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The smile he wore along with the kindness of his gaze is gone, and he faces me fully. He reaches into the drawer on the small side table beside him and tosses a small piece of paper onto the ottoman before him, nodding his head for me to grab it.
I do, and as I open it up, my heart both sinks and flips.
It’s my note from Arsen, the one he left me the day Anthony showed up at my school unannounced, the note that, after the yacht went up in flames, was missing from my purse pocket.
My eyes snap up, locking with his, and he reaches in again, tossing out the keys to my new car—my mom must have given them to him.
Following that, a clip from the Daily Pilot.
The headline reads, “Misfortune at Gentry Vineyards.” An accompanying photo of charred vines following.
“Were you having me followed?”
“No, actually. That’s where things get interesting.” He cocks his head. “Did you know my father died when I was young, too, of course mine didn’t go out quite the same as yours.” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “My mother, like yours, was quite the cold-hearted bitch who remarried quickly. That’s not why she’s cold-hearted, but a fact is a fact. She took her new husband’s name, I kept mine.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“What, is this not what they call pillow talk?” he mocks, but then he looks to his watch and a grin takes over. “I’m kidding. I’m telling you this, so that you understand, what happens next falls solely on your shoulders.”
A door slams downstairs, the hinges rattling and echoing with the help of the vaulted ceilings of this place.
“Ah,” Anthony drawls, slowly pushing to stand. “Perfect timing.”
Feet pound heavy against the stairs, and as they grow closer, my skin begins to prick.
Anthony’s smile is vicious, and it only keeps growing.
“I’m here, motherfucker, where you at?” comes from the first floor.
Ice fills my veins and I grow lightheaded, slowly spinning where I stand.
The first thing to come into view is a mess of hair, and then a face wound tight with anger followed by a hoodie as black as night.
Eyes lift, connecting with mine, and shock drains the blood from my face, but the sight before me has nothing on the greeting that follows.
“Hello, brother.”
My hands come up, freezing in the air as I try to work through the warped world I’ve clearly entered.
The one where my man is related to the man I’m supposed to marry.
This can’t possibly be happening...
Ransom, still frozen on the last step of the stairwell, blinks hard. “What the fuck is going on?” he draws slowly, his gaze never leaving mine, but I know he watches his brother from the corner of his eye.
“You tell me,” I manage to rasp, though it doesn’t sound like a question, because Anthony said brother.
Ransom is here.
Anthony is his brother.
Anthony, the guy I’m contracted to marry, is the man who Ransom tried to fight in the club that night because he was blowing their money, money they need for his sister. That’s the familiar scent I recognized, his cologne.
He’s the man who locked his sister away with strangers, their sister, and the person he was on the phone with yesterday was Ransom, threatening his visits with Sienna if he didn’t show up here tonight, at the exact time he planned.
The stroke of fucking midnight, like some twisted fatal princess shit.
This is twisted.
And fatal.
But for who?
Us?
Jesus, which ‘us’?!
My airway begins to close as I stare into the eyes of the only person I’ve ever truly wanted, knowing our relationship, that was condemned at the start, has just met its catapult.
But the real question is, who holds the hammer?
Maybe I was the ultimate pawn, played by not one blue-eyed bastard, but two.
My thoughts must mirror my expression as Ransom breaks from his frozen state.
“Baby, no.” He darts forward, right for me, but Anthony makes a really stupid move, one that goes to show he doesn’t know his brother at all.
He shoves me to the side.
Everything inside me locks, panic curling, pulling at my every nerve, but it has nothing to do with being pushed, and everything to do with what I know, without a doubt, comes next.
Ransom snaps.
He flies forward, grips Anthony by the neck, and kicks his legs from beneath him before he has a chance to blink, let alone fight back.
His skull slams against the hardwood and Ransom comes down on top of him, giving him not a moment to recover, but slamming his fist right into his jaw.
Blood spills from his lips, but Anthony laughs from beneath him, the sound a gargled mess.
“Baby, huh?” Anthony seethes, and he seems to cave, his muscles loosening.
But Ransom must be used to this, because he angles his body and as he does, Anthony’s arms come up under his.
