Trying To Heal

Chapter Thirty-Eight

April

"I ..." I close my mouth, extremely caught off-guard. "But university—"

"Do not go. If you want academic training, the Azrael has all the resources for that kind of learning. We have graduates from a lot of global universities. You have the Tate Manor's library, too. The Azrael is sectioned into different qualifications. Cyber security. Military reinforcements. Air Force recruits. Navy seals. The psychology department. The department of research. The department of statistics and interpretations. The pay is great, too. Starting salary is £205,000, and we have brochures that help you to make more money on your own through stocks and investments. Senior officials are paid £350,000 per year. The ultimate salary is £750,000 per year."

"Meaning, the ultimate salary is for Tanner, Luke, and you?"

"For people like General Akamai. Tanner, Luke, and I earn £75,000 per year."

"Do I have to dress up in ridiculous masks to help?" I ask light-heartedly.

His gaze glints. "If you would like to."

My comical state dulls. "Do I have to watch you torture the bad people?"

"If you would like to," he repeats thickly. "I must warn you that being part of my mother's intelligence will bring out parts of you that you never thought were possible."

My index finger pats his pulse. "Deimos, huh?"

"I know. The code name is absurd."

"It suits you. The greek god of terror. What about Phobos? He's the greek god of fear and panic."

"Cox came up with the name. He is not here to explain why, but you could ask Simko or Hamilton."

I pat his pulse again. "And the Azrael is the greatest intelligence service in the world."

"Luke always recites that like a motto. I think it is his way of manifesting that desire into reality."

"If it is led by the first Allmother and his son, I suppose it is the greatest."

"Think about it," he encourages when I did not respond for a good ninety seconds.

My brain is straining into a migraine at the thousand theories of this sex ring. I was about to verbalise them, but then I absorb his exhausted condition. "You should sleep now."

"With you? Absolutely."

He dodges a good-natured slap to his arm. His laughter sounded so genuine, so carefree and adolescent, it could have made his inner child weep.

The rise of the library's staircase slams shut, juddering the walls. Sprinkles of dust plummet like rain. Derek swats it off his naked chest. Following him to a parlour, "Are you going to change the Tate Manor?"

He looks sideways at me. "Does it need changing?"

"I was thinking it could use your touch."

"What is my touch?"

"I don't know. But anyone can tell that a house is owned by you by how it looks."

"How should it look?"

"Intimidating."

"Pardon me?"

"Like a haunted house."

"Que?"

"I don't know," I say again, sighing. "Just forget it."

"Hang on. Why intimidating?"

"Erm ..." I shrug carelessly, mindlessly. "I used to be intimidated by you."

I could not hear his footsteps. Halting by an opened entryway, I look behind to see him frozen at a painting of a stallion. "You were intimidated by me?"