Larissa's Game of Thrones (Larissa) novel Chapter 442

That kind of disappointment was a soul-crushing weight.

And now, Haskell was bearing it too. He had fought so hard, for so long, to finally bring his brother home, only to learn he’d been cherishing an imposter—the illegitimate son of the man he called his father. His real brother, his own flesh and blood, had been sold off like property by that same man. And he himself had nearly died because of Thatch’s secret children.

“And you still dare to imagine I would let you live,” Haskell snarled, a wave of revulsion giving him the strength to lash out. He kicked the man groveling at his feet, sending him sprawling.

Larissa’s eyes widened. In his blinding rage, Haskell had actually used his legs.

He gripped the armrests, trying to push himself up, but a fresh wave of pain from his knees and calves forced him back down. He took a deep, shuddering breath, wrestling his emotions back under control, and dialed Crispin.

“Bring Thatch here from the hospital.”

After hanging up, he turned to Larissa, his expression softening as he forced a smile. “Larissa, you should head back to the office. I’ll handle the rest of this myself. You don’t need to be involved.”

But she looked at him, her gaze unwavering. “I want to be involved. You’re my fiancé. Why wouldn’t I be? Whatever you’re going to do, I’m doing it with you.”

Her simple, honest words seemed to break through his armor. Haskell’s lips parted, and after a moment, a genuine smile touched his face, erasing the strain. It was a smile that came from the heart.

“Alright,” he said softly. “Stay with me, then. I’d like that.”

...

Crispin had been about to drop Faith at her home when Haskell’s call came through. Changing course, he drove directly to the hospital where Thatch was staying.

The van slid to a stop at the main entrance, and the automatic door opened. Crispin untied Faith’s ropes and, without a word, kicked her out onto the pavement.

“Ah!” Faith cried out, her limbs still numb. She stumbled and fell hard, scraping her hands and knees.

Passersby stared.

Just as Thatch was about to reply, the door swung open.

It was Crispin.

Thatch’s frown deepened. “What do you want?”

Crispin hadn’t expected Valeria to be there, but it simplified things. He waved a hand at his men. “Take them both.”

Valeria froze, then brandished the paring knife. “What do you think you’re doing? In broad daylight—!”

Before she could finish, a bodyguard grabbed her wrist, twisting it sharply. The knife clattered to the floor as another man shoved a rag into her mouth, silencing her scream.

Thatch, watching helplessly, was incandescent with rage. “That insolent whelp! I haven't even settled the score with him for putting me in here, and now this? What does he want now?!”