Chapter 7
SEVEN
KANE
Cash is waiting for us, rubbing his neck as we walk into the house.
When he sees Jessica, he drops his hand and gives her a curious look. This is the first time I’ve brought a girl home, but it’s not just any girl.
It’s someone from the Falls.
“Why didn’t you answer your phone? I’ve been trying to call you,” he says to me.
I guide Jessica forward with a hand on her lower back. “Been busy.”
…making my girl squeal.
Cash glances at her again but decides not to ask questions. Smart guy. This thing I’ve got going with Jessica is nobody’s business but ours.
Speaking of the girl who’s been occupying my every thought since she crashed into my life. The girl I can’t get out of my head. The girl I’ve pictured too many times with my cock in my fist. She’s turning in a circle, taking in the opulence around her.
I try to see it from her perspective, but I’m so used to the luxury that I don’t bat an eyelid. The place looks impressive with its open entrance hall, polished stone floors, and tall walls lined with artwork.
I lean in close to her ear as I pass by. “You’ve already seen the place, remember? The night you broke into my father’s office.”
“I was a little too busy focusing on other things to admire my surroundings,” she sassies, and I stare at her mouth, imagining my cock between those full lips. Feisty Jessica is a major turn-on.
Cash clears his throat, snapping me out of my sexual thoughts, and I shoot him a glare because what the hell is his problem?
His mouth twitches, and he jerks his chin toward the hallway. “Father wants to see us in the office.”
I go stone still, spine straightening like a drawn bow.
Is he home?
What the hell is he doing home already? Why? He wasn’t due to arrive back until tomorrow.
Eyes flicking toward Jessica, Cash tightens his jaw, then nods at me. “He’s waiting for us.”
Fuck. What a way to ruin a good day. I can ignore his calls. But I can’t ignore him at home, and the last thing I need is for him to run into Jessica.
“Rousseau and Sinclair are here,” Cash informs me. “I bet they’d love to meet your girl.”
The look I give him would make a lesser man piss himself, but he’s my brother. My twin. So he just laughs under his breath and pats my shoulder as he walks past. “Our friends, or our father? I know what I’d choose.”
Well, when he puts it that way, it’s a no-brainer. That doesn’t mean I have to like it, though. Because I don’t. My friends are pigs.
Once I’ve introduced Jessica to Maverick and Noah and threatened to kill them in their sleep if they even so much as smile at her, I join Cash in our father’s office. “Nice of you to join us,” the old man says when I close the door.
Deep breaths in and out. He’s not worth jail time. The sooner we finish this, the sooner I can get back to Jessica.
“Something serious has come to light.” He takes off his reading glasses, scoots his chair back, and buttons his suit jacket. Two of his most loyal men stand quietly behind him, guns holstered at their hips.
Cash and I exchange a quick glance, but we know better than to ask questions.
Silence is always the best approach when dealing with our father.
You never know what kind of mood he’s in.
But we know he likes to build suspense, make his enemies sweat.
He says it increases the chances of them blundering.
After he rounds the desk, he stops in front of the glass cabinets with his back to us, hands in his pockets. He tilts his head, studying the expensive ornaments he’s collected over the years.
“Each of these pieces is unique. They each have a story. That isn’t the point. What matters is their rarity.” Anger simmers beneath our father’s careful words.
Cash shifts his gaze to me, and I shake my head infinitesimally, as if to say, Don’t do anything stupid. Unease swirls in my gut, mirrored by the uncertainty in his eyes.
“Some valuables are priceless.” Our father continues, and we snap our attention back to him. I don’t know what this is about, but it’s not good.
He turns to face us, his expression hard yet unreadable. “There are things at play that you’re yet in the dark about. Truths you’ll learn eventually, but until then, it’s important that we keep our allies close.”
Cash finally breaks the silence. “What’s this about?”
A pleased smirk creeps across our father’s face as he trains his eyes on me. “Your brother knows. Why don’t you go ahead and tell him, Kane?”
Fuck. The senator’s wife snitched.
“Tell me what?”
My father raises his eyebrows at me, as if to say, Go on, son. Tell him.
Swallowing bile, I focus solely on the twisted man who donated his DNA. “The senator’s wife approached me at the fundraiser the other day,” I admit. The next part is harder to say, with the way my father is looking at me.
A muscle tics in my jaw. I can feel it. Each little twitch.
I steady my voice. “I turned her down.”
The man’s smirk grows deeper, but don’t be fooled. He’s not pleased. Quite the opposite.
“What’s the problem here, boys? She’s an attractive woman, isn’t she?” His tone is casual, as are his gestures, but we know him. It’s a trap meant to lure you into a false sense of security. Beneath his fancy suit, he’s a slithering snake.
Father pours himself a glass of whiskey, sipping it patiently as he saunters back toward us.
“Answer the question.”
He bites down on ice and pauses in front of me, close enough for his whiskey breath to fill the space between us. Bitter, heavy, and sharp enough to sting.
“You’re pimping us out,” I reply, the words stuck in my throat like tar.
Another slow sip. The ice tilts back, rushing toward his lips. Father chuckles, swirling the last few remnants at the bottom of his tumbler. “Do you know what I had to do at your age?”
My jaw clenches shut. I refuse to participate in his verbal sparring, but he’ll still tell me about his youth because that’s what he always does. The man loves stories.
“They took us to secret locations and made us endure ‘breaking ceremonies.’” He brushes imaginary lint off my shoulder. “Picture it. Sensory deprivation, starvation, and hallucinogenic rituals designed to erase empathy.”
“You did all that to us, too, remember? Dropped us in the middle of the woods and left us to fend for ourselves.”
He looks like he’s tasted something foul. “God, no, those were merely survival camps.”
I scoff. I can’t help it. He’s delusional.
“What about the times we were forced to watch killings from a young age?”
“What you need to understand, son, is that the world is more dangerous now than it’s ever been. We need all of the founding sons to be ready to take over someday. Death is the least of the horrors you’ll call an old friend when you’re my age.”
When he heads back to his minibar to refill his drink, I let out a breath. With his back turned to us, he uncaps a whiskey bottle. “Villainise me if that makes you sleep better at night, boys. After all, I did the same with my old man at your age. But the truth remains unchanged.”
Ice clicks against the sides as he pours some into a glass. Everything he does feels deliberate and precise.
Slowly spinning on his heel, swirling his drink, he locks eyes with Cash first and then me.
“What truth?” Cash asks, taking the bait.
Shut up, dammit.
Father snaps his gaze to my brother. “Empathy has no place in our world. If you can’t kill without remorse or watch a man die in cold blood, you’ll never survive. In fact, your brother here”—he tilts the glass in my direction—“is quite the efficient killing machine.”
A twisted smirk flickers across his lips, then vanishes. A flash of something dark.
He takes a sip of his drink and walks closer, lost in thought.
When he reaches me, he drags his eyes over my face, as if he finds me lacking.
“I’ve been nothing but good to you, boys.
Always acted in your best interest. But you’re always going to be ungrateful, whiny brats, aren’t you?
While I was locked in a pitch-black room for days without food or water at your age, shivering with cold, you get to fuck a beautiful woman.
Yet you whine and complain.” His voice rises steadily, laced with fury, until he all but roars, “like it’s a fucking chore? !”
In my peripheral vision, Cash falls eerily silent. He’s not as skilled at hiding his fiery emotions as I am, and if I look at him now, I know exactly what I’ll see.
A clenched jaw…fisted hands…expressive eyes.
But our father isn’t paying attention to him because he’s easy to break, easy to rattle. No, the sick man in front of me—the man I share half my DNA with—he’s someone who enjoys breaking horses, especially ones with strong spirits.
The ones he can chip away at until they crumble.
Father speaks to Cash over his shoulder. “If the senator’s wife propositions you, I expect you to say yes without hesitation and without complaint. Is that understood?”
Silence. Thick fucking silence.
“Is that understood?” My father’s low voice cuts through the tense air like a sharp blade.
Cash’s chest pumps erratically. His nostrils flare with a harsh exhale. His lips thin. He despises our father just as much as I do but knows better than to talk back. Whatever he says will be used against him.
He flicks his eyes to me, and I see the fire simmering there. The urge to bite back or lash out. But this isn’t the time or place to challenge him. Not with Jessica in the living room. No, we need to be smart. We need to come up with a plan.
Subtly, I shake my head. He eventually concedes. “I understand,” he says, tense and stiff.
“Good.” My dad takes a sip, a flicker of satisfaction flashing back at me. “You can leave,” he says to my brother.
Cash hesitates for a moment, reluctant to leave me here with our dad. I don’t blame him. If the roles were reversed, I wouldn’t want to leave him with this sick asshole either.
I hold my chin up, refusing to cower or show weakness.
If the man smells blood, he’ll attack without hesitation.
Cash eventually leaves, and the door clicks shut behind him. With his cold eyes on me, my father sips his drink.
We study each other like you’d examine an opponent before a fight. His look is unreadable, save for the deep creases under his eyes that only appear when he’s amused. Mine is all steel jaw and a pounding heart.
Fuck him if he thinks he can psyche me out. He can’t because I won’t let him.
“The worst part of being locked in a pitch-black room without food or water, naked and cold, is that eventually the voices in your head start to scream. If you think a survival trip in the woods with your friends was bad, you know nothing about isolation, son.”
The way he’s speaking so casually and flippantly makes my stomach turn with unease.
Another sip of whiskey, and he chews on crunchy ice.
“Eventually, the voices claw at your brain, and you begin to hallucinate. Terrible, terrible things,” he adds, almost as an afterthought, as he swirls his drink.
Then he tips back the last of it and wipes the back of his mouth with his hand.
“Say no to Beverly again, and it won’t be you that I lock up in the dark. ”
I stay perfectly still as he places the empty whiskey glass on the shelf behind me and straightens his tie. Sniffs.
A true psycho.
Always playing mind games designed to make men cave.
His hand shoots out, and he backhands me. “Say no to Beverly, and it’ll be your mother I lock up in the dark.” He gets in my face as I cradle my burning cheek. “Think she can handle it, son? With her fragile mind, she’ll break, and there’ll be no fixing her.”
“Go to hell.”
He ignores me. “But she’ll still be good for one thing, at least.”
Furious, I charge at him, and we collide with the desk, sending items crashing to the floor.
“Don’t you fucking touch her, you sick freak.”
A sickening chuckle escapes him as he shoves me away, then signals his men to stand back. His hair is ruffled, his tie askew. He’s clearly satisfied as hell for provoking such a violent reaction from me.
“You know the rules. You belong to the Society, and to me. If you want the people you care about to stay safe, you’ll follow orders.”
My chest rises and falls faster as I watch him straighten his tie. I wouldn’t hesitate to kill him here and now, tear out his esophagus, but he holds too much power. All the founding families do.
And we’re the next generation of puppets, destined to one day rule this country. Until then, we bide our time.
“I’m glad we’re on the same page,” he says, taming his hair. “You want your mother sane, and I want to protect our best interests. As long as you keep Beverly happy, I’ll continue to ensure your mother receives the best therapy money can buy.”
“What’s in it for you?” I ask, tilting my head sideways. Something doesn’t add up.
For the first time since I entered his office, his demeanor falters. Brief, sure, but I caught it, and now my interest is piqued.
“You talk about connections. Allies. The senator is a powerful man to have on our side. Believe me, Father, I understand. But all of that serves the Society’s best interest, not yours personally. So why do you care so much about his wife? What does she have on you?”
He approaches slowly, his features sharp, cold. “Careful, son. I like your fight because it reminds me of myself when I was your age, but curiosity has fatal consequences, and not just for you, but your loved ones, too. Don’t learn it the hard way.”
I raise a brow at his threat, and he claps my arm twice.
“A word of advice from your old man,” he says. “Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. You have your mother’s best interests at heart, don’t you? Because you’re a good son. It’d be a shame to see anything happen to her.”
He retakes his seat behind the desk, then pulls out a file from the drawer, and I turn to leave, not wanting to stick around. I need to get out of here before I fucking snap and kill him. But one look at his men, and I force myself to go.
My girl is in the next room, unaware of the danger I’ve put her in by bringing her here. What the hell was I thinking? I wasn’t. I acted recklessly because she scrambles my fucking brain.
I still won’t let her go. So I guess I have more in common with my father than I’m willing to admit.
Jessica’s laughter drifts into the hallway as I lean against the doorframe, watching her in my space.
In my world.
Cut from the same cloth, I’m no different from my father. I realize that now as my chest swells with unfamiliar emotions. Because even if I suffocate her, I still won’t set her free.
Not anymore.
It’s too late.