The Insiders (The Insiders Trilogy 1)

“Will that be all, Mr. Colello?” The driver came in behind me, a suitcase in hand. “Would you like this brought to your room?”

Kash gave him a nod. “Thank you, Edward. You can leave that right there.”

I knew an Edward once. Edward Vance. He was my seventh-grade math teacher. He was supposed to teach me algebra and instead I offered to figure out how he could get a tax refund bonus for extra credit. At the end of that year, he asked my mom out and they dated through the summer. That’d been awkward. I didn’t need to hear how Edward Vance could take the van all the way home.

“Bailey?”

“Yes!” I checked back in. “Where’s my room here?”

I was freaking.

This was post kidnapping.

This was post learning a huge fucking lie.

This was not-knowing-what-was-going-to-happen-in-my-future freaking.

This was just plain freaking.

Everything was hitting me all at once.

My stomach twisted up inside.

“Bailey.” Kash was frowning at me, the mail down on the counter.

I clamped a hand over my mouth. “I don’t feel so good.”

His eyebrows shot up, and he was at my side in a flash.

Opening a door, he pushed me down to the floor. The toilet lid was shoved up, and then I let it rip.

Worst. Day. Ever.

Wait. Scratch that. I forgot about the kidnapping.

Second worst. Day. Ever.

NINE

“Well.” I groaned, falling to rest against the wall behind me. “That was embarrassing.”

Kash had stepped back.

I gagged. I dry heaved. It was like a premature ejaculation experience.

There was no follow-through, no meat to my girth.

I didn’t perform. I underperformed. Air. That was all that came out of me—and a small little snot that fell from my nose.

And, remembering it, I wiped it away, tucking my hand down. I was going to press it on the floor, but that was gross. Kash was here, watching me, and these were his floors.

“Here.” He tore off a couple pieces of toilet paper and handed them over.

I took them, feeling that heat all over my body now. Embarrassing.

“Thanks,” I croaked, unable to meet his gaze.

He leaned against the counter, folding his arms over his chest. “All of this must be a lot to take in.”

I snorted. “A little?”

And another thing of snot came out. Gah. So embarrassing. I wiped at it quick, praying he hadn’t seen that, but knowing he had. This guy had hawk eyes. He saw everything. I doubted there was much he didn’t notice.

“Listen.” His voice gentled and he slid down to sit across from me, his feet on both sides of my legs.

I should’ve scooted back, put some respectable distance between us, but I didn’t. His legs touched mine and I … couldn’t bring myself to move away. If anything, my leg sagged a little bit against his.

I was sick. That’s why.

He rested his head back against the bathroom counter. “You’ve been through a traumatic event.” His eyes grew softer. “For what you’ve been through, I was … I could’ve been softer yesterday.” His voice hardened. “You were forced to choose between a father you didn’t know and your mother. It’s a hard place to be in, and I do—”

If he said “sympathize,” I was going to pinch his nuts.

I waited, but he only said, “You had a day with your mom, but given how fast everything has happened, I’d understand if you needed a night.”

“You want me to pull myself together?”

He winced. “The family knows I have a guest coming. They know you’re here, so they’ll want to meet you. Seraphina is especially excited. She’s texted me ten times asking when my ‘lady friend’ is getting here.”

My throat swelled up. “How—how old is Seraphina?”

“You’re trying to tell me you don’t know?” He gave me a knowing look, his lips tugging up.

I flushed.

I tugged at the end of my shirt, smoothing it out. “You know about my brain.” Not a question, a statement.

“Yeah.” His voice softened again. “I know.” And he kept on, his voice taking on an almost intimate sound, sliding behind my walls. “I know you probably read up on your father, read about his family, your family, but I don’t get why you want me to say it. What does it mean for me to tell you how old your sister is?”

My throat burned.

How could I explain that? That it would make me feel normal, that I wanted someone to tell me about my family, that this one time, I didn’t want to already know the answer before someone told it to me? Especially about her, about Matthew, about my other brother.

How could I say all that to him?

I jerked up a shoulder, looking away. “Just tell me about her.”

“We call her Ser.” His voice softened too. “She’s twelve, and she’ll be shy when she first sees you, but trust me, she’s dying to have another female around, one somewhat in her age range.”