The Gallows at Midnight (Agents of Interpol 2)

He places his fingers under my chin and gently guides my head up so that I meet his eyes. I bite my bottom lip trying not to cry. “I mean it, Lily. I can tolerate a lot of things. But I won’t tolerate a wife that constantly lies to me.”

“I won’t.” Tears spill down my face, but I’m exhausted. It’s like a tsunami of drowsiness washes over me. My eyelids droop closed, and I blink hard to keep them open. “I promise.”

Blake stands and lowers me into bed, pulling the cool, fluffy covers over me. I’m passing out, but I think he kisses me . . . but I’m not really sure.

32

~Lily~

Thirty days isn’t a lot and now, I’m out of time. My body is just beginning to heal, and the team hasn’t come up with a viable way to stop Jax. He gave me thirty days, and I’m scheduled to meet him tom

orrow night. I’ve got a little over 24 hours left, and I’m silently freaking out.

I’ve spent a majority of the time since being back resting. Dresden said healing as much as possible was an advantage we needed. With no real options on getting out of this, I have to survive until they can find me again. Blake, as is normal lately, has been unusually calm. It’s frightening in a way.

Sorina has been optimistic. At the moment, she’s sitting with me on the sofa, painting my nails black because it’s the only color I’d agree to. She tried for a pink, which gave Teresa and Blake a good laugh. I wasn’t as amused. She’s chatting happily about the book she read this week— some teenage romantic tragedy about a girl with cancer that joins some kind of support group. I think if we get to have a normal life, I’m going to build this child a library.

I haven’t spoken to my biological mother or sister in the month they’ve been here. Sorina spends a lot of time with them, as does Blake. He’s gotten us in the same room together, but I can’t find anything to say that won’t make me sound like a complete bitch.

“What do you think, Mom?”

I blink and look at her. “Sorry, what did you say, kiddo?”

She laughs openly and everyone else chuckles too. Everyone but Blake.

“Baby,” he says walking in from the kitchen. “You okay?”

I swallow the lump in my throat and glance to Delia and Marcela who walk up and stop next to him. “Yeah. I’m good. Just a lot on my mind.”

His jaw tightens, but Sorina demands my attention again. “I said, maybe when you get back, we can find some kind of writing class for me to take.” She won’t acknowledge that there is even the slightest possibility I won’t come back. She’s putting all her chips on the team figuring this out. If you hear Sorina tell it, I’ll be back in a week or less.

Sadly, I’m not so confident.

“Of course. Then again, I’d like to have you enrolled in a normal school, too.” I smirk at her and she playfully rolls her eyes as she lets go of my hand and closes the nail polish.

“Done!” She smiles with pride at the perfect job she’s done on my nails. She’d ask to paint my toes too, but my right foot is still healing, and my left knee is still swollen a little more than it should be, so I declined.

She jumps off the couch, quickly kisses me on the cheek, runs over to do the same to Blake, and heads down the hallway toward Carson’s room. I can’t help but shake my head and laugh to myself.

“Being a mother suits you.”

My laughter is cut short as Delia sits where Sorina had been. I can’t keep the muscles in my body from tensing up. I figured they’d try to talk to me at some point before I left, I hoped someone would advise them against it though.

Blake moves to my side and sits on the arm of the couch. I reach up to take his hand and he gently kisses my knuckles. He’s trying to make me okay with this. I just don’t think I ever will be.

“She’s a wonderful mother,” Blake says with pride in his voice.

“When I’m around,” I say jokingly, though it’s only partially a joke. I haven’t been around as much as everyone else has, so my time with Sorina has been severely limited in the last year and a half.

“Even when you’re not here, you stay with her.”

“Mihn—, Lily. Please give me a chance to explain. I owe you at least that,” Delia says as Marcela scoots closer to her and takes her hand.

“What is an explanation going to do for me? It won’t make the nine years I spent in the ring disappear. Despite what my fiancé thinks, it won’t give me closure. So why bother?”

“Your father, your biological father, he had . . . issues. A lot of them. A year after he . . . sold you, I took Marcela and left.”

A humorless chuckle escapes my lips, and Blake squeezes my hand just enough to help me take a breath. For the first time, I look Delia directly in her face. The resemblance between us is strong, but Marcela looks like a spitting image of me. She should be 25, or almost 25. I remember there being a four-year age gap, I think.