The Brothers Hawthorne (The Inheritance Games, #4)(3)
Growing up, none of the Hawthorne brothers had known their fathers’ identities—until Grayson had discovered that his was Sheffield Grayson. Nash’s was a man named Jake Nash. And Xander’s was Isaiah Alexander. Of the three men, only Isaiah actually deserved to be called a father. He and Xander had filed those “recreational patents” together.
“We’re supposed to be talking about you,” Xander said stubbornly.
“I should get back to work,” Grayson reiterated, adopting a tone that was very effective at putting everyone except his brothers in their place. “And despite what Avery and Jameson seem to believe, I don’t need a babysitter.”
“You don’t need a babysitter,” Xander agreed cheerfully, “and I am definitely not writing a book entitled The Care and Feeding of Your Broody Twenty-Year-Old Brother.”
Grayson’s eyes narrowed to slits.
“I can assure you,” Xander said with great solemnity, “it doesn’t have pictures.”
Before Grayson could summon an appropriate threat in response, his phone buzzed. Assuming it was the figures he’d requested, Grayson picked the phone up, only to discover a text from Nash. He looked back at Xander and knew instantly that his youngest brother had received the same message.
Grayson was the one who read the fateful missive out loud: “Nine-one-one.”
CHAPTER 2
JAMESON
The roar of the falls. The mist in the air. The feel of the back of Avery’s body against the front of his. Jameson Winchester Hawthorne was hungry—for this, for her, for everything, all of it, more.
Iguazú Falls was the world’s largest waterfall system. The walkway they were standing on took them right up to the edge of an incredible drop-off. Staring out at the falls, Jameson felt the lure of more. He eyed the railing. “Do you dare me?” he murmured into the back of Avery’s head.
She reached back to touch his jaw. “Absolutely not.”
Jameson’s lips curved—a teasing smile, a wicked one. “You’re probably right, Heiress.”
She turned her head to the side and met his gaze. “Probably?”
Jameson looked back at the falls. Unstoppable. Off limits. Deadly. “Probably.”
They were staying in a villa built on stilts and surrounded by jungle, no one around for miles but the two of them, Avery’s security team, and the jaguars roaring in the distance.
Jameson felt Avery’s approach before he heard it.
“Heads or tails?” She leaned against the railing, brandishing a bronze-and-silver coin. Her brown hair was falling out of its ponytail, her long-sleeved shirt still damp from the falls.
Jameson brought his hand to her hair tie, then worked it slowly and gently down—and off. Heads or tails was an invitation. A challenge. You kiss me, or I kiss you. “Dealer’s choice, Heiress.”
“If I’m the dealer…” Avery placed a palm flat on his chest, her eyes daring him to do something about that wet shirt of hers. “We’re going to need cards.”
The things we could do, Jameson thought, with a deck of cards. But before he could voice some of the more tantalizing possibilities, the satellite phone buzzed. Only five people had the number: his brothers, her sister, and her lawyer. Jameson groaned.
The text was from Nash. Nine seconds later, when the satellite phone rang, Jameson answered. “Delightful timing, as always, Gray.”
“I take it you received Nash’s message?”
“We’ve been summoned,” Jameson intoned. “You planning to play hooky again?”
Each Hawthorne brother got a single nine-one-one a year. The code didn’t mean emergency so much as I want you all here, but if one brother texted, the others came, no questions asked. Ignoring a nine-one-one led to… consequences.
“If you say one word about leather pants,” Grayson bit out. “I will—”
“Did you say leather pants?” Jameson was enjoying this way too much. “You’re breaking up, Gray. Are you asking me to send you a picture of the incredibly tight leather pants you had to wear the one time you ignored a nine-one-one?”
“Do not send me a picture—”
“A video?” Jameson asked loudly. “You want a video of yourself singing karaoke in the leather pants?”
Avery plucked the phone from his hands. She knew as well as Jameson did that there would be no ignoring Nash’s summons, and she had a bad habit of not tormenting his brothers.
“It’s me, Grayson.” Avery examined Nash’s text herself. “We’ll see you in London.”
CHAPTER 3
JAMESON
On a private jet in the dead of night, Jameson looked out the window. Avery was asleep on his chest. Near the front of the plane, Oren and the rest of the security team were quiet.
Quiet always got to Jameson, the same way stillness did. Skye had told them once that she wasn’t made for inertness, and as much as Jameson hated to see any similarity between himself and his spoiled, sometimes homicidal mother, he knew what she meant.
It had been getting worse these past weeks. Since Prague. Jameson pushed down the unwanted reminder, but at night, with nothing to distract him, he could barely resist the urge to remember, to think, to give in to the siren call of risk and a mystery that needed to be solved.