?” one reporter shouts and many other shouts follow.
Waters waves them off, seemingly uninterested in the attention. The police push back the press and Waters walks toward a fancy sports car at the prison gates and clicks the locks. He climbs inside the vehicle.
“Piece of shit,” Savage murmurs, while Adrian says nothing.
He just watches.
Waters cranks the engine and drives away, pulling off onto the highway, and disappearing in the distance. “And so it’s done,” I say, but then there is chaos on the news screen, people running everywhere, and a camera pans to smoke lifting off the highway just over the hill.
The news anchor then says, “It appears that there has been an explosion. I repeat, it appears there has been an explosion.” He listens in his earpiece and then says, “I’ve confirmed that Nick Waters’ vehicle has blown up with him inside of it. He is presumed dead.”
“I didn’t do it,” Savage says. “In case anyone’s wondering. I’m a more hands-on and in-your-face kind of killer.”
All of us are now looking at Adrian. “It wasn’t me,” he says. “I didn’t kill him or have him killed. But I would have. Someone beat me to the punch.”
“I can’t believe this is happening,” I say. “I mean—I can’t believe it’s really happening. Waters is dead and I feel like a bad person for saying this, but I’m relieved. It’s over for us.”
Adrian’s jaw clenches. “No. It’s not over. Deleon is still alive.”
Chapter Forty-Two
PRI
Adrian and I spend the holidays in Europe. Thanksgiving is a feast by the water in an amazing spot off of the Italian Riviera. Christmas is in Rome, in the castle Adrian’s friend owns, and it’s magnificent. His friend, or friends rather, Kayden and Ella Wilkens, are wonderful, as is their housekeeper and live-in mom of sorts, Marbella, who fills our bellies with wonderful food. And their tree is gorgeous and so big, that it fills the impressively large front foyer of the castle.
On Christmas morning, I wake to Adrian telling me a bad joke before we ever get out of bed. “What do you call a kid who doesn’t believe in Santa?”
“Okay, I’ll bite. What do you call a kid who doesn’t believe in Santa?”
“A rebel without a Claus.”
I laugh and a few minutes later, we are enjoying coffee and croissants thanks to Marabella, and the two of us have cozied up in front of the fireplace in our room, me in a fuzzy warm robe, and him in nothing but his pajama bottoms, as we prepare to exchange gifts. Thankfully when I’d gone shopping with Ella a few days earlier, I’d found something special. I offer Adrian the small silver-wrapped box. “You first,” I insist.
He doesn’t argue and I can see the curiosity in his eyes, but also something quite thoughtful. “The last gift I got for Christmas was from my parents the year before they died.”
Considering all I know of the friends around him, this surprises me. “Not even from your friends at Walker?”
“I was on a mission overseas last year during Christmas.”
And hating himself for killing Alex, I think. I decide to bring him back to a more sentimental memory, praying it’s not painful. “Tell me about the gift, the last one your parents got you.”