Dark Reunion (The Righteous #7)

Chapter 1

ONE YEAR AGO

DEAN

The swing creaked as it rocked back and forth.

Isabella’s giggle carried high into the afternoon air as Tate and Aiden took turns pushing her.

Dean stretched his legs out across the grass, soaking in the rare stillness.

The twins were locked in their usual battle, each demanding their turn to push Isabella longer, their identical green eyes narrowing in fierce determination.

Dean smiled faintly. Four years old and stubborn as hell…just like him, but they also had their mother’s fire. For as sweet as Yasmine was, when angry, it was best to run for cover.

He leaned back on his palms, letting the sun warm his face.

For a moment, he allowed himself to believe this was what peace felt like.

The life he’d never thought possible. The children were safe, Yasmine was happy, and another child was on the way.

Four kids…it had seemed completely impossible for so long that most days he still shook his head in disbelief.

He didn’t hear the gate open.

He didn’t hear the footsteps on the stone path.

What he heard was Yasmine’s strangled cry.

Dean’s head snapped up, the world narrowing to a single, searing image…his father, Carlos Ramírez, immaculately dressed in black, one arm locked around Yasmine’s throat, a pistol pressed against her temple. Her pregnancy suddenly more pronounced as she struggled for air.

Behind his father, guards fanned out, rifles raised, spreading like shadows across the yard.

Dean was on his feet before he registered moving, every muscle locked, blood flooding hot and cold all at once. He reached behind his back for his gun but grasped nothing.

Fuck.

He hated having the gun around the kids and had gotten complacent in carrying it around. He genuinely thought that enough time had passed and this part of his life was over. The threat long gone.

“Let her go,” he growled, voice lethal.

His father’s mouth curled into that same smile Dean had seen in nightmares for the last fourteen years. A predator’s smile. The Devil’s smile.

“Ah, Mercurio,” the man crooned, tilting his head against Yasmine’s hair as if this were a family embrace. “Is this how you welcome your father home?”

Dean’s fists clenched. “You’re not my father.”

The man’s grip tightened on Yasmine’s throat, making her choke. Dean took a step forward, rage ripping through him. The sharp click of a gun’s safety snapped his focus back. His twins had gone silent, staring wide-eyed at the circle of guns surrounding them.

One wrong move. That was all it would take.

“Dean,” Yasmine gasped.

Dean’s heart tore at the sight. His wife and his unborn child pinned by a monster he’d run from since he was eighteen. The twins, despite their age were protective over their sister, and small trembling hands gripped the chains on either side of her swing.

His father’s eyes glittered from behind his sunglasses.

“Fourteen years. Fourteen years you thought you could outrun me. Build this…” He looked around, the disgust at Dean’s home and what he’d built evident in his eyes.

“Pretend life. I mean can you even call it that? Mercurio, this is a joke. You live in a dollhouse, you are pretending to be a peasant when you are meant to be royalty.”

Dean’s teeth ground together. “Don’t call me that.”

The old man’s smirk deepened. “But that is who you are. Who I made you. I will say that I’m impressed with...” His gaze slid toward the children. “The beautiful heirs, and this sexy wife of yours. And you even have another child on the way. She is a good breeder.”

Dean’s stomach twisted, every old scar ripping open at once.

He saw himself at four — his father’s hand gripping too tight, his voice promising pain if Dean disobeyed.

He saw the belt. The fists. The woman screaming, his mother disappearing.

The blood. The abuse. And the fear that tasted rancid on his tongue.

Now he saw his children standing in that same shadow as it stretched across the grass.

This couldn’t be happening.

“No,” Dean rasped, stepping forward, his voice like broken glass. “They are not yours. They’ll never be yours.”

His father only chuckled, pressing the gun harder against Yasmine’s temple until she winced. “You will not decide that. I will.”

“Please,” Yasmine hissed through clenched teeth, glaring at Dean. Her eyes spoke louder than words.

The kids. Protect the kids at all costs.

Dean forced himself still, though his body shook with the restraint. He couldn’t act…not yet. There were too many guards, and there was no way he was chancing his children or Yasmine getting hurt.

“What do you want?” Dean’s voice was deadly calm.

His father’s smile spread wide. “I want what is mine. My blood. My heir. My hijo.” His gaze flicked down, staring at Yasmine’s belly. “And all that comes with.”

Dean’s vision swam red. “If you hurt her…if you touch one hair on their heads…I will carve your heart from your chest and force it down your throat.”

His father laughed, the sound loud and ominous, sending a chill racing down Dean’s spine despite the sunny day.

“Get your hands off of me,” Yasmine snarled through the tight hold.

Father leaned close to Yasmine’s ear, inhaling her hair the way a predator savors its kill. “She has fire. I like her. She will make a fine broodmare for many more years. Maybe I’ll even have her for myself for one or two.”

Even with the barrel digging into Yasmine’s skull, her spine stiffened. “You’ll die before you ever lay a hand on my children. I promise you that.” Her voice cut sharp and her green eyes lit up with rage.

Dean’s chest swelled with pride and fury. Yasmine had a warrior’s spirit, and he loved every defiant bone in her body.

Father let her go and she turned and kicked the closest guard in the shin before marching to Dean.

“Ow, fuck,” the guard complained, making my father chuckle.

She tucked herself into Dean’s side and glared at the men.

“I thought your father was dead,” Yasmine whispered.

“Unfortunately, I was wrong. That is definitely my father.”

“Would you like me to push you on the swing?” Father asked Isabella.

Even though Isabella was young, she seemed to understand the danger and shook her head. The twins whimpered, their little fingers holding onto their sister’s swing.

Yasmine raised an eyebrow her fiercest motherly glare fixed on Dean’s father. “I don’t care who he is. You kill him when you get the chance,” she hissed under her breath.

Dean looked down into his sweet wife’s face.

“I’ll make him regret his decision to come looking for me,” he whispered.

“Well, if we are not going to spend any family time here, then I guess we should get going. We have a plane to catch after all.” Father pointed with his gun. “Seize them.”

Dean’s jaw locked so hard his teeth ached. He marched over to the swing and crouched briefly, looking into the twins’ green eyes.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, voice shaking.

But he didn’t believe his own words. Once they were away from here, and undoubtedly locked in his father’s compound there was no telling what would happen.

Father’s soldiers marched forward, one gripped Yasmine’s arm.

“Don’t you fucking touch her,” Dean snarled.

“I’m fine, get Isabella.” Yasmine’s eyes once more pleaded with him to put the kids first.

Nodding, Dean picked up Isabella from the swing and held her tight. Tate and Aiden stayed close to his legs, hands gripping his jeans.

Dean wished for a gun and a large knife to gut his father with as three soldiers marched forward.

“Back the fuck off,” he growled.

They paused.

“You’re coming with us whether you want to or not. Now we can do this the easy way and no one gets hurt, or you can do it the hard way.” Father motioned for the soldiers to continue.

They ripped the boys from behind Dean’s legs, hauling them up like sacks of grain as they kicked and cried. Small fists punched at the men’s faces to no avail.

“Don’t hurt them!” Dean roared, lunging…only to feel cold steel slam across his back, driving him to his knees. He cradled Isabella in his arms to protect her, but she was scared and started to cry.

A guard jammed a barrel against his skull. Dean’s father crouched low in front of him, smirking.

“Ah, there he is. The son I raised. On his knees where he belongs.”

Dean spat onto the old man’s shoes. “I will kill you. If it takes the rest of my life, I’ll kill you.”

The smile widened. “Good. Hate is strength. You will need it.” His father reached out, holding his arms open to take Isabella.

Fuck.

Hating every second of this, Dean, slowly passed Isabella over.

“Excellent, now we can get going.” Father motioned with his gun once more like he was directing an orchestra. Dean watched as his father handed Isabella over to Yasmine and grabbed Tate from the guard, “Load them.”

Chaos erupted. The children shrieked, Yasmine screamed like a banshee, trying to get a neighbour’s attention. Dean was dragged to his feet, wrists bound behind his back with zip ties, and shoved toward the gate. Neighbors’ curtains fluttered, faces briefly visible before vanishing in fear.

The convoy of SUVs and a long limo waited. Dean was shoved into the limo, and Yasmine, with Isabella and Aiden, were crammed beside him. A gunman sat in the front seat and two more in the back with them.

Dean sat rigid, fury burning under his skin, Yasmine’s hand clutching his leg like a lifeline. He would’ve given anything to have his hands free.

Through the tinted glass, he caught his father’s reflection in the lead vehicle, and Tate staring out the back window at the limo.

His father was such a fucking prick. The hatred hadn’t lessoned over the years. It had just been smoldering, ready to ignite and burn even brighter.

Dean forced his breathing to steady. He couldn’t save them here. But he swore, as the convoy rolled away from their home, that this would be the last time his father ever touched what belonged to him.

No matter how long it took, no matter how much blood had to be spilled…he would end this.