My only brother.
My friends.
Fucking Tyler, of all people, played along in this deception.
All of them. My club, my birds, my brothers.
Every single one of the Triple Falls originals. Men I trusted with my secrets, my life, my fucking fate.
They’ve all betrayed me.
All of them.
I’m completely and utterly alone in this world.
Slamming my car door, I head towards the clearing as rage surges through my veins. Any lies I’ve told or omissions I’ve made have only kept them safe, kept them from seeing the blood on my hands.
Just as I make it past the first row of trees, the sound of guitar music stops me. Pausing, I scan the forest, ears perking up for the source before I again stalk toward the clearing—the melody drifting into the woods becoming clearer as I reach the break in the trees. It’s when I get to the empty field that I notice the absence of life, the tables gone. I stand in utter confusion as the song starts up again, the repetition gnawing at me as I begin to absorb the lyrics. The source of the music is coming from Roman’s house, that much is certain. I start to walk toward his mansion under the cover of the trees before shooting a text off to the Ravens on his post for his twenty.
Charlotte.
Which can only mean one thing.
Cecelia is the source, and she’s home.
Making my way onto the grass—knowing my birds control the cameras—I come upon a large set of speakers pointed in the direction of the clearing.
Either they told her, or she figured it out and my place has been compromised. My place, my fucking place.
It’s then I know the reason for the music. It’s a summons from Cecelia.
A summons for Sean and Dom.
And it’s clear they’ve ghosted her.
Too late, too fucking late.
“Goddamnit!”
Furious beyond comprehension, I charge in my Italian leathers along the slick grass, walking the last fifty yards across Roman’s perfectly manicured lawn. I’ve never once been this close to his palace, and I vow I won’t ever be this close again.
The summer heat singes my scalp, only aiding in my irritation as I take long strides through the garden, the lyrics surrounding me deafening but clear in delivery.
This girl is in way over her fucking head.
Squinting due to the sun while burning up in my suit, I manage to make it to the deck and freeze when I spot her, topless, in a lounge chair.
Enraged, I stalk toward her and no longer recognize the little girl I saw in the library ten years ago. In place of the gawky girl lays the body of a woman in nothing but a bikini bottom, her tan skin glistening, face flawless, features serene. Sensing me, her lush lips lift in a siren’s smile just before she slides her hand over her perfect breasts, flattening her palm on her stomach inching toward her bikini bottom. My eyes follow as intended before she lifts her hand to shield her eyes. The hair on my arms spike despite the heat, and I immediately start to panic as the familiar feeling consumes me.
No. No. No. No. No.
An electric shock of awareness hits me, a jolt so powerful it renders me helpless, speechless, and utterly incapable as I fight it with everything in me when she speaks.
“Nothing to say?”
When I remain mute, her eyes slowly open and widen, and it’s then I’m damned by the second jolt.
Years of reports on her progress—progress I’ve mapped as closely as any other mark until recently. Years of knowing her history, of seeing her growth in black and white. Years of refusing to look at pictures and apparently for good fucking reason. She was just a child when I saw her, and she’s anything but now as she lays beneath me, perfectly ripe and just within reach. For years I’ve denied digging too deep, but the details I’ve avoided rear their ugly head at me now as I stare down at my own demise, the only name in my mind repeating on loop as I clench my fists and try to will it away.