Betrothed in Fury

Prologue

LOGAN

There’s something we need to discuss.

After receiving Dad’s text, I’m on edge as I head upstairs to his bedroom.

It’s not just the message, but my brother mentioning Dad was visiting with his attorney and a few trusted advisors.

Given the recent, rapid deterioration of his health, it’s not difficult to imagine what they’re here to discuss, but it’s not something I’m eager to face, not when I refuse to believe I can lose my father.

I approach the bedroom door, knots twisting in my chest, and I’m about to knock when Baxter, our butler, opens the door for me, looking somber.

“Is everything okay?” I spit out.

“I’m fine,” Dad assures me from the bed as I nearly push Baxter out of my way.

Dad lies in the same spot as usual, on the left side of the bed, since Mom used to sleep on the right.

Of the three men present, I only recognize Finter, our attorney, who expertly solves all the legal scrapes a mob family gets into.

This time, though, I know he isn’t here to get us out of legal troubles.

Besides, my brother Wrath hasn’t done anything outrageous in a while, on good behavior because he knows what’s ahead of us.

I do too, as much as I try to deny it. It’s evidenced in how pale Dad looks—much paler than yesterday; in his weary eyes that used to be so full of life; even in the way his hands are planted against the bed, one holding some papers in a loose grip, as if he doesn’t have the strength to hold them.

These fucked-up reminders of a reality I’m not ready to accept make me want to beat the shit out of this so-called doctor who’s supposed to take care of all his needs.

Not like he hasn’t tried his hardest, through rounds of radiation and chemo.

Still, someone has to take the blame, so it might as well be him.

I try to settle my nerves. As the eldest of the Wilde sons, it’s always been my duty to set an example for my brothers, so I must be the strong one. And today it feels important to show him how strong I am. Because he made me strong.

“Dad?”

“Get over here, my little man,” he says, and even saying that much is a strain.

I follow his directive, obedient son that I am, approaching the bed, looking to the papers in his tired grasp.

Since I was a kid, I’ve seen him with plenty of documents like this.

Everything typed out in tiny print, like buying a damn car, which I always found amusing—since most of the agreements our family makes aren’t the sort you can put into writing—but now it makes me suspect this is something much worse. His will.

“How are you feeling?” I ask.

“I’ve been going over everything I need to settle my affairs before the worst of this,” he says, not answering my question.

“Dad, no…”

“It’s no use trying to outrun this.”

Be fucking strong. Prove to him he’s leaving this family in capable hands.

Despite my attempt to bully myself, I can’t fight the tears that push to my eyes, the way my chin quivers at the thought of losing him. “I refuse to accept that. You’re gonna keep fighting this. And you’re gonna win. You’re too strong.”

He’s quiet. It’s hard to tell if he’s thinking or mustering the energy to speak before he says, “Even for a man as strong as me, this…I can’t escape. No one can. Lord knows I’ve tempted death enough that it’s my time. I’ve accepted it, and you need to do the same.”

“I won’t.” I say it like I can simply delude myself enough to make it not so, but I’m aware I’m not the first to have failed in this experiment. Still, a primal instinct won’t allow me to go there.

Dad smirks. “That’s my blood, for sure, streaming through your veins, making you as hardheaded as your old man. You’ll need it to take care of your brothers.”

“If you’re gonna keep talking like this, I’m going back to the library. I was in the middle of a perfectly good book.”

I start like I’m about to head off, and he says, “No, please…”

I freeze in place. I didn’t have any intention of leaving him, was just trying to get him to shut up.

“If you can’t accept it, please humor your old man.” His hand trembles as he passes the papers to me.

“A will?”

“This is better than any will. It’s security for you and your brothers for the rest of your lives, by the Lordes.”

That must be why these two other guys are here—to finalize an agreement with our greatest allies, which is good for us, but I can’t help but despise them because they’re a reminder of what Dad’s come to accept, which I can’t.

“Old Terror and I have made an arrangement,” Dad continues, “but it hinges on you taking on a responsibility to ensure no one in this family will be harmed by our enemies.”

Of which we have many. You can’t work in drug trafficking in Fury, Georgia, without upsetting competing cartels.

“I don’t need to sign anything because everything will be fine.” I choke up as I say the words because it’s too far along, and I can’t make myself believe it anymore, especially as I stand here, forced to see the state he’s in. “Why did you send the doctor away? He should be here.”

“Please, listen to me. You must form an alliance with the Lordes…one that seals our families together. I’ve amassed too much debt to manage on my own, and I won’t be able to sleep until I know you all will be cared for.”

“What do I need to do? Sign this?”

I find a pen on his nightstand, then flip through the pages for the place to sign, and once I find it, scrawl out my signature.

“You should read it,” Dad insists.

“It doesn’t matter because you’ll be fine.”

“Then let me explain it to you.”

“No. If it’s something mundane, then it doesn’t matter, and if it’s terrible, then it’ll give you a reason to stay alive. Because you wouldn’t leave me if you knew I was going to suffer, would you?”

I’m perverse, saying something so horrible to him when I know there’s nothing more he can do. But I’m desperate.

“It won’t be so horrible,” he assures me. “But you will have to do what you must to keep everyone safe. Promise me that.”

“It doesn’t matter because it won’t come to that.

” It’s hard to tell whom I’m trying to convince at this point.

But it’s clearly not working since I can feel the tears coming on, and as much as I want to stay with him as long as I can, if I don’t leave soon, he’ll see my weakness.

And he won’t believe I’m the one who will be able to care for our family.

He takes my hand. “You’re a good older brother. And you’ve been a great son. No matter what happens, know that I love you.”

There are the fucking tears.

“I just need to head to the bathroom,” I say, avoiding eye contact.

Dad releases my hand. “Go, then. The fate of our family has been sealed, and I feel better now.”

I give him a hug, then hurry out, avoiding these assholes who’ve come here and stressed him out, likely taken minutes, if not days, off his life. Fuck them.

I don’t make it far down the hall before the tears are sliding down my cheeks, and I push up against the wall, burying my face into my forearm.

I wish I could scream, but I hate how close I am to his room, that he’ll hear me, so I stifle it, pack it down until it’s just rage and tension in my chest.

Because in my heart, I know how close we are to the end.

I must accept that.

No, I can’t! I won’t!