Endgame

Prologue

Everett

Twenty-three years ago

Agroan rises in my throat. I swallow it down. Clench my fists. Hold it all in.

I’m trying to stay calm—I really am—but I’ll lose my mind if I stay in my room for another second.

The room itself isn’t the problem. And no, even though I’m eighteen, I’m not itching to get out of here and go to college.

College means nothing to me.

Nothing does, ever since someone brutally raped Lotus, my fifteen-year-old adopted sister, two months ago.

And because she made me swear not to tell anyone for now, the only thing I can do to help is sleep on the floor beside her bed every night. I’m always careful to slip out before sunrise so our parents don’t find out.

They’d ask too many questions.

Questions she isn’t ready for yet.

And though she usually trusts me and wants me there, tonight, she asked me to stay away.

Why?

I pace my room, running my hand through my hair.

What’s so different about tonight?

She’s in pain, same as always. I saw it on her face earlier.

She’s still a shadow of herself, wandering aimlessly around the house. Still pulling on her hair, still not touching her meals. She won’t even poke at them with her fork.

Just stares through them, blankly.

Our parents have noticed the change. Of course they have.

Her sad blue eyes are impossible to ignore.

They keep asking her, What’s wrong, Lotus? Please, talk to us. We love you.

Every time I hear her repeat the same excuses, my teeth gnash.

Stress. School. Too many projects and tests. It’ll be over soon though. I’ll be fine.

Lies.

Without real help, she won’t be fine.

Real help and justice.

I can’t give her either, for the time being, since she’s freaked out about me confronting her rapist and making a scene. So freaked out she won’t tell me who it was.

The only two details she shared were that he was part of the secret society our parents belong to, Royalty, and that he wasn’t one of the adults.

I ruled out Stafford, my best friend, right away. I was with him that night. Thank fuck for small favors.

That leaves three suspects. First two are Arnold and Maverick, Stafford’s brothers. Then there’s Winston Clarke.

Without any hard proof or her confession, it’ll be impossible to figure out which one of them raped her.

Avenging her is impossible, even if I want to.

And I do.

Another groan vibrates through me, threatening to come out. The frustrated sound has accompanied me since I saw her bleeding on her bed.

It’s one that I’ve been suppressing in favor of soft smiles and holding her hand.

Just for a bit longer, she begs me whenever I urge her to go to our parents. Mom and Dad would be so embarrassed. I was so stupid, Everett. So stupid to fall for him. I need a few more days for myself, and then I’ll tell them. I won’t cry as much when they say it was my fault.

It wasn’t her fault. I know it in my bones. If she’d just talk to Mom and Dad, they’d tell her the same thing.

I repeated it to her until my voice turned raw. It never seems to sink in. The fact that she won’t come forward, that she’s too scared or ashamed, makes me want to scream or cry or both.

That night—that goddamn night—warps the truth in her head. Pain turns the truth into a vicious lie. It convinces her that we’d stop loving her.

“Dammit.” I land a punch on the bed instead of the wall, where I’d like to hit. I’m trying to be quiet. Considerate.

I unload a second punch on my bed. That one’s because she’s in pain.

The third is for every tear she’s shed over the last two months.

The last one is because she won’t let me sit beside her. I’m fucking useless.

All this rage, I’m being consumed by it.

Now I definitely can’t go in there. Barging into her sacred space while I’m shaking with barely contained rage isn’t an option I’m willing to entertain.

For the slightest chance that it might trigger her, I stay put. Breathing hard. Calming myself down.

Thinking. Thinking. Thinking.

Until she lets me in, what do I do? How can I help her?

Get revenge.

That’s it. That’s what I’ll do.

Once I figure out who hurt her…

I’ll make him pay for this.

“Who did it?” I ask the empty room. “Who?”

I’ve been racking my brain for weeks.

Whoever he was, this asshole was enough of a monster to hold her down in the shower and wash the evidence off her.

He watched her bleed even after the water stopped running. Warned her to stay quiet. That it’d be her word against his.

That was how I found her that night. She’d left her bedroom door unlocked, and I went in to ask for her charger.

I forgot about the charger the second I saw her bleeding all over her sheets, sobbing and shaking uncontrollably.

I told her, again and again, that I believed her.

It still wasn’t enough to convince her to come forward.

If Dad knew, he’d make her say that fucker’s name. Then he’d strangle him with his bare hands.

Or he’d avenge her the right, lawful way. His way. Dad’s law firm is the biggest one in Boston. In all of the East Coast, to be exact.

He’d get her the justice she’s owed.

If she’d only talk to our parents.

She will. Be it tonight or tomorrow, she will.

The rapist’s carefree days, as he knows them, are over.

“Can’t take it anymore.” Newfound determination is the force pushing me out of my room. In a matter of seconds, I’m standing outside of hers.

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to soften my expression.

There’s no one in the dimly lit hallway to see me clenching and unclenching my fists.

Mom and Dad went to bed hours ago. The staff is done for the day.

Deep breath.

For her. I’m doing this for her.

Another deep breath.

Stupid breathing techniques.

They’re useless. How am I supposed to keep breathing through this? Through the anger that’s been bottled up inside me for two months?

My shirt and flannel pants are too tight on my skin. The pounding in my head is a beating drum. An incessant thrumming.

I run a hand through my hair again, tugging on the strands.

The internal pain won’t go away.

I have to take a few more steadying breaths before I go in there.

My adopted sister deserves better. She’s owed a calm big brother who’d reassure her no one’s going to un-adopt her or whatever the hell is going through her tormented brain.

After what has to be my tenth inhale, I knock on her door.

Quiet. She isn’t treading toward the door. Not asking me in her hushed voice, Everett? Is that you?

She couldn’t have fallen asleep.

Without me there to watch over her, Lotus can’t sleep. She doesn’t stop crying.

I knock again. “Lotus?”

The silence grows louder, if possible.

My gut churns. I press my ear to the door. Strain to hear her bedsheets shuffling as she turns over in her four-poster canopy bed.

I pray for the sound. For any sign of life.

Or…maybe she’s okay. Maybe tonight isn’t as bad for her. Maybe she has her earphones on and is listening to her favorite playlists.

Yeah, right.

“Lotus?” Done with waiting, I cover my eyes with one hand, turn the knob, and step inside. “Lotus, are you decent?”

This silence. It’s loud. It’s static in my ears, like something terrible is about to happen.

More than it already has.

Dread lines the bottom of my stomach. She could’ve passed out, and I’m standing here like an idiot.

She could also be naked, so I keep my hand over my eyes.

“Lotus?” I square my shoulders, standing taller. Straighter.

For her. I think the sight of her six-foot-three brother calms my sister. A shield between her and the outside world.

I don’t remind her that I failed when it mattered. What I do is bulk up at the gym.

“Hey, so, you’re freaking me out. What’s—” What’s wrong, dumbass? Really? “Lotus, I’m going to count to five, then I’m taking my hand off my eyes, okay?”

Despite my rising concern and my chest tightening, I make good on my promise and count.

“…and five.” Removing my hand, I look around her room.

She hasn’t fallen asleep on top of the white covers. Hasn’t collapsed on the floor either.

There’s no sign of her on her couch by her heavy wood desk, but in her bathroom, she might be there.

“Hey, you there?” I rap on the door with my knuckles. “Let me in. Please.”

I want her to tell me to go away. To leave her alone.

Anything but this silence. Silence means she could’ve passed out from crying.

Or she could’ve broken down and harmed herself.

My hand is heavy as I turn the knob, as heavy as my heart when I push the door in.

“Hey.”

No answer. The vanity and waterfall shower are as silent as the rest of Lotus’s room.

“Fuck.”

All my frustration piles up in that one curse.

All my sadness.

I see what I look like in her vanity mirror. My gray eyes are fucking weird. I’ve never been this frustrated in my life.

This helpless.

Her closet, maybe. In three steps, I’m inside, flipping the lights on.

Expensive clothes and shoes are lined on the shelves and hang from the racks. Lotus doesn’t care about these things, but Mom loves spoiling her.

Mom loves spoiling all three of us.

Except she isn’t here now. Neither is Lotus.

Where could she be? She hasn’t left the room since dinner.

Could he have taken her?

No.

No.

No.

I put a hand over my throat, massaging the area.

Think, idiot.

I’m pacing again, just like Dad does before he has a big case and isn’t sure which line of defense to take.

Since he’s the person I idolize the most, and I’m basically a carbon copy of him, I do just that. Pace Lotus’s room. Over and over and over.

Before I give up and go wake Mom and Dad, I pause at her desk and frown. There’s a folded piece of paper I must’ve missed earlier.

In her handwriting, it reads: Mom, Dad, and Everett.

Bile rises in my throat. This can’t be good.

I unfold it anyway.

Hi, fam.

First and foremost, I love you. Over fifteen years ago, you let me into your home. I was no more than a few days old, and you already claimed me as yours.

Throughout the years, you’ve shown me what true love and family are all about.

You’ve held me through the bad times, laughed with me in the good ones. You’ve always been patient and caring, and again, I love you for it.

That’s why it breaks my heart to say that I can’t stay.

See, something happened. Something really bad that you wouldn’t like. Now that I’m gone, Everett will fill you in on it. It hurts too much to repeat it, even on paper.

I’m sorry about that. For ruining everything.

For putting myself in a position that, in turn, puts you in a difficult position.

But don’t worry. I’m fixing whatever it is I broke. You don’t have to worry about anything. Once I’m gone, you won’t have to choose between me and the Royalty. I know what your group of friends and business connections mean to you.

This is how I get to pay you for the love you’ve given me.

I love you. I miss you already.

Thank you for being the family I never deserved.

Lotus.

My heart, my ribcage, my insides—they’re crushed. Turned to dust.

“No.” I crumple the piece of paper and fling it at the wall.

My next victim is the wastebasket by her desk. I kick it, watching the contents spill over her rug.

Among a few crumpled papers, two plastic sticks stand out.

Both have a small digital screen in the center.

“What the hell?”

I drop to my knees to take a better look, because no. It can’t be what I think it is.

It is.

Up close, there’s no denying it.

Pregnant.

Lotus is pregnant.

My breath catches. The word echoes in my skull, refusing to make sense, refusing to settle. I feel like the ground beneath me has shifted.

She’s pregnant and out there.

Alone.

With every ounce of energy I have left in my body, I sprint to our parents’ bedroom.

Together, we’ll find her and her baby.

We’ll save them both if she decides to keep it.

We will.