And very much like realization.
Luna didn’t even notice that the woman used a name most didn’t know.
The roar of her bike wasn’t enough to quell the storm brewing inside Luna as she drove to the New York compound where she knew Uilleam was staying. Even as her mind was a thousand miles away, she still expertly navigated through traffic.
Too many questions but not enough answers plagued her as she drove. There was so much that didn’t make sense, but more and more of the pieces were beginning to fit together.
But the picture was not one she wanted to see …
No, she wouldn’t jump to conclusions. She wouldn’t assume things she wasn’t sure of, not when she could get them from the source.
Riding up to the steel reinforced gate that surrounded the acre of property, she keyed in her personal code, whipping inside once the gate was open far enough.
With Uilleam’s attendance, the facility had been locked down, only those that he permitted allowed to come and go. One would have thought, considering the attempt on his life, that he would have requested more security to ensure that if anyone tried again, they would be dealt with quickly, but Uilleam had sent most of the security away.
His trust was hard earned, she knew. And despite him being the one that wrote the checks, he knew there was always the potential of someone risking a foolish mission because someone else offered more money.
The entire west wing of the facility was off-limits, but Luna was permitted to enter. Perhaps because she had Uilleam’s trust.
Or maybe because he didn’t see her as a threat.
Whichever the answer, it wouldn’t end well for one of them.
Uilleam was sitting in the rec room, a cloth napkin tucked into the collar of his shirt, a knife and fork in his hand as he cut into the massive steak on a plate in front of him. He was paler than usual, bruise-like shadows beneath his eyes, but as his gaze shot to her, she could see that underneath it all, he was still the Kingmaker.
“Luna, always a pleasure. What can I do for you?”
“42nd and Hamilton,” she said without preamble, refusing to look away from him. Needing to see even the most minute expression on his face. “You own the warehouse there.”
Uilleam didn’t blink. “I own many warehouses.”
She had spent enough time around the younger Runehart brother to know when he was evading, and that realization made her snap. Jerking one of the knives she kept hidden at her wrists, she palmed it before walking over to him and slamming it down hard into the steak, shattering the plate beneath it.
Uilleam looked from her to it and back again. “You have my attention.”
“Don’t do that,” she said, her voice betraying the emotion brewing inside of her. “Don’t treat me like a fool.”
For once, she hated how calm and unbothered he was—how indifferent. She remembered once when she had wished she possessed that trait—wished she was capable of hiding her thoughts and feelings the way he and his brother could.
“You’ve never been a fool, Luna,” Uilleam said with surprising conviction. “And I’ve never treated you like one.”
“Then tell me the truth. Tell me about the warehouse.”
“Does Kit know you’re here?”
Luna was taken back by the question, not because it was particularly shocking, but because she didn’t think in all the years she had known him she had ever heard him use Kit’s name.
He was always, ‘my brother’ or ‘the facilitator,’ or as of recently, Uilleam just referred to him as her husband.
It was then she knew.
She knew.
“Tell me what you did,” she said, feeling like a fool as emotion clogged her throat.
Uilleam sighed, but there was no regret in his eyes as he pushed away from the table, tossing his napkin on the table. “It wasn’t what I did that matters, it’s what I didn’t do.”
“I swear to God, I’m not in the fucking mood for your word games, Uilleam. Did you do this to me?” she demanded, pointing her knife in his direction.
She expected him to make an excuse, to continue with his word games until she grew too frustrated to continue.
The last thing she was expecting was his answer.
“Yes.”
All the fight drained out of her as horror took its place. “What?”
“You asked if I’m responsible for you being here, right now, wielding a knife—the answer is yes.” His words were unapologetic, blunt in the pain they delivered. “I had you taken from your home and brought to a warehouse—the one on 42nd and Hamilton.”
Luna realized almost belatedly that her hands were shaking, that she didn’t have a firm grip on the weapon she was already picturing plunging into his neck.
“How … why …” But she couldn’t think of the right question to ask.
Uilleam answered them both. “The how is rather simple. I sent a team to extract you. The why, however, is a bit more complicated.”