Chapter 31
Thirty-One
Hayden
I've been sitting in this car for two hours.
My eyes haven't moved from the building across the street, a converted apartment block, glass fronted, security buzzer on the door, and two cameras. I've already clocked and memorized the rotation of the cameras.
Leo's building.
I found the address in under twenty minutes. Miles pulled the registration details from the university housing system, sent it to me without a single question asked. That's the thing about my brothers. They don't need the full picture. They just need to know it matters to me.
And Leo matters to me now. Not because of what he did to me, though I haven't forgotten that. But because of the notes he’s sending to Olivia. Because she said I'm not scared anymore and I intend to make damn sure she never has to be.
I watch the entrance.
Leo comes and goes on a pattern, which tells me he's either arrogant or stupid.
Probably both. He leaves the building every morning between eight and nine, always with at least one of his friends, always heading in the same direction.
He doesn't vary his route. Doesn't look over his shoulder.
Doesn't check his mirrors when he drives.
He has no idea I’m watching him.
That's going to be a problem for him.
My phone buzzes on the passenger seat.
Miles
Found something. Call me when you can.
I call him immediately.
"Talk to me."
"So, I dug into Leo's dad like you asked." Miles's voice is calm, the way it always gets when he's found something worth finding. "Patrick Holt. You already know what he did to Olivia. But there's more."
"How much more?"
"Enough." I hear him exhale. "He's been involved in three other cases. Partrick Holt cleans up his son’s messes.
It sounds like they have a thing going on where they do this for fun and the dad knows they do.
Different cities, different girls. Always the same setup, his son or one of his son's friends, a victim who can't fight back, and money used to silence everyone involved.
He's got two lawyers on permanent retainer just for this.
The oncologist he used against Olivia's mum, Dr Callum Reid, he's done it before too.
He pulled treatment from at least one other patient to keep someone quiet. "
My jaw tightens so hard I feel it in my back teeth.
"Names?" I ask.
"I've got them. All of them." A pause. "H, this goes further than just Leo and his dad. There's an entire network of these people. Old money, old connections. They've been doing this for years and walking away clean every single time."
"Not this time," I say quietly.
"No," Miles agrees. "Not this time."
"The hit Cain gave me," I say. "Patrick Holt is the name in that envelope.”
Miles doesn't answer straight away. Which is answer enough.
"Cain doesn't do anything without a reason," he says finally. "You know that."
I do know that. I've always known that. Every target Cain has handed me has had a thread connecting back to something, someone, some damage left behind that the world chose to look away from.
He doesn't pick names out of the air. He builds cases, quietly, methodically and devastating. Once he has a plan to make sure that if something goes wrong, he can cover us and we don’t get in trouble, then he hands them to me when the time is right.
Patrick Holt's time is coming.
But first, I want Leo.
I get out of the car just after eleven.
Not to do anything. Not yet. This is purely reconnaissance; the part Cain drilled into me until it’s muscle memory. Know the ground before you move on it. Know every exit, every angle, every variable. Patience is the weapon nobody sees coming.
I pull my hood up and cross the street, hands in my pockets, and my pace easy. I just look like another person walking past. Nobody looks at me twice. I’m insignificant.
I take a slow lap of the building, clocking the side entrance, the car park barrier at the back, the blind spot between the two cameras on the east wall where the coverage drops for approximately four seconds on rotation. Four seconds is more than enough.
On the way back past the front entrance, I glance up.
The third floor window is still lit.
I keep walking to make sure I see everything I need to.
Back in the car, I call Cain. He picks up on the second ring. "I was wondering when you'd call."
"The envelope," I say. "Patrick Holt. How long have you had this?"
"Long enough." His voice is even, unbothered. "I wanted you to find your feet first. You and Olivia, your head needed to be right before I put this in front of you."
"And now?"
"Is your head right?"
I think about her sitting in the hospital, holding her dad's hand and pretending she's not terrified.
I think about the notes in her drawer, each one worse than the last. I think about a seventeen year old girl backed into a corner with no way out, forced to choose between the person she loved and the person who raised her.
I think about the men who put her there.
"Yeah," I say. "My head's right."
"Good." A pause. "There's more in the file than what Miles found. When you're ready for it, come to the office."
"I'll be there tomorrow."
"One more thing." Cain's voice drops slightly; that’s the shift he makes when something matters more than he wants to let on. "Leo isn't just sending notes, Hayden. My guys flagged something last night. He's been making calls. To Patrick. About Olivia."
"What kind of calls?"
"He's not just trying to scare her." Another pause. "He knows she's with you now and it sounds like his father isn't happy about it."
The cold that moves through me has nothing to do with the temperature outside.
"They went after her once because she couldn't fight back," I say, my voice low. "She doesn't have that problem anymore."
"No," Cain agrees. "She doesn't."
"I want everything you have on both of them. Every call, every connection, every name in that network Miles found."
"It'll get it ready."
I end the call and look back up at the third floor window.
The light is still on.
I can wait. Patience is the weapon nobody sees coming, and I’ve been waiting for this longer than Leo Holt has any idea.
I get back to the house just after midnight.
The lights are off downstairs. Everyone's in bed. I move through the kitchen quietly, grab a glass of water, and stand at the window looking out at the garden for a minute.
The treehouse is just a shape in the dark.
I used to hate looking at it. The memories were too sharp, too loaded with everything I'd lost. But standing here now, I think about her face tonight at dinner. The way she laughed at the table. The way she helped my mum clear up without being asked, just like she belonged here, because she does.
She always did.
My phone buzzes once.
Miles
Hit and run driver. Got a name. You're not going to like it.
I stare at the message.
Hayden
Send it.
Three seconds later, a name appears on my screen.
I read it once.
Then again.
I set the phone face down on the counter, exhale slowly through my nose, and stand very still in the dark kitchen for a long moment.
Because the name Miles just sent me isn't a stranger.
And this just got a whole lot more complicated.
I read the name again.
Then I call Miles.
He picks up before the first ring finishes. "You saw it."
"Who else knows?"
"Just me." His voice is quieter than usual. Careful. "I haven't logged it anywhere. Came straight to you."
"Good." I press my thumb and forefinger against my eyes, exhaling slowly. "Keep it that way."
A beat of silence.
"Hayden—"
"Don't tell Cain."
The silence that follows is a different kind. Heavier.
"H," Miles says slowly. "If he finds out we sat on this—"
"I know, and I’ll take full blame for it."
"He will find out. He always finds out, that's literally what he—"
"Miles." My voice comes out flat and quiet, the tone that stops conversations. "Don't tell Cain."
Another pause. I can hear him thinking, working through it the way he does, turning it over. Out of all of us, he’s the one who follows Cain’s rule the best. Well, after me anyway. But not this time. I’m breaking the rules for myself.
"The driver isn't on the list," he says finally. It’s not a question.
"No."
"So Cain would never—"
"No. He wouldn't." I set the phone on the counter and switch to the speaker, moving to the window again. "You know the rule, Miles. Nobody goes after anyone not on that list. That's not a guideline; it's not a preference. It's the one rule Cain has never once bent."
"So, what do we do?"
That's the question, isn't it.
The name on my phone screen sits there like a live wire. Someone who made a choice, got behind a wheel, and left Olivia's parents broken in the road. Someone who hasn't been touched, hasn't answered for it, and has probably been sleeping just fine every night since.
And they're not on Cain's list.
Which means they're not mine to touch. Not under the rules I operate by. Not without going to Cain first. And going to Cain means telling him I've been looking into the hit and run, which means admitting I went sideways from everything he sanctioned.
He'll lose his mind.
"Nothing," I say. "We do nothing with it yet."
"Yet," Miles repeats.
"Yet."
He's quiet for a moment. "You want me to keep digging? Quietly?"
"Keep digging," I say. "But Miles, nobody hears about this. Not Mason, not Declan, not Lileah. Nobody."
Miles exhales. A long, slow sound that tells me exactly how he feels about this without him having to say it.
"You know what you're doing?" he asks.
"Not even a little bit."
"Okay." A pause. "Okay. Yeah. I've got you."
"I know you do."
I end the call and stand in the dark kitchen for a long time.
The rule exists for a reason. Cain built it into the foundation of everything we do because without it, we're not a family operating with purpose, we're just people with weapons and grudges, and that ends one way. He's said it so many times it's carved into all of us.
Never go after anyone not on the list. The list exists so we don't become the thing we're fighting against.
I've never broken that rule.