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Chapter One
Neo “Ransom” Godfrey stared blankly at the death notification in his hands and felt nothing. Maybe if he were a better person, a better son, he’d have mustered a twinge of remorse. The stirrings of sadness, something a son should experience when informed of a parent’s death, were absent. There was just…nothing inside the hollow of his chest. For as long as he could remember, his mom had reminded him he was a cold bastard like his father. She hadn’t been wrong. So when his commander called him into the barracks from training to tell him the woman who had raised him overdosed and drove into a brick wall, he didn’t flinch.
His late mother’s lawyer had requested his presence in Boston to go over the terms of her estate. Returning to the wealthy Boston suburb of Weston was not on his list of preferred activities. He’d enlisted the moment he turned eighteen and hadn’t seen the woman who gave birth to him in fifteen years, let alone the place he grew up. Any money she’d left him was not wanted, especially if it would save him from visiting the lonely manor where he grew up. Tagging his phone off the bureau, he dialed the number at the bottom of the notice, content to tell the lawyer thanks but no thanks.
His SEAL team had been prepping for an overseas mission. One he wouldn’t derail because of his mother’s poor choices. Speaking of the Teams, his came filtering into his apartment. Julian “Joker” Desmond, Hunter “Branch” Green, and Archer “Silver” Ross were his brothers. Had saved his sorry ass more times than he could count, but damn if they weren’t homing pigeons zeroing in, wanting to know why he was pulled from their training exercise. The couch dipped when Branch sat at the other end. The fridge opened and closed. Glass bottles clanked together as Silver came into the room carrying four cold ones. Joker sat with his arms crossed and a typical scowl slashed across his face. None of the men cared that they were invading his privacy, or that he was on the phone. They cared, and that felt damn good.
“Sullivan and Fletcher.” He moved the phone away from his ear at the overly bright tone of the receptionist.
“Hubert Sullivan, please.” Manners and etiquette had been drilled in long ago by his grandparents. One of the very few lessons taught to him by blood. Once they died, their train-wreck daughter hemorrhaged their fortune partying with the elite while he languished away in a luxurious hell at the tender age of eight.
“He’s entertaining a client at the moment.” The click of nails on a keyboard was audible.
“This is Neo Godfrey returning his request.” He rolled his eyes at her quick intake of breath.
“My apologies, Mr. Godfrey,” the receptionist stammered. “He just became available.” That exact response was the reason he loved the fuck out of Virginia. No one knew about his family’s fortune. What was left of it anyway. He had his own trust fund from his grandmother, something he hadn’t dipped into much. His mother, on the other hand, well…a cocaine habit wasn’t cheap.
He switched his phone to speaker so he wouldn’t need to explain the conversation to his brothers and grabbed the bottle Silver had set on the table. Condensation iced his calloused fingers.
“Mr. Godfrey, this is Mr. Sullivan. Please accept my condolences. Such a tragic loss.” The man’s voice was deep and muffled, like he was talking through a mouthful of cotton.
His jaw hardened. A tragic loss is one you didn’t expect. His mother had her fair share of chances and luck, and it had run out. “I’d prefer to tie up loose ends over the phone or via email.”
“I’m afraid this sort of information is best shared in person. Your mother left you—”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, cutting the man off. Maybe the manners his grandparents had pushed on him weren’t that well honed after all. “I’ll have my lawyer draft up a request to donate any funds left to me to Boston Children’s Hospital.”
There was silence on the other end of the line. The lawyer cleared his throat. “It burdens me to share that your mother left nothing of monetary value to you or your sibling.”
His breath caught. A slug to the chest of his Kevlar tactical vest. Static roared in his ears, blocking the drone of the man’s voice. “Stop.” The command was sharp on his tongue. “Did you say sibling?” He glanced around the room at his teammates’ furrowed brows and troubled expressions.
“Yes. Your brother. You’re the next of kin, but given his medical complexities, it’s natural to look for other options. There are some state facilities—”
A growl of frustration ripped through him. “There’s nothing natural about abandoning your sibling. You’ve dealt with Shae Godfrey, so I’ll look past your mention of state facilities, but do not clump me into the same category as that leech. Where the hell is my brother right now?” God, had his mother stooped so low that she’d give away her own child because it was more convenient than dealing with whatever medical challenges he had going on? His stomach hardened to the point of pain.
“I don’t think you grasp the scope of those medical complexities. Mrs. Godfrey left him in the care of a live-in nurse, but the estate was sold to pay off a substantial debt last year. Jacob is thirteen years old and requires around-the-clock care due to spastic quadriplegia, a severe type of cerebral palsy. The school system reported that he was withdrawn from special education services due to a move. Several departments are trying to locate him.”
Bile burned up the back of his throat. His brother. His brother was missing.
“On it,” Silver muttered, crossing the room. One glance at Silver’s face and Neo knew his teammate was handling what the jerk on the phone couldn’t. He was calling in some favors from the tech guys.
“Forward me the guardianship paperwork. I’ll expect it within the next hour.” He hung up the phone without waiting for a reply. They’d find Jacob. A knot had twisted in his gut, churning and writhing with years of suppressed anger. Of all the rotten things Shae Godfrey had done to him, keeping the knowledge of his sibling from him was by far the worst. Thirteen years lost. Fuck.
*
Two days. Forty-eight hours. Two thousand eight hundred and eighty minutes. That’s how long it had taken to track down his brother’s address and catch a flight to Boston. He hailed a cab outside the airport, not bothering to check into a hotel first. He paid the driver and tried to tamp down his growing ire. His mom had pissed away millions, and his brother was the one who had paid for it by having to move into the shitty shambles of an apartment building looming in front of him. Now she was dead, and who the hell knew who’d been taking care of Jacob.
The kid hadn’t exactly hit the jackpot in the brother department either. He’d never been good with children. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t good with people in general. He cared about his team, but they’d been through hell together. Seen things the general population would never have to. Neo was cold and hard. Not exactly the caring role model his younger brother deserved, but the mere thought of not stepping up to provide for his own blood was abhorrent. He had a duty to his sibling. If one hair on the boy’s head had been harmed, he’d go nuclear. His commander had given him an emergency two-week leave, and he wasn’t wasting a second of the time.
There was a lot to do in a short period, but his first order of business was getting Jacob out of this monstrosity of a building. Anger clawed up his chest, gripping his throat when he opened the unsecured front door. More when the stairs nearly splintered beneath his weight. When he noticed the dangling smoke detector in the long hallway, he resolved to file a complaint with the city. He scowled at the door of the listed address before pounding his fist against the flimsy wood. He waited one moment, then two. There was music on inside. After knocking for the second time and receiving no answer, he twisted the knob. The door was wide open. Any predator could’ve barged right in. His jaw clenched, molars clamped together at the back of his mouth as he entered the apartment. Thank God it was neater than the corridors. The sounds stopped him in his tracks. A female voice singing, if you could call it that. The woman was not a songstress by any means. At the end of each verse came a belly laugh that further tightened something in his chest.
He wandered farther into the house and stopped in the living room. His throat squeezed, but not in anger, more like a wedge trying to keep a lid on the emotions bubbling to the surface. The owner of the voice danced a silly jig in front of a boy in a wheelchair, singing, twirling, stomping until he erupted in fits of laughter. Her hair was up in a messy bun, a few dark straight strands loosened around her neck. Black yoga pants and a blue tank top. A godawful voice with an alluring lilt to it. Just then, she spun and caught sight of him. Blue eyes—the color of a wide-open sky cast over the ocean—popped wide, and a shriek flew from her lips, making the kid laugh even harder. Shit, they were cute. His brother and this woman who was making the boy cackle like a hyena.
“Stay back!” He was right. There was a cadence to her voice. A hint of Scottish. Maybe Irish. The woman instantly stood before Jacob, shielding him with her frame. She wasn’t short, but he wouldn’t consider her tall either. Still, like most people, compared to him, she was tiny. Something akin to pride swelled in his rib cage. The fear that flashed in her eyes a moment ago was replaced by fierce protectiveness. Was this the nurse? A caregiver? “Who are you?”
“Ransom Go—” He started to say his last name, but a growl of frustration rolled over her lips. Her hands went straight to her hips.
“Ransom? That’s not a real name and certainly not what you’ll be doing here. Get out, or I’ll…” Her voice trailed off, and her stunning eyes narrowed. She took a step forward, then another, before circling her hands around her waist.
