Chapter 3
Ryker
An ice-cold stare and furrowed brows are my trademarks. Long ago, I put on an impenetrable shell which I never take off, not even for a moment. And I’m damn comfortable with it.
With that expression on my face, I leave Feather. A beefy security guard nods at me in greeting. Dressed in a black suit, wearing a wireless earpiece, he keeps his eyes on the deserted area.
Eli’s Escalade is already waiting in front of the entrance. The tinted windows don’t reveal the passengers, but I can feel my brothers’ eyes on me.
That’s where I’m headed, unbuttoning my jacket as I go. My favorite Sig Sauer is tucked into my belt. There’s a knife hidden in my sleeve and another under my pant leg. Where I’m going today, I consider carrying a weapon a necessity.
Jumping into the passenger seat, I glance at Eli and look behind me.
Theo is sitting there with his legs spread apart and his arms crossed over his chest. His eyebrows creased, just like mine.
“What’s up, Ryker?” he asks.
“Where have you been for the last two days?”
Eli laughs like a child who had expected my words. He starts the engine and smoothly drives out of the club.
“I had something to take care of. What is this, asshole? Interrogation?”
Gritting my teeth, I stare him down.
“If I wanted to interrogate you, you’d already be tied up in the basement. What’s been going on with you lately?”
He presses his lips together, also clenching his teeth until the muscle in his jaw twitches rhythmically. “Nothing. I had some shit to take care of. That’s all.”
Eli and I look at each other. I can easily tell that he would like to satisfy his suspicion and probe further. However, I shrug in resignation.
So I turn around and stare at the road ahead of us. Theo’s lying. But I have to give him space to breathe and hold onto the hope that one day, he’ll come around on his own.
“McBright called today,” I start. “Nothing’s new. He’s made no progress for months. It’s time to get rid of him.”
From the back seat, Theo mutters under his breath, “Dude, how many’s that now? The twelfth? Thirteenth detective?”
“Not my fault that the best detectives in this fucked-up country are a bunch of idiots. Paying them a shitload of money, and they still can’t track down one person,” I answer.
“We can’t track her down either,” Theo adds. “And we’re as close to the source as possible.”
“We’ll find her eventually, Ry,” Eli assures me. “Eventually, your father will make a mistake, and we’ll be there to gather information.”
Where are you, Aisling? Where the fuck are you?
We’ve searched the entire world far and wide to find her. Even money hasn’t talked, and we’ve learned nothing valuable.
Slowly, I’m losing hope that I’ll ever see her again. Losing hope that my father left her alive and is just hiding her under the biggest and most concealed rock.
Buried in my thoughts, I feel a hand clench my shoulder. It’s Theo, trying to comfort me. He’s good at that, communicating without words.
“Something’s up,” Eli says. “Something’s coming our way, I can tell.”
“Does it ever change?” I don’t hide the irony.
“I saw the vice president’s statement this morning. The former vice president.” Theo changes the subject. “I saw the footage from Feather too. It's his own fault.”
“That’s exactly what I said. What can I say? He was careless and became inconvenient to the Pact. It was only a matter of time.” Eli snorts, unmoved. “A better question is what does your father want again, Ry? What is he up to now?”
“You won’t have to wait long. In a moment, you’ll see the face of the devil himself.”
We pull into the circular driveway in front of the colonial-style house. Of course, it’s all white with gray tiles, unchanged for as long as I can remember. Both outside and inside, it’s cold, impersonal—and dangerous.
On top of that, the house is huge. When I moved out, my father gained an extra room for his goons. And he’s surrounded by them up to his neck. After all, he rules the entire organization with an iron fist.
The Pact exists, has existed, and will probably continue to exist for a long time. Such organizations, secret societies, and brotherhoods can never be completely eradicated.
At the top of the food chain are people who aren’t only the most important controllers and managers of the Pact. They’re people who control the world in one way or another. The elite of the elite. They aren’t politicians, no.
It isn’t governments or presidents who rule the world, nor is it the Church or God Himself. Money—and those who have it—rules the world. Wealth not only provides opportunities that are unavailable to most people. It also provides power, connections, freedom, and absolute immunity.
Eli stops in the middle of the driveway, not giving a damn what my father will say. I get out and stand with my arms crossed, scanning the house. It’s already after 10:00 p.m., so some windows are lit, but there’s not a single soul in sight.
Yet, this house is so haunted that it would scare even Stephen King. My family home.
Home, sweet home.
Eli and Theo flank me. First, I look at one, then the other. “Let’s get this over with.”
“I get the creeps every time I cross the threshold of this house,” Eli mutters.
Arm in arm, we set off. Without bothering with knocking, we go inside. Theo, with a psychopathic smile, calls out, “Honey, I’m home!”
The door slams shut, trapping us in this cursed house. My smile is malicious, knowing that someone will lose their life today, since none of my father’s thugs even know we’re here.
Anyone could walk in right now. Even the fucking FBI.
I would be sitting in the front row with popcorn in my hand, watching my father being led away in handcuffs once again.
Once again? Of course. Except that he has never been kept for more than eight hours.
What a joke.
The sound of shuffling and footsteps on the stairs.
First, Mike emerges from behind the kitchen door on the right, followed by Freddy running down the stairs, already holding a gun.
No one really knows what the guy’s real name is, but he’s really fucking ugly.
The nickname “Freddy” just stuck. He can be really scary at night.
They’re both big assholes, tattooed up to their jaws, with murderous looks in their eyes.
The third person jumps out from behind the door on the right, the one leading to the bathroom. With one hand, he holds his pants up at the waist, but they’re not buttoned, and in the other, he holds a butcher knife.
I don’t know this one at all. He’s not much older than me and is probably my father’s new hire.
“What the fuck?” asks the new asshole.
“Fuck, Ryker! I could’ve shot you,” Mike yells.
I doubt it, looking at this circus. Eli chuckles under his breath, and Theo growls.
“Do you know him?” the new asshole asks again.
“Shut up and get yourself together before the old man sees you. You’re embarrassing,” Freddy comments.
“And where the hell is everyone?”
“After the night alarm, half the people are in the west wing,” Mike explains.
“I have an appointment with my father,” is all I say, and the three of us head for the east wing, where the main office is.
There are more holes in my father’s security system than in a colander. Noted.
“Did you see that? I hope he did his shit before he jumped out of the bathroom,” Eli whispers when we’re alone in the hallway.
“Someone’s going to get their ass kicked for that,” I add.
“Definitely.”
“Word is that your father did some internal cleansing last weekend. Apparently, someone was doing some dirty work. That explains the shortages and the new hires.” Theo closes the subject.
We reach the double doors of my father’s office. A shiver runs through my hand as I grab the skull-shaped doorknob. It has been the same for many, many years.
It wouldn’t be like me to knock, so I just open the door and we step inside.
My father’s sitting behind a mahogany desk, sprawled in his chair like a king, a cigar in his hand. In front of him a glass holding two fingers of whiskey.
He’s in great shape for a fifty-year-old.
Too good, if you ask me, but oh well. He works out at the gym, and it shows.
The dark stubble on his slender face is longer than I remember it being.
The black hair has been trimmed short with precision.
Unfortunately, I inherited that from him. As well as his steely eyes.
As usual, he’s wearing a tailor-made black suit. In fact, I never see him in anything other than a suit. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was born in one. And I hope he dies in one.
His menacing gaze rests on us. Only the flash in his eyes shows how irritated he is by my behavior of entering without knocking. I don’t give a damn.
On the other side of the desk, two armchairs are occupied. Our entrance doesn’t go unnoticed, and the two men turn in our direction.
One of them is... Matthews, the general of the Pact and my father’s closest advisor. He’s also the person Timothy mentioned. The second seat is occupied by his son, Aiden.
They look nothing alike. The only thing they have in common is the golden family ring on their index fingers.
I know the general quite well because he often visited our house when I still lived here. Now he’s shorter than I am, but he’s in as good shape as my father. There is, however, no trace of his former lush hair.
This is a man who knows every move my father has made, both in the past and present. And that means he must have known where Aisling was taken.
We saw Aiden for the first time at his initiation into the Pact. He was as ruthless as his old man. Bloodthirsty, eager for sacrifice. And I sensed he would one day be a problem for us. His large stature, despite his young age, can inspire fear and respect. Not in me, though.
I’m sure his father is delighted with his insatiable desire to climb the ranks of the organization and his performance at the baptism ceremony.
“Good evening, Mr. Vice President,” I greet the general.