Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
NORTH CAROLINA
A dria and Loretta sat at a wrought-iron table surrounded by an indoor garden of potted plants and ivy. Afternoon sunlight filtered through veiled arched windows, casting soft shadows against white curtains. The scent of fresh-cut flowers and brewing tea mingled in the air, wrapping the space in a warm, quiet elegance.
Loretta flipped through the thick dossier Eric had compiled on the three boys. Bryson’s file was the largest, but there was no shortage of information on Seth and Kaydon either.
Adria already knew a good deal about Kaydon. Selected at birth to be Luca’s Right Hand, he had endured more than most. When he was nine, his parents were targeted in a brutal attack, his mother shot, his father beaten to death with a bat. Kaydon survived and was taken in by the Winters. After Luca’s death in a car accident, Kaydon, at fifteen, was reassigned to Bryson. Now twenty-seven, two years older than Bryson, he was well-built and known as the most responsible of the three.
Seth Moore was raised in a violent Chicago neighborhood; his file revealed multiple hospital visits for suspected abuse. Social services were called a few times, but nothing ever came of it. At fourteen, he began working for the Winters and was branded a year later. Twenty-two now, Seth was the youngest—small in stature, but by rumor, a wildcard with a bit of a violent streak.
Loretta set aside the files, and Adria pushed a stack of photos toward her. Gray hair slipped loose from Loretta’s messy updo as she studied each one.
“Quite something to look at, aren’t they?” Adria asked.
Loretta held up a photo from the boys’ medical evaluations. Bryson, shirtless, had his back turned to the camera. Bold script across his shoulders read ‘WINTERS’, flourishes curling up his neck. Scars crisscrossed his back—thin, straight, like belt marks.
Loretta raised an eyebrow. “The tattoos?”
“Family colors,” Adria replied. “Each one means something.”
She pointed to Bryson’s right arm. “RYQ—means eldest. ‘XVY’ means, kill. It’s a simple cipher.”
Loretta paled slightly. “And the six hash marks beside it?”
Adria nodded once.
Loretta set the photo down. “And you’re comfortable with them living here?”
Adria met her gaze. “The families have rules. While contracted, they can’t harm me directly.”
“Indirectly?”
Adria shrugged. “I’d be an idiot to think Callen and Bryson don’t have their own game going.”
Loretta absorbed the answer in silence, sipping her tea.
After Adria’s father died, Loretta had been the one to help her remove Jonathan, her father’s Right Hand, from her life. Thanks to her, Adria now only saw him during the mandatory council summits every two years—a blessing she’d never stop being grateful for.
Loretta slid another photo forward. “You have this one, too, right?”
She pointed to the nine-pointed star on Bryson’s back.
“Heirs only,” Adria said. “I got mine when I was ten.”
“Tattooing children. How charming,” Loretta said, lips pursed.
Adria paused on a photo of Bryson leaning against her kitchen counter. His gray sweatpants slung low on his hips, tattoos climbing up his lean torso. There was a softness to him, almost delicate, yet the ink transformed that softness into something dangerous. The juxtaposition was unsettling.
Loretta shook her head, smiling.
“What?” Adria asked.
Loretta sipped her tea. “Nothing. Forget it.”
“No—tell me.”
Loretta laughed. “In some ways, you’re still that child I taught all those years ago.”
“You enjoyed tutoring me,” Adria teased. “Admit it.”
Loretta smiled. “I did.”
Loretta had started in Adria’s life as a ballet instructor. Later, they shared late-night coffee over homework. Secrets over wine. Whatever the setting, Loretta had always been her safe place.
She had also been the one to invite Adria into the world of BDSM. Adria never asked what she saw in her that prompted the offer to Club Shale—but once she’d entered, Adria never looked back.
Loretta had a soft smile. “I understand your hands were proverbially tied—but why suggest him?”
“I told you. I never thought he’d agree.”
“Maybe there’s curiosity there.”
“Absolutely not,” Adria said too quickly .
Loretta’s smile grew. “No need to get defensive.”
Adria shifted in her seat, mumbling into her tea, “Who’s defensive?”
“Have you heard from X?” Loretta asked.
Adria brightened. “He might’ve found a buyer who can make Callen’s land worthless—declaring it an archaeological site.”
“Making it illegal to build on. Truly diabolical,” Loretta said, impressed.
Only Loretta and Eric truly understood how important reclaiming that land was.
“It doesn’t fix what’s broken,” Adria murmured, “but at least it might stop things from getting worse.”
“Do you know the buyers?”
Adria shook her head. “But I don’t have another option.”
Loretta reached across the table and took her hand. “Your mother would be proud. But she’d also want you to be happy.”
Adria withdrew slightly. “This won’t affect the business.”
“I’m not worried about the business,” Loretta said gently. “I’m worried about you.”
Adria didn’t reply.
“You’ve always looked out for others, Dri. I just want to make sure someone’s looking out for you, too. Me and your mother, we want to see you being yourself.”
“This is me,” Adria said quietly.
Loretta frowned but didn’t push. “X wants you to train him, right? Sees the value in it?”
Adria nodded. She didn’t know everything about X, but she knew he hated the Nine—especially the Cahills—and he had never stopped looking out for her mother.
“You’ve got this,” Loretta said, squeezing her hand.
Adria tried to believe her .
“So, stop stalling. Eric says it’s been almost a week. Start the program. You’re ready.”
Adria took a sip of tea and stared at the photo of Bryson again.
Maybe she was ready. Or maybe she had no other choice.