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“I’m fine.” I make a move to stand, but Casper puts a hand on my forearm, and I pause. Look down at him. “Bro, I promise I’m okay. Trust me…nothing I can’t handle.”
“Mum would be proud of you,” he says instead of prying further, and a knot forms in my throat. For as much shit as we give each other, we know the other, and his mother was like my own. She was there when my mum decided that vacationing—or for my father, work—was more important than raising me. And while I don’t hold anything against them, my loyalty lies with Casper’s parents.
His mum’s passing hit me hard. Still hurts.
And just like her son, I’ve made a private vow to avenge her death.
The doorbell rings suddenly, making me pause inside my aunt’s kitchen, the sound loud—seems to reverberate throughout every square inch of their massive estate. My aunt is out in the shops picking up an order while my uncle’s footsteps walk toward the front door.
No one from the house’s security team rang. No one’s expected to drop by, either.
“Wait two minutes before opening,” I call out to my uncle, knowing he heard by the two taps on the wall closest to him. It’s not too loud, not enough to be heard by whoever’s waiting by the front door, but it does give me a moment. Opening the drawer beside the fridge, I grab the Glock inside and head toward the French doors.
This exit leads to the garden, and past that is a swimming pool and a small cottage my aunt claims as her woman cave. I’m quick to rush around the side of the home, keeping alert for any movement, but there’s none when I reach the front.
What I find is one of our guards, his face pained and eyes red-rimmed. A sinking feeling settles over me, my heart clenching, but I manage to walk over and use the key code to unlock the door.
Then it’s the four of us, my father, who’d been inside his brother’s office, joining us. He’s the reason my aunt went out alone today, needing to discuss some half-arsed crap or other that will never go anywhere. His brother’s no longer in charge, and Casper feels like I do; we don’t live in the past—this family is run by young blood and new ways.
Dad’s eyes meet mine then, and his expression mirrors; something isn’t right. It’s a heavy cloaking aura that suffocates, and I shift to look at the man. “Speak.”
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Jameson. So sorry.” He’s not speaking to me or Dad. His eyes are on my uncle, and when it clicks, the world beneath his feet disappears. I’ve never seen a strong man crumble like this before.
It’s heartbreaking.
This has nothing to do with Casper. The wanker is off with Aurora, and had something happened, the call would’ve come via Jeffrey or Ezra. That leaves one other person. Motherfuck. No. At once, my chest squeezes painfully tight, and my eyes close. This can’t be happening.
Words fail me. I can’t voice the questions running through my head.
My uncle’s legs give out and a fist comes up to his mouth, body shaking as a sob catches in his throat. “Where’s my wife?” How he manages to ask this, I have no clue, but he does. Voice cracking, he stumbles toward the guard and grips the man’s long-sleeved vest. One tug, and he’s face to face with Jameson senior, with his glare—eyes red while his body language is pleading. “Where is she? What happened?”
“I’m so sorry, sir. Mrs. Jameson’s vehicle was attacked, and she’s been taken to the A&E with multiple gunshot wounds.”
“Get the car,” my father shouts, moving to help his brother close the door and walk down the few steps onto the circular drive. I’m on autopilot. I can’t get past the feelings coursing through my veins. This is something I’ve never experienced before: fear. A choking, bloody helplessness.
Not for me, but for her. Her husband. Her son.
And I vow to do what I must to keep my family standing no matter what the future brings.
I’m pulled from the memory by a choking cough. Bloody spittle flies out of Felix’s mouth, landing on the cold concrete below his feet.
He looks tired, his wounds a nasty red.
“Something you want to say?” I ask, looking toward Archie and giving him the signal to drop the lever. He does so. De La Vega’s body drops to the ground and his ankle turns at an awkward angle. It’s dislocated, and the accompanying scream is almost as satisfying as Aliana’s taste. Almost. “Speak.”
“We can come to an agreement.” Gritting his teeth, he twists in pain while finding a position to sit in. Sweat beads at his brow, and his chest heaves. “Please. I can help you.”
“How can you help us?”
“I can tell you what I know.”
“And what is that?”
“I’m the one who—”
“How well do you know Mauricio Hernandez?”
“In passing.” Felix swallows hard, his hands fisting on his lap. “I know someone he does, and vice versa.”
