TWENTY-NINE
Not having keys turned out not to be a problem, as Anderson kept a spare set in the glove compartment; however, we had to get underneath and chisel away at the hunk of ice we were hung up on. It didn’t actually take all that long, but if another car had come along while we’d been at it, it would have been . . . awkward. It’s not every day you see a naked man and a woman chained hand and foot having car trouble by the side of the road. Anderson had helped himself to Konstantin’s suit jacket after Konstantin was dead, but it was speckled with blood, which would have been hard to explain if anyone had stopped to try to help us. He’d tried the pants, too, but Konstantin was both taller and broader, and there was no way to keep the pants up.
At least the jacket, bloodstains and all, kept Anderson from looking like he was completely naked when we passed the police cars that blew by us only moments after we’d gotten back onto the road.
As I defrosted in the car on the way back to the mansion, I told Anderson everything he had missed—including that Cyrus had set us up. The fury that darkened his face made me wonder if I should have left that part out. The Olympians had clearly broken the treaty, but even though Konstantin was dead, nothing had really changed from our standpoint. We could not afford a war against the Olympians, no matter what Cyrus had done.
Anderson was quiet for a long time, stewing in his rage. I thought about reminding him of all the reasons why we couldn’t afford a war, but decided my best course of action was to let him figure that out himself.
Of course, the decision of whether or not we were going to war against the Olympians wasn’t entirely up to us. Konstantin had never dared start a war because he knew Anderson could kill him, but Cyrus had no way of knowing our puny little team could actually hurt him and his Olympians, and he was bound to be upset when he found out we’d taken out his dad.
Anderson let out a heavy sigh when we drove through the gates of home sweet home.
“Cyrus is a conniving, selfish, morally bankrupt bastard,” he said. “And he’s a huge improvement over Konstantin.”
“He’s going to assume we buried Konstantin somewhere,” I replied. “He and his daddy might not have had the most loving relationship, but Cyrus is going to want revenge anyway.”
“He might want it, but he won’t dare try to get it.” Anderson smiled, and there was a touch of cruelty in his expression. “If he kills us—or if he just pisses me off enough—he’ll lose all hope that we might someday tell him where Konstantin is buried.”
It was the same tactic Konstantin had used with Emma. Anderson had wanted to kill him for a long time, but he hadn’t dared kill the one man who might be able to give Emma back to him. The fact that there was absolutely no reason to believe Konstantin would ever do it had never killed the little ray of hope. Maybe Cyrus would fall victim to that same hope. Obviously, I was completely worthless when it came to guessing what Cyrus was going to do.
“What are we going to tell Blake?” I asked as we pulled into the garage. The relief of being home was strong enough to bring tears to my eyes.
Anderson frowned and turned off the car. “The truth, I suppose. I think he’s past being disillusioned by Cyrus anymore.”
“Yeah, maybe he’ll be flattered that Cyrus went through all that trouble just to get him back,” I said sarcastically. I didn’t think it was possible to find out that your onetime lover had planned to kill or enslave every one of your friends to force you to come back to him, without feeling some serious pain and disillusionment. After all, Blake still seemed to like Cyrus in a guarded sort of way.
“Don’t worry, you don’t have to tell him. I’ll do it myself. He deserves to know.”
To that, I had no argument.
I was too exhausted to hop, so I made no objection when Anderson offered to carry me into the house.