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“Good. Good. That’s what I like to hear,” Liam states before his grin melts into a scowl. “Don’t fuck up, and I won’t have to end you. For some dumbass reason, my niece has grown fond of you assholes.”
I want to cut him off, but he’s doing what we’d all do for her—looking out for her best interest. So I allow him to ramble on about how he knows over a dozen ways to kill us.
The door to the Council’s private chambers opens, saving him from Owen, who is conveniently twirling one of his knives.
“Boys,” my father greets as the Council members take their seats. “Let’s get right to it. I’m sure you all would much rather be at home with your soon-to-be wife and babies.”
Wyatt snorts, “I wouldn’t go jumping the gun on calling her our wife just yet, Mr. Edgewood. We have to ask her first.”
“And she’ll have to say yes,” Tobias adds. Like Ariah’s uncle, her grandfather is still far from our biggest fans. To which I say, ‘So the fuck what.’
Their opinions mean shit in the grand scheme of things. I’d marry Ariah while she slept, taking a page out of Wyatt’s book if she ever refuses to marry us.
I won’t dignify him with a response, opting to do as my father aptly suggests—get on with it.
“We’ve heard no updates on the search and recovery efforts by the Coast Guard. There’s no evidence they’re alive, but there’s no evidence that they aren’t,” my father begins. “Until then, it’s time to finally clean house.”
That captures my attention. “Do we have the names?” Lev inquires, pulling his laptop out.
“Already sent to your phones,” Wyatt’s dad replies. His unusually curt tone causes my gaze to narrow.
Rage. Each Council member’s face is set in a stony mask. Their false calm would be convincing if I didn’t know the signs.
“I don’t think it needs to be said, but I want this problem dealt with without mercy,” Ariah’s father commands, clenching his jaw.
“What did you find out?” I demand. Something’s up, and they’re trying to hide it.
My father turns to me, and I see it—the solitary flare of his nostrils. “The presumed death of Senator Baker revealed their plan to take Ariah, Zoey, and Aidan. And their?—”
I sit forward, my hackles rising as I watch the normally stoic facade of Donald Edgewood crack.
Clearing his throat, my father continues, “They planned to sell them.” He’s still not saying everything, but it’s enough.
“To fucking who,” Owen snarls. “Which dumb fuck is about to discover their beast is no match for our monsters?”
It doesn’t matter what name is said. It won’t exist when we’re done.
The Council sees it—the sons they’ve been molding—the ones who’ll assume the position of power. They see it and know we’re ready. It’s only then Ariah’s father says, “Serge Volkov.”
74
ARIAH
“How are my babies three months old already,” Shay sighs, fawning over the twins while they sleep.
“Fourteen weeks, three days, and twelve hours. But who’s counting?”
Whirling around, she whisper-yells, “You obviously, bitch.”
I roll my eyes and tug her from their room, waving as I drag her past Reign and Elias while they guard the nursery.
Call me paranoid if you want to, but I won’t chance my babies’ lives on the false hope that we’ve seen the last of Samantha Davenport. That bitch is the definition of stage-five clinger, oblivious to the fact she lost.
“I miss you,” I say as we sit on the couch in the den.
We’re still staying at Wes’s house, which I’m glad for. It would be nice to have our own space where we don’t have to worry about a random unannounced drop-in from a grandparent. But for now, I’d decline if the offer to move out were on the table. This is the safest place for us to be.
“Didn’t I offer to move in?” Shay quips, arching a brow.
