Chapter Eighteen
Bash
We gather in the great room of Branson’s million-dollar mausoleum, dressed in our tailored suits like wolves too old to hunt, pretending we still have bite.
My eyes drag across the room, taking in the once-mighty generation of Elders.
Once, we were feared. Worshipped. Gods behind gold doors and blood-slick ledgers.
Now?
Now we’re nothing but relics wrapped in silk.
Failures masquerading as founders.
I blame all of us, but mostly, I blame myself.
I used to be unstoppable. My name could kill a deal or build an empire. But bad investments, worse decisions, and a drinking habit that devours reason like rot to bone? That shit’s been carving me hollow for years.
Before I could stop the spiral, it was too late. I fell, and no one caught me.
Branson's voice slices through my thoughts. Cold. Authoritative. Tired of pretending.
“It would appear our sons have more balls than we do,” he says, the words echoing off marble and shame. “We’ve been reduced to shadows. Hiding in plain sight. Letting our legacy rot. For what?”
“We were instructed to wait,” Desmond mutters like a trained dog reciting his leash length.
“Fuck waiting,” Branson snaps, his voice turning gravel. “While we sit here with our dicks in our hands, those boys are taking over. Our reign is crumbling.”
A silence drapes the room like a funeral cloth.
And then it shifts.
The air tightens. The temperature drops. Every hair on my arms stands on end.
“You dare to speak of rebellion in my presence?”
The voice comes from the dark, velvet, and venom.
Every head snaps toward the hallway, where the shadows peel apart.
He steps into the light like death in designer shoes.
The Prime.
He doesn’t walk. He glides. And with every step, another ounce of breath is strangled out of the room.
“Moments ago,” he murmurs, “you were prepared to defy me. But now… now you all cower like children caught playing with matches.”
“Sir, we,” Desmond stammers, already digging his grave.
“Shut up,” the Prime hisses, each syllable laced with something feral. “The girl will come around. I’ll see to it myself. Until then, you will remain obedient.”
I swallow hard, throat dry as ash. “But sir… with the five of them guarding her day and night… she’s untouchable. They came to my home. Threatened me.”
“Contain yourself.” His gaze snaps to me, pinning me like a knife. “You’re a High Elder. Start acting like one.”
“We’re doing everything we can,” I mutter, but my voice is already drowning under his glare.
“No. You’re not. Especially you.” He steps closer, curling his lip at me like I’m filth beneath his boot. “Your son stole your most prized possession. You tried to erase him. He found her again. And now, they’re taking everything.”
He leans in, voice dropping low. “You let it happen. Just like before.”
I lower my gaze, spine curling in submission.
I become what I’ve always been beneath him.
A lapdog in a lion’s den.
As he retreats, cloaked again in shadows, my mind burns with fury.
This is all her fault.
If Athens hadn’t existed, if she hadn’t been born to inherit what should’ve been mine, none of this would’ve spiraled.
I step into the library, retrieving my phone from my pocket.
One ring. Gio answers.
“Yes, sir?”
“I need eyes on my son. I want to know what the bastard’s been doing while we’ve been blindsided.”
“I was already on that,” he says. “But Colt Carmichael, our inside informant, he’s gone. Missing. Last contact was over a month ago.”
“What do you mean missing ?”
“I think they found him out. They might’ve known he was posing as one of their own. If so… we need to find out what he told them. And if he’s dead.”
“Then do it. Quietly. I’m going to lay low for now. The others are circling like sharks… and I’m bleeding. If I don’t come up with what I owe, I’ll be dead before the week is out.”
I pause, a thought creeping in like mold through concrete.
“How the fuck are Wyck and the others pulling in so much money?”
“They’ve got clubs. Wineries. But I’ve heard rumors… of a new drug. Something synthetic. Clean. No overdoses. Highly addictive. Highly profitable. It’s moving faster than coke and more discreet than fentanyl.”
“And you let this shit go unchecked?” I hiss.
“I’ll look into distribution, routes, suppliers, see if there’s a way in.”
“There’d better be. I need cash flow until the marriage is verified. Once it is, her money becomes mine .”
“Yes, sir.”
“And have you found her?”
“No, sir. Aside from popping up on campus, she’s a ghost.”
“She’s not a ghost. She’s a fucking pest. And pests get exterminated.”
I hang up, breathing hard, sweat starting to pearl at my temples.
Nobody makes a fool of Bash Vaughn and lives to talk about it.
And that includes my own blood.