Chapter 2
Brett
Maddox needed a good slap upside the head, but Brett just didn’t have the energy.
Living on less than three hours of sleep a night was something his body was used to, but his mind kept fighting it.
Whenever he went too long without sleep, his brain shut down, and he had to rely on something to jolt him out of it.
Often, it was his phone ringing or one of his guards asking him a question.
Sometimes, it was hot caffeine being waved beneath his nose.
And other times, it was the man who spent far too much time strutting across his mind.
Brett flicked his gaze across the almost deserted room to where that man sat.
Felix.
A man who had as many secrets as Brett did.
Brett knew a lot of them, not that Felix knew that, but he probably suspected.
After all, if Brett didn’t know every secret of his men, how could he pre-empt something happening?
It was how he’d known Dominic had needed him the night his sister had to be rescued.
It was how he’d known what Owen would do when that girl had been kidnapped.
It was how he’d known to run to Nick’s aid when Malachi was found drugged. He knew his men.
And he would do anything for them.
Even walk away.
But that was the last resort.
He refocused on the report that had come in from the latest event.
He had several debriefings to do, a plan of action to analyse and confirm, a meeting with the king and several more things on his to-do list that would probably not get done in the hours he had.
But then, as he rarely slept, it didn’t matter. He had plenty of time to do it all.
His phone rang, and he stared at the number, knowing exactly who it was even when he hadn’t saved the number in the contacts. He silenced it and barely withheld a sigh. They were the last person he wanted to speak to, and that hadn’t changed since he was fourteen years old.
“Everything okay, boss?” Felix said, standing and moving towards him.
How he wished he could explain. “Yeah, just story chasers, as usual.”
Felix nodded, though he didn’t look placated, and then disappeared out the door, probably in search of coffee, and if Brett was lucky enough, he’d bring one back for him, too.
His phone rang again, and he stared at it as if it were the wrong end of a gun.
The calls had increased in number over the past few months until they were a daily occurrence; sometimes, several times a day.
When it rang a third time, he frowned. They had never been so persistent in such a short timeframe before.
It rang off and started up almost immediately.
Clenching his jaw, he swiped the green button and put it to his ear, not saying a word.
“He’s at St Francis Hospital.”
The call ended, and Brett stared at a spot in front of him as his hand lowered.
His mouth had dried up at the sound of a voice he hadn’t heard firsthand in over thirty years, but he had many memories of that voice doling out punishments.
By focusing on the caller and not the words he’d said, Brett could almost pretend he didn’t know what the problem was.
It was one of two potential reasons he was there, and neither one would surprise him.
With an absent-minded focus, he pushed his phone aside and picked up the report he’d been looking at. He had no reason to visit. He hadn’t seen the man or the caller in thirty years except for glimpses of them when they inevitably crossed paths. But no words had been spoken.
Until now.
Did he have to go? No. Did he want to go? No. Should he go? Brett sighed. Probably. At the very least, it would give him the lay of the land. If only he could delegate that task. The one job he wouldn’t mind giving someone else and he couldn’t.
Standing, he grabbed his phone as Felix wandered back into the room.
“Heading out?” Felix asked, holding out a cup of coffee.
As usual, Brett’s heart skipped a beat at the thoughtfulness, and he took it with a small smile. “Yeah, something I need to do.” He gulped the drink.
“Want some company?”
“No!” He swallowed at Felix’s crumpled expression. “It’s a personal matter. Much prefer to be here, though,” he added without meaning to.
Felix’s mouth twitched as if he knew the admission had been a slip. “Okay. See you soon then.” He headed for his desk.
Brett stared after him, watching as he got settled, and then turned away in case Felix caught him. No use pining over what he couldn’t have.
The drive took forty-five minutes, and when he arrived, the guards stationed at every door let him through without a blink.
None were royal guards, but all highly trained, and Brett doubted he would make it out alive if anyone gave the order to subdue him, no matter his training.
He glanced at the two guards outside the door, neither looking at him, and knocked before entering. He didn’t care if the man was busy.
Stepping into that room had his body stepping back in time.
Despite the weathered appearance of the man lying in the hospital bed, his presence was no less demanding and authoritative.
It sent him back to his teenage years between one breath and another.
And then he had no breath at all. A hand encircled his neck, and he slammed back into the wall.
Piercing grey eyes bored into his, and Brett didn’t fight.
“Let him go, Malcolm.”
The voice was weaker than Brett had been expecting, and it took his attention from the second in command.
Malcolm’s hand slowly released him, and Brett straightened his jacket and pushed off the wall, eyes still on the figure on the bed.
He didn’t move closer, but he swallowed hard and met the man’s gaze.
“Hello, Father.”
“Brett,” the voice rasped. “I would ask what you were doing here, but I assume Malcolm did his duty and called you. I expect Venus will arrive soon, too.” He sighed, rattling though it was.
“I know you don’t want to be here, so I’ll be brief.
I have stage four bone cancer and won’t be here for much longer.
If neither you nor Venus want to take over the business, I will hand it to Malcolm.
He has promised to keep the same agreement going as we had as long as you keep your end of the bargain.
Is there anything else you want to ask?”
Vincent Cage was no shrinking violet. He was head of the biggest drug cartel in the UK.
It was only through this agreement that either of them were still in their positions.
King Andrew had discussed the situation with Brett in detail, and they had agreed to most of Vincent’s demands when Brett’s father found out what Brett was going to be doing.
After all, who would trust the son of a drug runner, and who would trust the father of a royal bodyguard?
It was a tentative agreement to keep out of each other’s way unless absolutely necessary.
He was under no illusions that Vincent had killed, but as long as Brett didn’t go digging, and as long as Vincent kept it to the undesirable people, Brett could justify keeping his mouth shut.
His sister, on the other hand, had no such agreement other than the one piggybacking off their father’s.
Venus had taken to military training like Brett had to protection, and she yearned for acceptance and acknowledgement.
It wouldn’t surprise him if she wanted their father’s legacy.
Especially as he had the feeling she was already leveraging it behind the scenes.
If he wasn’t mistaken—and he rarely got it wrong when it came to his family—she and Malcolm were more than acquaintances.
“The agreement stands no matter your successor, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Then we have nothing further to discuss.” He turned and headed for the door, his stomach cramping as he went.
“Brett.” Brett paused but didn’t turn around. “Your mother would’ve been proud of you. Rising the ranks as you have has shown what she knew you were capable of. What I failed to see. You are welcome to come back into the business.”
Brett said nothing and continued out of the door, coming face to face with his sister.
Venus stood eye to eye with him, with military precision.
Looking at the face that was the mirror image of himself was always disconcerting, especially when he knew how much their insides differed.
At one point, he had considered Venus to be a psychopath, and he still wasn’t wholly convinced she wasn’t.
“Brett,” she said with a nod.
“Venus.” He wandered down the hall, pausing when she spoke.
“You’ll have to acknowledge us at some point. You can’t hide it forever.”
He could if he had anything to do with it. “Send word when the changeover happens and who is in his place. That’s all I need to know.”
And even though his father lay dying, Brett walked away. As he had done thirty years ago.
****
Six days after his hospital visit, Brett received a message.
VENUS: 5:47 p.m. Malcolm.
The message, however expected, had him sinking into his chair.
He glanced at the time: 5:51 p.m. It had taken her less than four minutes to let him know their father had died and Malcolm was his successor.
Unsurprised at the choice, he withheld his unease at whether the agreement would hold, even with his father’s assurance that it would.
Malcolm wasn’t an unknown source as the leader, but he had complete control over a huge empire now. Would the power go to his head?