Lars had expected to be angrier than this. Calm filled him instead. A resolve he’d never felt before. Maybe he’d finally been freed from the guilt tying him to Milo all these years. It was obvious what the man thought of him; why the fuck he’d waited so long, god only knew.

But he wasn’t planning on standing around and watching this all go even more fucking pear-shaped than it already was. He was leaving, like he should have yesterday. Milo could take care of himself. Always had. He didn’t need a voice of reason anymore. He could fuck things up perfectly fine by himself.

The car they’d driven back in no longer stood in the circular driveway. A pair of guards did, though. Well, one had his back to Lars, ass resting against the side of an ornamental pillar that supported nothing except air, staring at something in the distance like he was dreaming of the day he’d be capo and all this would belong to him. When his boots crunched onto the gravel, both guards turned and hoisted their AK’s up as if he’d gone blind and had somehow managed to miss them.

“Hola,” he called out, lifting a hand. “Where’s the car?”

One of the guards shrugged. “Leaving?”

“That’s an affirmative,” Lars said, giving a nod. “Now, if you could just rustle up my ride—”

“Car would be here if you were leaving,” the guard said.

“So get the car. Then I can leave.”

But the guard had obviously not scored high on his SATs. He grinned at Lars, turning to laugh with his friend before saying, “You can leave when there’s a car.”

Lars spun away, running hands through his hair. He turned back. “So, if the car’s here, I can leave?”

“Si,” the guard said with a non-committal shrug.

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Lars muttered as he strode away from them. “Now I just have to find a goddamn car.”

Surely Count Drugula had a few of those lying around? If he could just find—

As he walked back inside the villa, a maid scampered past him en route to do something that probably involved a cute little pink feather duster. He caught her sleeve before she could hurry past.

“Where’s the garage, sweetcheeks?”

Of the two men he found hanging around the motor garage—when he’d eventually found it—the first gave him a frosty smile and then looked impatient when Lars ambled up to speak to him.

“Hey, man. You got a smoke?” Lars asked, casual as if he smoked two packs a day.

The man smiled then, nodding as handed Lars a cigarette and a lighter. Lars gave his head an appreciative duck and lit the smoke.

“Lars,” he said, sticking out a hand. The man took it. “Fraco.”

“Hey, so we’re almost done here. Any news on our ride out? Or do we take the same one we came back in?” Lars peered around, but couldn’t see the black SUV anywhere. “That black truck?”

“¿Que?” Fraco looked around, but his buddy was halfway under a nearby car and the legs sticking out didn’t look even vaguely interested in their conversation. “I ask Don Javier.” Fraco fumbled about his person. For a cellphone, perhaps.

Lars caught his arm. “Don’s real busy.” He stabbed the smoke toward the villa. “Bit of a shitstorm up there. We were supposed to meet someone halfway with our rental. Sure they’re still waiting for us. We just need to get there.”

Fraco gave his head a slight shake, eying Lars warily. “Don Javier okays every trip.”

Lars took a drag of his cigarette, and spoke as he was exhaling. “It was okayed. But then there was that guy, and the message…” he threw up his hands in annoyance. “We got places to be, man.”

“Where is your friend?” Fraco asked.

Good fucking question. Probably racing after Cora on a goddamn white stallion, shiny suit of armor and shit. But he said, “On his way. Look, my wife’s gonna kill me if I’m not home in time for dinner. It’ll be third night this week. I’ll be sleeping on the goddamn couch for sure.”

Fraco gave a smoker’s laugh that turned into a smoker’s cough, and waved them out of the garage, following a few paces away. “Hey, David?”

A mumble emanated from somewhere under a nearby car. Then a clang clang clang of something being forced open or closed or possibly just apart.

Fraco muttered something unpleasant under his breath. “I guess…” he ran a quick hand through his hair and then clapped Lars on the shoulder. “Let me get it.”

“That’d be swell,” Lars said.

Who the fuck said swell these days? But, apparently, smoke-toking Lars who had somewhere important to be did.

Lars headed back to the circular drive. Relief washed him in an icy wave when a black SUV appeared, crunching over the gravel.

“Jerry,” Fraco called as he climbed from the SUV. “They’re headed back.”

The guard looked utterly disinterested in this piece of information. Lars put his hand on Fraco’s shoulder, squeezing once, and ground his cigarette out under his heel.

And then, when he should have been getting into the car and driving as fast out of here as he could without drawing suspicion…he couldn’t fucking move. Something pulled at him, kept him rooted.

He can look after himself.

He thinks you’re a fucking coward.

She probably doesn’t even think about you at all.

But not a single one of those thoughts did anything to dispel the urge to go back inside the villa, grab Milo by the scruff of his neck, round up darling little bunny, and haul them out of here with him.

He must have lost his mind. Maybe it was the first sign of starvation.

“I’ll be right back,” Lars said, giving Fraco a wide smile.

The guard eyed Lars suspiciously when he walked past. “You’re not leaving?”

“Fetching my friend,” Lars said, giving him a wave.

The guard settled his rump back against the pillar and returned to his day dreaming.

“Jesus, that was too fucking close,” Lars muttered to himself.

Storm the castle. Find the girl. Leave without bumping into any dragons, counts, or fucking kingpins. If he had Cora, Milo would be forced to follow him out. He’d dangle bunny like a fucking carrot, if he had to.

How the fuck was he supposed to reach the stables ahead of Javier? He’d been tailing him for a few minutes already; the man strode yards ahead, his bodyguards following like twin shadows. If he ran past, the gig would be up. He could really have used Lars right now. He was so good at coming up with distractions. He could divert Javier, leaving Finn enough time to find the necklace and go back for Cora.

But he’d chased Lars away. Had called him a coward. And his chest still ached with the pain of it.

Finn stopped walking. Ahead of him, Javier disappeared around a corner.

What the fuck was he doing? So what if Javier found the archives? He’d abandoned Cora; not even a guard left behind.

He could leave right now. Bundle her up somehow, get her into a car…somehow, and then…

And then what?

Storm the castle.

He squeezed his eyes shut. He had fifteen rounds of ammunition and a knife hidden in his shoe. How far did he expect to get with that?

No, what he needed was Lars. Together, they could figure something out. Together they could get Cora out.

But would he? Lars was anything but fond of Cora. Intrigued, maybe. But it wasn’t as if he gave a damn one way or the other. He was probably already a mile away from the compound, hidden under a blanket in the back of a truck or something.

He was resourceful like that.

Fuck.

All he could do was go back to Cora. Stay by her side and make sure she got out of this unharmed. Finn turned back, retracing his steps through the villa as he headed for Cora’s room. He took the stairs to the villa’s second level, and as he turned down the passage toward Cora’s room, he caught sight of someone hurrying through a garden path below.

Lars.

He almost yelled out the man’s name. But instead, he ran down the stairs again.

Something hot and bright filled him. Painful, but glorious.

Hope…or relief?