Roarke knew women had a particular skill when it came to tricking the opposite sex with their bodies and their voices. He’d fallen victim to it himself. He blamed men, more than anything else. As a gender they were dumb, easily swayed, and you’d think they’d learn after decades of women pulling one over on them by pretending to be innocent and ready to jump in bed. But seeing it now made his blood boil. He was a bit of a jealous man when it came to her. How could he not be? She got looks when they went to the store or out to bars that weren’t the Pharaohs’.
But this was another level. Those Caracal fucks were thinking about what she must look like naked, how she sounded when she came. They were thinking about touching her breasts, kissing her lips, sticking their tiny, shriveled dicks inside of her. He wanted to jump them right then and there, punch them both until they wouldn’t see through all the blood. But she looked at him in warning, knowing exactly what he was thinking. It was a show and they could solve it later when they were alone and together again and she’d reaffirm to him how much she was his and no one else’s.
Besides, if he fucked up this chance they’d both be screwed and she’d probably make him sleep on the couch for a month, if they made it out alive.
He moved towards the back of the house. A place this pretentious had to have a back patio and if those idiots were out front, he’d be willing to bet it wasn’t locked. He moved along the edge of the house, hearing their voices fade as he moved farther away. He wondered, briefly, if Clark set up a security system in the house. He wasn’t so skilled as to be able to crack the disarming code so he’d have to just rip the keypad off the wall until it shut up.
The backyard was as stupid as the front yard. It was perfectly manicured as well and a large in-ground pool with a water feature attached to it was waiting to be marveled at. What a toolbag. If they got out of this he was coming back to piss in that pool. He moved across the patio and tested the door. It gave way with a smooth, well-oiled slide. At least his pretentious fuckery gave him that much of a chance. He quietly shut the door behind him. He listened to see if anyone was in the house, listening for the sounds of movement, the sound of a TV sitting idly on.
What he got was the sound of a flush from the bathroom upstairs. He tiptoed across the house, careful not to let his boots click on the tile floor. He was thankful there were no waiting floorboards to creak and give him away. He got to the stairs and moved up carefully, keeping an eye out for a body moving across the hallway upstairs. This house was huge and it was going to make it hard to locate the room where this person was waiting. It could be the child, it could be Clark, it could be Isabelle. He needed to figure out who it was before he moved in. He needed that much of an advantage for this.
He spotted the bathroom, the toilet still running from the flush, moments ago. He stopped and listened. There was no sound of a television, no sound of video games. He listened hard and faintly heard the sound of muffled something. He followed it. It was muffled music, coming from headphones. That was helpful, it would mask his sound. He moved closer, peaking through the crack of a door open a sliver.
He saw him. A child. He was older than Roarke expected. Isabelle must have been hiding the boy for a while now, years even. When had she been pregnant? Was he really that oblivious to everything around him?
He watched the boy, a combination of the Pharaohs and the Caracals, a bridge between two very violent worlds. Did he know? Did anyone tell him how precarious his position was? Did anyone care to tell him? Did Isabelle know what danger she brought into the world by giving birth to him and hiding him?
He felt pity for the kid, but that wasn’t going to stop him. He needed to end this. He couldn’t help the world the child was born into and it was better if he got to know the dangers of it as soon as possible. He’d learn the dangers; he’d learn his place in the world. He moved forward to step into the room, bring the unsuspecting boy into a hold, place a hand over his mouth and tell him to be quiet, drag him out of the house and leverage his freedom for Isabelle’s surrender.
“...phone, if you have one. That’d be very helpful,” said Hanna’s voice downstairs. They were in the house too. He wasn’t sure if that wasn’t going to be helpful for make this all that much more difficult.
He paused.
And then the front door opened again and everything fell apart. He knew who was coming through that door, he could sense her with all the dread in his stomach. He had to decide what to do. Hanna was in danger, his child was in danger. But he was feet away from his goal in the room, the vengeance he needed to end all of this.
He snapped. He moved to the stairs, rushing downstairs just in time to see Hanna on her knees with a gun to her head.