Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 234
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
I wrap my arms around her small frame in a hug. I don’t even care if she reciprocates, but my mouth curves upward as her arms coil around my waist.
Sherlock Holmes rounds the corner. “Congratulations on escaping The Labyrinth Library! Apologies for the alarm. It’s supposed to trigger when the door is opened by force, but it activated unexpectedly. And there was no way to disable it without opening the door, which would have broken immersion. But you all figured it out in the nick of time!” His smile is forced, and I see a hint of worry behind his eyes.
He knows who we are.
My family has a hundred different lawyers on retainer, and he’s probably crossing his fingers we’re going to walk out of here without trouble. But I doubt any of my brothers will put up a stink about an alarm when they’re usually the ones setting them off.
I only let go of Harriet when Beckett’s bodyguard appears with the basket of phones. I hand hers back to her, then I collect mine and see fifteen missed calls from my little sister.
Blood drains out of my head.
“Fuck,” I mutter, my pulse accelerating. This many incessant calls from Audrey means something is wrong. Four or five and maybe it wouldn’t be anything dire, but fifteen? If she were in serious trouble, she’d call all our brothers, especially Charlie and Eliot.
My brothers check their phones, but no one seems distraught or panicked. Eliot even listens to his missed texts and grins.
I keep my phone in my fist, then spin to Harriet as she goes to grab her messenger bag. “Hey, can you give me ten minutes? I need to call my sister back.”
“Yeah, sure.”
I head out to use the bathroom for privacy, but when I step through the doorway, I hear Beckett say, “What’s wrong, Tom?”
My stomach nosedives. Rotating back, I see Tom clutching at his throat. “I fucked up,” he croaks. “Beck—” His voice cracks. Panic lances his widening eyes. He’s the lead singer in his band.
Fuck.
Fuckfuckfuck. Wind is knocked out of my chest, and it takes everything to reach the bathroom in one choked breath.
The door swings shut behind me.
I don’t call my sister right away.
I brace my hands on either side of the sink. What the fuck…what the fuck? A raging anxious heat swarms me. Sweat quickly builds up on my forehead, and I yank at the collar of my shirt. Suffocating—am I suffocating? Why is it so fucking hard to breathe? I intake an unsteady one and splash water on my face.
Groaning out, I try to calm down, but I can’t…I can’t because all I’m thinking about is how Tom likely just damaged his vocal cords. I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t be here. This wouldn’t have happened if I stayed at the apartment. Folding my arms on the rim of the sink, I press my forehead to them, feeling ill.
It’s so dumb.
I’m being fucking dumb. This isn’t my fault. This isn’t my fault. But I caused this. Being here caused this. There are consequences to everything.
Hot tears burn the creases of my eyes. “Stop,” I grit at myself. “Stop.”
Now I’m on my knees, and I’m puking in the porcelain bowl. I white-knuckle the top of the toilet, my insides on fire. All of me is trying to turn inside-out. I try to think of Harriet.
I didn’t hurt her.
I haven’t hurt her at least.
Harriet.
With a few deep breaths, I begin to slowly…so very slowly…calm down. I spit, then wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and hang my head. Breathing. I’m just trying to breathe.
17
HARRIET FISHER
Beckett and Eliot are consoling a seriously freaked-out Tom in the small foyer of the brownstone. I followed them out of the parlor when Ben left for the bathroom, and I hang back while Tom paces left and right. His elbow knocks into a tower of books.
He whirls around, trying to catch a few of them. “Shitfuck.” The hoarseness of his voice widens his gaze. Panicking, he laces his hands on the top of his head.
“Don’t talk,” Beckett advises.
“I’ll call your laryngologist,” Eliot says, taking Tom’s phone and searching through his contacts.
“It’s past midnight,” Tom squeaks out, tears cresting his eyes. “He’s probably asleep. OhmyGod.” His scratchy voice is a whisper now.
“Don’t talk,” Beckett emphasizes.
Tom runs his fingers through his hair multiple times and begins pacing again. I know he’s my nemesis and I should be inwardly jumping for joy seeing him rattled, but I kind of feel…bad. If someone broke both my thumbs and left me incapable of becoming a surgeon, I’d be devastated. No part of me wants to celebrate a dream being potentially ripped away. Even if it is Tom’s dream.
“I hope it’s nothing permanent.” I regret uttering the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth. The three of them look at me like I hexed Tom. Did I not sound genuine enough? Am I scowling? Oh, God, did I sound sarcastic? “I mean it,” I say quickly, adjusting my messenger bag strap on my shoulder. “I’m not trying to be a bitch. I mean, I can be a bitch, but it’s not one of those times.” My face is burning up. I might just self-combust.