Chapter 30
LANDON
Aria lives in an apartment three towns over.
The complex consists of three low-rise, tan-colored buildings arranged around a small central courtyard.
The paint is a little faded from years of sun, but everything is kept reasonably clean.
The landscaping is simple but cared for—patches of grass, a few trimmed shrubs, and a couple of oak trees that offer streaks of shade.
We go in the middle of the day.
If we were to go at night, the neighbors would bust a nut seeing two full-grown men trying to break into Aria’s apartment. During the day, we could pretend to be friends or colleagues. Most people don’t give a damn what their neighbors are up to.
As it is, we don’t run into any residents. They, no doubt, are either at work or school.
Ryker pushes a few buttons on the tablet Raymond gifted us. The scowl on my brother’s face deepens with every second that passes.
“It should…fuck…yes…maybe…if we…” He begins to mutter to himself as the furrow between his eyebrows intensifies.
I wait patiently, trying to bite down on the smirk that threatens to escape.
Neither of us is good at “techy” stuff like Beckett is. However, it’s crucial that we shut down all cameras in the immediate vicinity. There can be no record that we were here.
Here…at Aria Buckingham’s apartment. At least, that’s the name on the lease, and it’s different from her actual one.
Or maybe this is her true name, and the one she gave Ellie is false.
Who the fuck knows with the psycho bitch?
All we know is that she has a whole other life that she kept hidden from the rest of the world.
There are no ties connecting this Aria to the one that rules the Paragons of Prosperity. No ties…except for Jane.
A lucky coincidence?
A plant?
I don’t fucking know or care. All I can focus on is uncovering everything we can while we have the chance.
“Done!” Ryker declares triumphantly. “All cameras in the area should be shut down.” A frown tugs at his lips. “Probably.”
I scoff and shoulder past him, moving to crouch before the door and ignoring the tugging sensation in my stomach.
Fuck, will the pain ever abate? I don’t even know if I would classify it as “pain” any longer.
It’s more like an irritation. The skin surrounding the scar feels too tight and itchy.
A part of me almost wishes I had brought the cane, especially when the skin goes taut and a wheezy exhale escapes my lips, partway between a hiss and a curse.
Fuck.
“You good?” Concern laces Ryker’s tone.
“Fuck off,” I tell him as I begin the painstaking task of picking the lock.
Easy peasy.
It’s evident that Aria doesn’t expect anyone to break into this particular home of hers. After all, not even the goddamn FBI was able to connect this Aria to the twisted bitch holding my girl hostage.
The door swings open on silent hinges, and Ryker and I hurry inside before any curious neighbors can spot us.
I’m moderately surprised to find the apartment clean. I wonder if Aria has hired cleaners to attend to it regularly. I doubt she spends much time here.
We enter into a living room, which has beige carpeting that’s a bit worn but clean. A sliding glass door leads to a narrow balcony just wide enough for a folding chair and a potted plant.
The living room flows into a compact kitchen separated by a waist-high counter. The cabinets are older laminate with wood-grain patterns painted a bright white. The appliances—a fridge and an electric stove—are functional, though not new. A small window over the sink lets in midday light.
Ryker makes a beeline toward the kitchen counter—and the pile of mail resting on top of it. He doesn’t bother with subtlety as he rips open each envelope and pores over the contents inside.
Hopefully, Aria believes that the maids got curious.
While Ryker pursues the mail, I move into the living room and sweep my eyes over it. Nothing stands out as important, so I move down the hallway instead.
The first door leads to a bathroom, which has basic white tile, a shower-tub combination, and a medicine cabinet with a mirror that squeaks when opened.
All the medicine is generic, over-the-counter crap that tells me absolutely nothing about Aria.
I don’t know what I expected to find—maybe something to treat a psychological condition—but there’s nothing of the sort.
The bedroom itself is modest but cozy, easily fitting a full-size bed and a small dresser. There’s a small door on the opposite side of the room that probably leads to a closet.
I check the dresser first, pulling open drawers at random.
My heart just about jumps out of my body when I accidentally touch the bitch’s lacy underwear. Disgust curdles in my stomach, but I force myself to keep pilfering through her belongings. Nothing.
“You find anything?” Ryker materializes in the doorway, his blue eyes icy chips beneath the darkness of his hood.
I shudder. “She owns thongs, Ryker. Thongs. There are some things I can never unsee.”
If I have to suffer, then I’ll be damned if I don’t bring him down with me.
Ryker’s face distorts with disgust. “I don’t need to visualize that shit.”
“Anything in the mail?”
His scowl deepens further, etching harsh lines onto either side of his lips. “The bitch has an entire fucking life as Aria Buckingham. A college degree. Debt. A goddamn remote job she’s probably paying one of her lackeys to do for her. It’s fucking insane.”
“This is her escape plan,” I reason, the cogs in my head turning. “If things go to shit, The Divine One will disappear, and Aria Buckingham will take her place.” I jab my finger toward the bathroom. “I found unopened hair dye boxes in there.”
Ryker directs his attention to the closet. “Have you looked in there yet, or were you too busy sniffing the evil overlord’s panties?”
I visualize punching him.
Ryker, ignoring the glare beating into the side of his head, moves to the closet and pulls.
It doesn’t open.
“A locked door…” he muses, a wicked grin tugging up his face. “Interesting.”
I join him and peer at the knob. “There doesn’t appear to be a way for me to pick the lock. We’ll have to find a way to subtly—”
Ryker disappears from the room without a word.
“Rude,” I mutter.
He doesn’t return for a few minutes, and I worry something may have happened. But then he appears in the doorframe, seemingly out of nowhere, and in his hands is a giant motherfucking ax.
I gape at him.
“Dude, what the fuck?”
Ryker shrugs a shoulder with feigned casualness. “Zane keeps a bunch of weapons in the trunk of the car. I think there might even be a grenade launcher there.”
“You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?” I squint at him. He has to be. There’s no way in hell Zane got his hands on a grenade launcher. How would he even do that? Why would he even do that?
Then again, Zane is fucking insane. Nothing he does surprises me anymore.
“Step back,” Ryker instructs, his gravelly voice scratching at my skin.
I frown. “You can’t use an ax on the closet. Aria will for sure know someone broke in.”
“But she won’t know it’s us,” Ryker points out. He shoos me away like I’m an irritating pest.
“Ryker,” I growl out.
Ryker’s lips firm, compressing into a line.
“I’m done sitting on the goddamn sidelines.
Ellie is…” He swallows around whatever emotion has risen inside of him.
“She’s with that fucking monster. Dominic, Beckett, and Zane too.
Every day we sit and twiddle our damn thumbs is another day something horrible could happen to them.
I’m done being fucking subtle.” A savage grin lights up his face and chases a chill down my spine.
“Maybe Zane had the right idea when he said it’s time we fuck shit up. ”
“I wouldn’t listen to Zane’s advice.” I resist the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose. “He’s the same fucker who told us to invest in a boat so we can hide bodies in the ocean.”
We don’t live anywhere near an ocean.
But…
Maybe Ryker—and Zane, I suppose—is right.
Maybe it is time we “fuck shit up.”
Maybe it’s time we put two more pawns back on the board.
Indecision wars within me, battling for dominance, but my need to protect Ellie wins out over practicality, as it always does.
I step back and growl out, “Do it.”
Ryker nods seriously, rolls his shoulders back, then slams the ax down on the closet door. The first swing lands with a thud that echoes through the apartment—more vibration than sound, the wood flexing but holding tight. Splinters jump from the surface, tiny pale flecks against the darker grain.
The second strike is harder. The ax head bites deeper this time, sending a sharp crack through the door. A thin fracture spreads out from the impact point, almost like a jagged lightning bolt.
On the third hit, the ax sinks in with a satisfying chunk, lodging for a heartbeat before being yanked free. The damaged section of the door wobbles, now weakened, and the panel starts to cave.
One more swing.
The ax drives straight into the compromised spot, smashing through the wood. A fist-sized hole bursts open, and splinters fly across the floor. The door shudders on its hinges, groaning in defeat.
Ryker lowers the ax to the ground, reaches inside, and expertly unlocks the door.
The door swings outward, and Ryker flashes me a dark, sinister smile.
I match it.
The two of us step inside the minuscule space, and Ryker flicks on the light.
Everything in me goes cold.
“Jesus…” I whisper, unable to comprehend what I’m seeing.
Every inch of the back wall is covered. Newspaper clippings, photocopies, printed articles—Ellie’s parents’ accident plastered in overlapping layers like some twisted mosaic. Headlights jump out at me:
Tragic Crash Claims Local Couple. Cause Still Under Investigation.
Pictures of them—smiling, alive—are taped intermittently between the articles. Then there are photos of Ellie as a baby. Photos of a young, chubby-faced Fischer. Photos of Ellie’s parents with their arms wrapped around a younger Aria.
Ryker lets out a low whistle. “This is… This is beyond nuts. And I’ve seen my fair share of stalker boards over the years.”
I involuntarily snort. “Yeah. Yours.”
Ryker ignores my quip and leans forward to see the articles better.
I hover my fingers over a picture of Ellie, barely a toddler on her father’s shoulders, her mother laughing beside them. None of them had any idea what was coming.
“This is messed up,” I manage. “Why would she keep all of this? It’s almost like some fucked-up shrine.”
Ryker lowers himself to a crouch and begins to quickly sift through a stack of papers. More articles, as well as a police report of the accident.
Why was Aria so obsessed with an accident she caused?
“Holy fuck,” Ryker breathes, and I glance down to see him holding something in his hands.
“What?” I crouch to get a better look.
At first, I can’t process what I’m seeing. It appears to be…a birth certificate.
“I’m confused,” I confess, grabbing the paper out of Ryker’s hands. “Why am I looking at this?”
“Ellie’s mom was Fischer’s mom,” Ryker rasps out, and I stare at him like he’s lost his goddamn mind.
“Um…yeah. That usually happens with siblings.” I speak slowly, succinctly, wondering if his separation from Ellie has broken something inside of him. All of us have been teetering on the edge of sanity for years now. It wouldn’t surprise me if he has finally fallen over the edge.
Though I always thought Zane would go first…
“Remember what Raymond told us? That Aria was the birth mother to Ellie and Fischer?” Ryker points at the birth certificate in my hand.
“But this says that Ellie’s adoptive mom was Fischer’s biological mother.
And that his father isn’t even Ellie’s dad but some random man.
Raymond lied. Or maybe it wasn’t a lie. Maybe Raymond doesn’t know the truth.
Or, honestly, maybe Raymond just doesn’t care.
He’s never given a shit about Fischer. Maybe it’s because Fischer isn’t biologically related to him.
Then again, he doesn’t seem to care too much about Ellie, either. ”
Now, I feel like the one who’s lost my mind.
I have no fucking idea what point Ryker is trying to make.
“I don’t get it,” I confess. “So what?”
“That’s why Aria needs Ellie,” Ryker stresses. “Fischer isn’t actually her biological son—he’s not a part of her bloodline. Aria never intended to have Fischer take over the Paragons of Prosperity for her. It has always been about Ellie. Always.”
Holy fuck.
I can’t even begin to process all of this.
Fischer isn’t Aria’s biological son? Ellie’s dad isn’t Fischer’s? That would mean… That would mean that Ellie isn’t related to Fischer. At all.
Fuck.
“That’s…That’s a pretty big leap to make, based on this alone,” I whisper, though it does make a twisted amount of sense.
From what we gathered, The Divine One has always been from the same bloodline.
Aria may not believe in the religion of Cassia, but she’s superstitious enough not to risk it by putting Fischer in charge.
Rage rises inside of me the way a storm does—slow at first, a pressure deep in my chest that warns of something coming.
Then it builds, heat licking up my spine, tightening every muscle as if my body is bracing for an impact that never arrives.
My thoughts narrow to a pinprick. The world becomes soundless, except for the thrum of blood pounding in my ears, steady and violent, like war drums beating from somewhere inside my skull.
It isn’t loud. Not at first. It’s a tremor, a crack in the surface. A single breath taken too sharply. But once it breaks through, it floods everything, turning my vision sharp at the edges.
This anger inside of me almost tastes metallic, as if I’ve swallowed lightning.
If Ryker’s theory is right, then Aria has always intended to have Ellie at her side. It has never been about Fischer. He’s nothing but bait designed to capture my girl.
And now that she’s been hooked…I wonder if The Divine One will ever let her go.