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“Liam Graves,” Wells says, much to Luca’s dismay. Wells intended to blindside him, not out of malice, but because his grandfather would’ve fought this tooth and nail. It had to be after the power shifted. “You won’t find anyone more adept at data mining than Mr. Graves, but my wife covered all other objections beautifully,” he adds, lacing our fingers, his thumb dusting over my wedding ring.
“Good enough,” Jared replies, ignoring Luca’s glower. “Both are vetted and tried, so that’s an easy transfer. Anyone else we need to log?”
“Yes. Gage Porter will work for us both as lead enforcer,” I supply. “Actually, all three will have dual access.”
Payne Logan rubs at his clean-shaven jaw. “We don’t advise that.”
We anticipated the skepticism and warning, but that won’t deter Wells or me from having these three men as the most trusted resources in both factions.
Wells peers back at him without hesitation. “Noted.”
“Fine.” Jared grins, studying Wells and me. It’s full of mirth. I bet my father liked him. “Are you prepared to sentence?”
I pump assurance into Wells’s hand as I rise with conviction. “I am.”
My words enact a magical spell of sorts. Double doors swing open with a whoosh, a damp and moldy stench gushing forth. The disheveled ladies are dragged into the room and hooked on to the altar twenty feet from us—hands and feet both cloaked in manacles, voices silenced with ball gags, and a deathlike pallor to their dry skin.
My tongue sinks heavy with the taste of baking soda and cinnamon.
Bitter and choking.
A confection lacking sweetener.
That’s what stands before me, trembling, beseeching.
When I note the terror flickering in their red-rimmed eyes, my bones ache. These weren’t women destitute and struggling, wrangling their reluctant conscience because they were crushed by impossibly harrowing circumstances. These women had it all—money and security.
Family.
What level of greed darkens a soul enough to murder an innocent?
Their crimes are stated, too many for me to collect. They swirl around the rim of the black hole, but I catch the essence.
Other names are rattled off, those involved whose demise has already been met. I don’t recognize most. Only two. Kent, Maureen’s husband. And Declan, Deidre’s son.
Daniel’s family.
With Kent involved, Maureen’s children will be orphans, like my men. My stomach knots.
And yet what kind of parents must they be, willing to kill her brother’s daughter for a slim chance at power?
It wasn’t a fleeting lapse in judgment either. It was years of perseverance.
It’s all so jumbled in my head.
But one detail keeps circling.
The pride emanating off Daniel that day in Charleston, when he showed me their pictures.“Family is family,”he said.
This must be breaking him. Not only as a leader who had a leak in his organization, but also as a man who’s been betrayed by the people who were his home.
Chafed by those who rubbed closest.
Their bloodshot pleas land on me with a spark of hope. What are they hoping for? Something quick? Or in their gloomy world, do I gleam like a paragon of virtue?
I may be, but that virtue won’t be championing them.
The click-clack of my heels spurs me forward, no longer a haunting, but a bolstering. “I’m not much for speeches. I won’t catalog all you stole from me because you already know, and honestly, I’m not all that bothered. Despite your best efforts, I had a beautiful life—as beautiful as yours could’ve been if you hadn’t been jonesing for power that wasn’t yours to hold. And yet itwasyours to enjoy. It’s so foolish.” My voice echoes against the rafters and marble and stained-glass windows.
