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The guys had stuckwith me through my recovery and all the nightmares I now had on the daily.
A week had passed since my abduction, and as far as the headlines were concerned, I was missing and so were the guys. Speculation was that they had kidnapped me or we’d been taken together.
“Should we have a meeting with your dear uncle?” I asked Sterling as we sat on the couch. My pain killers had worn off, but it was manageable now. “Let me come so he has to face what he did and see that we’re mates. Maybe we can get a few answers.” Despite the healing, I still looked like a mess.
“That could work. He’s still alive only because we want to find out just how far he’s gone from our boundaries,” Sterling admitted. “But it’s Cyrus you’ll have to convince.”
“Convince me of what?” Cyrus asked as he walked in. I tilted my head back to take in the alpha, hating that he tensed every time he looked at me now.
“I want to visit Dorian,” I said. “Don’t we deserve answers?”
Cyrus sat down next to me and pulled me into his lap. I leaned in, breathing him in and relaxing against him. It was so easy to be comfortable with them now, and a large part of me wished we could just stay missing. I wasn’t ready to go back to the real world, but I was determined to finish this mission.
Hayes and I had been scouring his sources, compiling a list of evidence against the senator. There was plenty of it, but we still felt like there was something missing, that final nail in the coffin that would ensure he’d fail. Breaking down his career was a gamble at best. The public wasn’t afraid to sweep disasters under the rug and pretend that it wasn’t a big deal so long as the right hands were still receiving a pay-out.
We needed something damning, something he couldn’t charm his way out of. I was ready to put this man in prison.
“My brother invited us to dinner to discuss this…” He put his fingers in air quotes. “Little misunderstanding, as he called it.”
“Of course he did. He’s scared now. Weston hasn’t killed a single target for him, Hayes hasn’t given him a shred of information, and I haven’t checked in to ensure things were running as they should. He’s realizing that all he has left are simpleminded lackeys who stay just as much out of fear as stupidity. Now, he has to make his own decisions and plans, then follow through with them. Independence has never been his strong suit.”
“Exactly,” Cyrus said, nodding at his son. His fingers toyed with my hair as the room fell silent.
“My vote is that we go. I really want to look in the eye and tell him to fuck off, but in reality, he has information we need. You need to hear it before you figure out what to do with him.”
“If you’re going to be reasonable, I suppose…” Cyrus teased. He meant for it to be a joke, and I gave a half-hearted chuckle.
“Someone has to be,” I offered.
“Then go get ready,” Cyrus said. I pressed my lips to his, glad he agreed, before hopping up and going to my room. This wasn’t our apartment, so I didn’t have too many options, but I chose a nice black dress and heels. It was an outfit I felt powerful in, and I would need that feeling tonight.
An hour later, we were tucked into the SUV. Hayes and Weston had come back from wherever they were so we could all arrive at once. Cyrus was likely afraid that they’d act before he had a chance to.
This was the most tense I’d seen them. Each of them was conflicted in some way about Dorian’s involvement, except for maybe Weston, who was barely containing the urge to kill.
At the end of the day, Dorian was Family, and more importantly for Cyrus, he was his brother. The asshole would need one hell of an excuse for his actions. Anything less than that, and the consequences would be fatal.
When the guys said they had power and influence, I didn’t expect them to take me to a skyscraper. The Tower was one of the biggest apartment buildings in the city, and apparently the Family owned the entire thing.
When we stepped out of the elevator into the penthouse, I realized it was more of a club than an apartment. Several men milled around at the bar, and Dorian sat against the far wall, imperiously watching it all like he was their king or something. Everything about this man rubbed me the wrong way. It was hard to believe my mates were related to him.
Then again, my opinion was biased since he’d tortured me. There was nothing he could do to change the past.
He silently eyed us when we walked through the room. Cyrus led us to a set of double doors and pushed it open. A small hallway led into a large open-plan kitchen, dining, and living area.
In the kitchen, a chef was preparing a fancy meal. She gave the guys a smile in greeting, and they waved as if she were familiar. Cyrus sat at one head of the table, putting me next to him, with Sterling on my other side and Weston and Hayes on the opposite side of the table. It left several empty chairs between us and the other end.
Dorian slowly made his way in, leaning heavily on the cane. Two men flanked him, and when he sat, they moved to stand vigil against the wall behind him.
They both had guns strapped in their holsters. It was probably a warning, but I wasn’t worried. I knew my men had the same. Hell, Cyrus usually had one on each hip.
The posturing meant that Sterling was right. Dorian was scared. He tried to keep a look of calm on his face, but his hands shook ever so slightly. Cyrus was reveling in it, a cocky grin on his face, while his sons looked grim.
“Thank you for joining me,” Dorian said, looking at me. There was a shrewd look in his eyes as if he were looking down on me. I was immediately on edge. I’d said I would try to be quiet, but I had a strong feeling it wouldn’t last. “I do hope that we can put theunpleasantnessbehind us.”
“Unpleasantness?” I repeated with a hollow laugh. “You mean when you bound me to a chair and repeatedly beat the shit out of me even though I told you everything I knew.” At the sound of my voice, dry and unamused, his expression shifted from calm to a sneer. “Do you even need that cane, or do you just carry it around so you can slam it into helpless omegas?”
This evening was off to a terrible start.
