Chapter Twenty
I now understand the real reason my father insisted on keeping me isolated from the Roxborough mission for so long.
I’d blindly assumed it to be some combination of Sebastian needing to keep my presence from tipping off the Aces—and wanting to punish Sabine by removing one of her main crutches: me .
But now that Tristan Sinclair is standing in front of me, without the interference of a masquerade disguise, I can see how laughably wrong I was.
Because Tristan Sinclair is the spitting fucking image of my younger self.
Had Sabine known me in my teens, perhaps she would have connected the dots for us much, much earlier. Even Rhett had only met me for the first time after I was already well into my twenties. I’d also kept my facial hair for as long as either of them could remember.
Rhett squints, handsome face scrunched in faux concentration. “I can definitely see it now.”
A fucking blind person could see it.
These eerily similar faces carry exactly none of our mothers.
They’re purely Grayson .
I hold out my hand, ignoring both Orbison’s levity and the veiled scorn Sinclair shoots him. There’s definite animosity there.
But that’s something I’ll have to get to the bottom of another day.
“Jackson,” I offer gruffly. “And I’m sorry that we’re meeting like this. I’m sorry you’re being dragged into our mess at all.”
There are dark circles under Sinclair’s eyes, and his expression remains guarded as he takes in the scattered positions of my Crew. But he stands tall in a well-pressed button-down and slacks, holding himself steady with that perfect composure borne of a natural leader.
When he slips the palm of his hand firmly into mine, I take it as a good sign. As much as the revelation of our shared DNA has thrown our entire future into uncertainty, I also can’t move forward with him on my team while still holding my father’s sins over his head.
He didn’t ask to be born to a monster any more than I did.
In that, he’s completely innocent.
There’s just the matter of Sabine.
Even shaking my hand, Apollo doesn’t fully take his focus off her.
In fact, all four of the Boys are unabashedly tracking Sabine’s movements as she putters around behind me in the kitchen of our Rox City homebase.
Jameson hovers right behind Sinclair’s shoulder. The plain black tank he’s wearing covers a hell of a lot less ink than his tuxedo did. I can now see that the tattoos run over every visible inch of his neck, chest, shoulders, arms, and down to the backs of his hands. His jaw looks about ready to come off its hinge with how tightly he holds it.
Miller is perched on top of the couch in a faded Hawaiian shirt that he’s left open, feet propped on the back seat cushion. His mop of blond curls looks wild today, hanging over his eyes as he leans forward, intently watching Sabine cut slices of provolone.
Rhodes—dressed head to toe in black—has his back pressed to the wall furthest from the kitchen, as if he hopes his molecules might somehow find the right frequency and vibrate him straight through it.
One might think that after sharing her with my best friend the idea of Apollo and his friends as potential partners of hers would be an easier pill to swallow.
The problem is that when I made the decision to break protocol and head to Rox City, I was drunk, angry, and desperate to lay eyes on her. I convinced myself that I was only going in there to see her as her Team Leader, and while the beast may have arrived collared and leashed, I’d forgotten to bring its muzzle.
Now that it’s had a taste of freedom, I’ve not been able to re-collar it.
So, although just the thought of her and Orbison no longer makes me want to put my fist through the nearest drywall, I’m still grappling with the possibility of my needing to further expand that concession.
Sinclair finally drags his eyes away from Sabine and dips his chin at me.
“I guess it’s as much my mess now, as it is yours,” he replies, with as much signature Grayson confidence in his voice as his carriage.
How did we ever miss this?
His hand slips back into his pocket while he takes a moment to more closely inspect my features. I wonder if this feels as much like a spectacle to him as it does for me.
“So we don’t have the same mother?”
I shake my head. “No. My mother was a European crime princess. She died shortly after my birth, and I’ve never been able to find out much more than that. Sebastian had all traces of her scrubbed.”
He nods, considering his next words.
“And the Labors. They have to nominate every heir?”
I sigh, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “Eh, no. Technically, they can nominate up to three . They just have to weigh up the risk of not using their strongest candidates against the risk of losing their best potential legacies.”
“He didn’t even need to nominate Tris?” The angry question comes from Jameson. He’s guarding Sinclair's back as carefully as any seasoned mob Enforcer, and as much as the circumstances that have brought us all together pain me, what I’ve seen of them so far looks promising.
“Only entering one name means whoever it is has to live long enough for Sebastian to ascend. A second son doubles his chances. However, we have reason to believe Sebastian already had planned to replace his firstborn heir, and that’s the real reason he needs access to his spare.”
Sinclair’s face hardens at that. “He wants to get rid of you? Why?”
“The Gray Man used to value discretion and shadow work. But greed always wins, and I saw the writing on the wall—well before he started sending the Suits down a path I didn’t want to follow,” I say, slipping my own hands back into my pockets to hide the fists forming.
“I started working on putting contingencies in place in case our organization reached a point of no return. Unfortunately, he started picking up on my resistance, and now we’re almost sure he’s going to use the Labors as a cover to start cleaning house. Especially now that you’re eighteen.” I lick my lips, desperate for some moisture. “His own contingency plan, ready to action,” I add, ruefully.
Sinclair’s eyes slide back to the kitchen. “Cleaning house?”
I follow his gaze to where Sabine is now floating into the dining area, a grilled cheese sandwich between her lips. She’s opted for an oversized cable knit sweater and tight faux leather leggings.
“She’s too valuable to him. But the rest of my Crew? Fair game.”
His voice drops low with urgency. “But she’s in danger, isn’t she? If not from our father, then at least from others. I saw the way Midas was looking at her on Sunday night.”
I can’t help the dark scowl that takes over my face at his words. Jameson shoots a hand out when I crowd my brother’s space, snagging my elbow. I ignore it.
The claws of possession are pulling harder than his grip ever could.
“That’s the only reason you’re even here. I don’t give a single fuck about the Crown. But that doesn’t change the fact that we’re all about to be dropped right in the fucking middle of a civil fucking war, and the only thing I care about is getting her out of this in one piece,” I hiss, tone harsh and just as low.
“Something we can agree on, then,” Sinclair spits back at me, pushing Jameson’s hand off my sleeve.
“There are snakes everywhere. You have to stay on your guard, even at your school,” I urge him. My jaw clenches at the thought of Sabine having to sleep down the hallway from one of them. “Which reminds me, you should know that after the roster goes out today, there’s a good chance Sloane Walker will find out who your biological father is.”
His head rears back at that. “Come again?”
“Sloane Walker née O’Sullivan. She’s actually the daughter of Smiley, one of the Irish Mob bosses who are going after the Crown.”
Sinclair’s barked laugh is disbelieving. “Are you telling me she’s an heir as well?”
“She’s a princess, but she’s not an heir. It’s very rare for daughters to be named in our lines of succession. They’re usually married off instead.”
“So she’s not competing?” Ares sneers. “Shame. Would’ve liked the chance to take that bitch out,” he adds with an annoyed roll of his shoulders.
My brother only thins his lips. “But she’s still likely to hear my name come up as one of the Gray Man heirs.”
“Exactly,” I say before lowering my voice even further. “She already knows that Sabine’s connected to him as well.”
That earns me a thunderous look from both of them. “We’re not going to lose her a second time,” Sinclair hisses between his teeth.
My confusion must be obvious because he waves it off. “That’s something we still need to work out with her, but for now, just believe me when I say we’re at your disposal.”
My shoulders drop just a fraction, and then I take his acquiescence as the opportunity to move over and take a seat in the only armchair. As I settle back, I bring one foot up to rest on my knee, lacing my fingers there.
“Now, I know you’ve been doing things on your own, so far. You all seemed to fall into a natural set of roles when you’re together,” I continue, voice rising in volume. “But we don’t have time for leadership struggles and power plays. Since I’m already well acquainted with both Sebastian—and his Second, Dominic—I’ll be running point going forward.”
Every set of eyes in the room is now busy playing tennis between us, waiting to see which side of the net the ball is going to fall. And right now, the ball is in my younger brother’s court.
With Foster’s mysterious continued absence since the Symposium, our numbers remain evenly split. But either we go into this as a united front—or we’re doomed before we even get to the first Labor.
Apollo’s jaw works itself as he mulls over my decree. And I can see it for what it is, because it’s what I see every day in my own reflection.
A bone deep need for control.
But we don’t have time for this. The clock is ticking down on the Herald’s first announcements.
I decide to extend a small olive branch. “Ask my Crew. I’m willing to defer when the need arises,” I offer, only for my words to be met with a chorus of choked laughter.
My eyes swing over to where both Sabine and Knox are sitting at the dining table, fists pressed against their mouths. Rhett has his fingers laced over his head, eyes shining while he bites down on his lip.
“ What? ” I grouse.
“Sure, Zeus, ” Sabine gasps, “Because you’re so amazing at sharing your toys. Truly .”
Rhett’s shoulders only shake harder.
My brow lowers.
Keep laughing.
Just know that at the earliest opportunity, I will be tanning both your asses.
“Enough , ” I finally bark, distracting my erection by slipping my phone out and pulling up my encrypted email server.
Still radio silence from Foster.
“Sinclair?” I prompt him without looking up from the screen.
“You mean, Apollo ,” Sabine corrects me.
“Hmm?” I snap out.
When I glance back over to her, I find her sitting with her leg propped up and her chin resting on her knee. Her giant sweatshirt is pooled back around her hips, leaving me with a clear view of the exact way her skin-tight leggings mold to the natural shape of her mound.
And either she’s wearing the world’s thinnest fucking panties, or she's gone completely bare beneath them.
Fuck.
Her raspy, knowing chuckle sends a wave of gooseflesh down my nape and I’m immediately thankful that my lap is hidden with my legs crossed as they are. Don’t need my brother and his friends getting an eyeful of my rapidly hardening cock.
“I just think it’s best if we stick to the callsigns, at least during the Labors. It might help give us an edge while communications are being monitored,” she says. But her eyebrow is cocked in a challenge.
Between the attitude and the pants, she’s quickly racking up marks against her name.
And guess just where those marks will be going, darling?
But my lips thin, considering. She’s not wrong.
Without Foster here to guarantee our end-to-end protocols, we need any extra layer of security we can get.
“Fine. Apollo . What say you? We have,”—I check my phone again—“two minutes before show time.”
Finally, after a long, considering look in Sabine’s direction, he gives me a terse nod that again reminds me so much of myself.
“Okay, then let’s get ready. It’s time for the Labors to begin,” I say loudly.
The entire room falls into a hiccuping quiet as everyone finishes converging on the living area of our Rox City suite.
Apollo moves to take the couch, dropping onto the cushion beside Hermes. Knox and Ares choose to spread out behind the seats themselves, keeping their hands in their pockets and careful gazes on the scene before them. Hades doesn’t move from his post against the wall opposite me.
I expect Sabine to hesitate, faced with so many choices. Instead, she heads straight for me, perching her pert ass on one of my armrests and I can’t help the primal satisfaction that swells in my chest.
Dionysus takes up his usual position at my back. But then he leans in, brushing his lips against the shell of my ear, and whispers, “ Welcome back, Daddy Zeus. ”
Christ almighty. My dick is never going down at this rate.
Just then, my phone’s digital display rolls over to 7:00pm , and it chimes out with the familiar dulcet tones of an encrypted announcement from the Herald.
A sound I’ll no doubt grow to loathe by the end of this.
Swiping it open, I immediately read through it once—carefully—before reading the contents aloud.
〉〉〉START OF ENCRYPTED MESSAGE
〉〉 THE TWELVE LABORS OF SUCCESSION
〉 FINAL ROSTER
├ FACTION: THE GRAY MEN // Grayson, Jackson; Sinclair, Tristan;
├ FACTION: O’SULLIVAN-REILLY FAMILY // O’Sullivan, Aiden; Reilly, Benjamin;
├ FACTION: THE STRANGE ACES // Mahoney, Ford;
├ FACTION: ESCONDIDO CARTEL // De León, Diego; De León, Javier; De León, Luis;
Escondido Cartel.
I see when everybody’s postures tighten with the same confusion, and I hold up a hand, begging for silence.
“Wait for it.”
Almost immediately, a second message comes through, and I do the same as with the first.
〉〉〉〉START OF ENCRYPTED MESSAGE
〉〉〉 THE TWELVE LABORS OF SUCCESSION
〉〉 TRIAL I
〉 You don’t go searching for bones in a lion’s den
├ TASK: NEUTRALIZATION
├ TARGET: SENATOR LEANDROS ADRIAN GEORGIOU, 43
├ AFFILIATIONS: United States Senate, Republican Party, Washington State
├ LAST KNOWN LOCATION: Washington, D.C.
├ DEADLINE: 47 hours, 59 min from digital receipt of message
My hand lowers, and I let the breath I was holding out with a deep sigh.