Secrets of Summer - THE SPECTER SERIES [book four]

Chapter THIRTY

Kirby Carter

Not giving an inch, you tap your foot impatiently.. Waiting for The Viking to start talking.. You have given him so many of your secrets in this trade off, and so far the only time anything is revealed about him seems to either happen by accident, or is forced out of necessity.. And even though you probably shouldn't.. A part of you wants to know the real him.. You want the truth..

"Duchess.. It's not entirely what you think.."

You scoff.. "Really.. Because right now, I think you're still lying to me and I can't trust a word that comes out of your mouth.."

He winces.. "Fuck.. Kirby.."

You begin to pace back and forth, a frustrated energy winds your frayed patience thin, making it impossible to remain still.. You drag your fingers through your silky brown hair, scratching at your scalp to soothe your aching brain.. "So.. You left the CIA, to what?.. Become a mobster?.. Why would you do that?!.. I don't get it.. And how do you know Ellerie?.. What was all that about.. Her showing up here?... God.. Every time I feel like I'm beginning to actually understand, even the tiniest part of your life.. You completely pull the rug from under my feet.. Who the hell are you, Hunter Paxton?.. Do you even know?.."

He tips his head to one side, considering you with that militant, impassive regard.. You know you're having what might be considered an extreme reaction.. But it's difficult to keep yourself from spiralling once the doubts start to seep into your mind..

"Duchess.. Sit down, let me explain.." You feel a little patronised and a flash of anger hits you, so instead of sitting, you spin around to glare at him defiantly..

"I don' feckin' wann'ae sit down, I wan' ye to explain yerself Paxton!.." Your northern accent breaks through to the surface.. It's much harder to suppress when you're worked up and distracted..

Seeing how upset you've become, he growls.. In a tone heavy with authority.. The rumbling warning sends an excited pulse to your core, snapping you to attention and pulling you from your swirling stress.. He is a firm, commanding presence.. "Sit.. Now."

At the two harsh words, you drop into the armchair opposite him..

Silent, with cautious eyes on The Viking..

Having taken your mind off your frustration long enough to capture your full attention, he sighs before he begins.. "That night we first spoke.. Outside the bar.. You called me Ragnar.. And I told you you were close.. But not quite.. Do you remember, Duchess?.."

You nod.. You remember every second of that night.. The heated teasing.. Every heart stopping look.. You remember because you had played the conversation a hundred times in your mind after you had stumbled home in a lusty daze..

"Well.. You really weren't wrong.. Lacey and me were raised by our Icelandic mother, Lyra.. She moved here after she fell pregnant with me, so I never met my father.. I only knew she met him during her travels through Russia.. But, Lyra met a new guy, got married.. Lacey was born and everything was pretty normal for a while.. Up until Lacey's seventh birthday when the guy went to pick up Lacey's birthday cake.. He just never came back.."

A sympathetic twang plucks at your heartstrings.. Poor, sweet Lacey.. No wonder the girl has such feelings of abandonment.. Your father had been a terrible man, but for all his actions you could always see him for exactly what he was.. A weak, coward of a man..

But for Lacey.. The not knowing.. The why.. That must be the hardest part..

"He just left you guys?.. Thats.. Horrible.."