17. Grayson
17
GRAYSON
T he conference room at Van Doren Holdings is all polished mahogany and cold glass, a space designed to impress with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Springview skyline. Our senior executives are currently seated around the long table, their faces a mix of anticipation and guarded caution. I can feel their eyes on me, but it's his presence at the end of the table—in the seat that should be mine, but he deliberately arrived before the meeting began to claim it as his own—that commands the room, no matter how much I hate it.
Despite the fact I’m not sitting at the head of the table, I take charge of the meeting as though I own the room—because I do own the room. Leaning forward, my hands are clasped on the table as I stare down each one of my employees. “I’ve reviewed the terms of the merger, and I believe the deal is sound. However, I think we should negotiate a better price before proceeding.” My voice is steady and confident, but inside, there’s a simmering frustration I’m fighting to keep in check.
Before I can continue, Bertram speaks up, unaware of how his unwanted input makes my teeth grind. “That’s an interesting point, Son.” His voice, smooth and calm, slices through the air, and my nostrils flare at the subtle undermining of calling me son instead of using my name when we’re at work. “But in my experience, pushing too hard on price can sometimes make us appear… desperate.” He pauses, letting the words hang in the air, a faint smile curling at the edges of his lips. “I’m not sure if you’ve had the chance to fully grasp the nuances of these types of negotiations yet.”
I grit my teeth, my jaw tightening as I force myself to remain composed. He’s cutting me down in front of everyone, chipping away at the authority I’ve worked so hard to build since he was locked away. But that’s his game—always has been. Undermine, manipulate, take control without ever making it obvious.
He continues, looking past me to address the rest of the room as if I’m not even here. “I’ve been through dozens of these deals, and I know when to push and when to show restraint. Perhaps we should move forward with the current offer rather than risk losing the deal entirely. After all, we wouldn’t want our partners to question our commitment, would we?”
I see heads around the table nodding, some of them barely masking their doubt. They’re buying into his bullshit, just like they always have. My frustration deepens, a slow-burning anger that I have to swallow down. He’s not just questioning my judgment—he’s painting me as inexperienced, unqualified, like I’m some fucking intern who hasn’t earned his seat at this table.
He leans back in his chair, all smug confidence, as he glances around the room. “I’m sure everyone here understands the importance of maintaining our reputation in the market, especially during such a transitional period for our leadership.”
Transitional period. As if I’m just a placeholder, biding time until he can swoop back in and take over. The weight of his words presses down on me, the subtle insinuation that I’m not enough—that I’ll never be enough.
The silence stretches, the executives waiting for my response. I can feel the frustration knotting tighter in my chest, but I can’t let it show. Not here. Not in front of them. I take a breath, forcing the tension out of my shoulders as I meet his gaze, trying to match his calm with my own.
“We’ll take all perspectives into account,” I say, my voice steady, even though inside I’m raging. “But I believe it’s worth revisiting the terms before we make any final decisions. This deal is too important to rush.”
There’s a murmur of agreement, but it’s faint, lacking the conviction I’d hoped for. They’re uncertain—about the deal and about me—and he knows it. He’s planted the seeds of doubt and is waiting to see how deep they’ll take root.
I lean back in my chair, feeling the heavy weight of the room’s gaze. He’s sitting there, looking every bit the concerned father, the wise advisor, but I know better. He’s playing his game, and no matter how much I want to call him out, I can’t. Not yet. I need them to see me as the leader, not just the son trying to fill shoes too big for him.
But with every word he says, every sideways glance, he’s making that more challenging. And for all my frustration, all my anger, I know this is just the beginning. He won’t stop until he’s back in control, and I’m just another pawn on his chessboard.
But I won’t let that happen. Not again.
As has become a regular occurrence since my father’s unwanted return, I take to the hallways that afternoon, eavesdropping on water cooler gossip. My father has supporters among the employees, but many remember what he did. Plus, the facts speak for themselves, and there’s no denying that I’ve grown this business more in the past five years than he did the entire twenty years he was in charge.
It’s during one of these walks, shortly before the end of the day, when I spot David glancing the opposite way down the hall before slipping into an empty office.
David is a weasely bitch. One my father has trained well. A junior employee at the firm, he worked his way up to a position well beyond his capabilities under my father’s tenure. Firing him is something I’ve had on my to-do list for quite some time, but with all the other shit I’ve had going on, I haven’t gotten around to it.
Curious as to what he’s up to, I move closer. Unlike the offices on the higher exec floors, this one has no glass offering a view into the hallway, so I can get right up to the ajar door without being seen by David or anyone else in the room.
The hushed murmur of voices stops me at the door, my ear straining toward the room as I listen.
“Why are you bringing this to me here? ” That infuriated growl most definitely belongs to my father. “I told you not to bother me with issues like this at work.”
“My apologies, sir.” That voice is familiar, too. “You’ve been ignoring my calls, and I—well, I didn’t know what to do. It’s… a lot. All the time. S?—”
“Deal with it, David,” my father snaps. “That’s what I pay you for.”
There’s a tense pause before David’s meek response. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”
Fearing that is the end of their behind-closed-doors scheming, I slip away. The entire walk back to my office, I replay the conversation, wondering what the hell they were discussing. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear my father using David to garner control of the other executives and board members. Using him to do his dirty work. But this sounded more… personal. Closing the office door behind me, I make a mental note to get Dax to keep an eye on my father and David. Whatever it is they’re up to, I want to know.
“How can there be no new leads?” I demand several days later as I pace back and forth across Xander’s shoebox of an office. “A child doesn’t just disappear.”
“Children disappear without a trace every day of the week,” Dax unhelpfully points out.
Whirling toward where he’s sitting, laptop open in front of him, I smack my hand down on the desk. “ Not my sister!” Not Riley’s fucking kid!
The way Dax pierces me with his stark blue eyes would have lesser men pissing themselves. Dax is the type of man who walks into a room and you instantly know he’s in charge, not by words but by sheer aura. His eyes, cold and calculating, miss nothing. Even now, as he sizes me up, a predator assessing his prey. I’m not Royce. I’m not a fighter and don’t have his build, even though I work out religiously in our home gym. Regardless, Dax could undoubtedly knock me out with one punch if he wanted to.
Right now, I don’t give a damn. I don’t give two fucks if I piss him off. Between my father fucking everything up for me at work and messing with Riley, Aurora being missing, and the fact we have no fucking leads , plus having to see Riley’s heartbroken face every single day, I’m this close to snapping. I’m at my limit, and the next person who gets in my face will get my fist in theirs.
“Are you even looking?” I snap. My frustration simmers, boiling just beneath the surface. We haven’t heard a goddamn thing from him since that stupid fucking false lead that only served to destroy the fragile strands of hope Riley has been clinging to. There are no leads, no sign of Aurora—nothing but dead ends and empty promises. And at the center of it all is Dax, sitting there with that infuriating calmness, like he has all the time in the world, while my world is falling apart.
I’ll do whatever I must to bring Aurora home, to have a chance at a relationship with her, and to have any hope of a relationship with her mother.
“Yes, I’m fucking looking.” His calm composure snaps in an instant as violence bleeds into the air around him. “I have Blue working day and night, and my team is still tidying up loose ends from that auction.”
“I don’t care about the fucking auction,” I practically yell, vibrating with all this pent-up anger. It presses against my skin, making it impossible to stand still. “Aurora is out there somewhere, scared and alone!”
Dax’s eyes flash with the promise of bloodshed, and the temperature in the room heats by several degrees, the air turning thick with the taste of savagery as he slowly stands. He takes controlled, deliberate steps around the desk until he faces off against me.
“Dax,” Royce warns.
“You think this is easy?” Dax’s voice is low, dangerous. “You think you can just snap your fingers and everything falls into place? This isn’t a movie, Grayson. This is real life; it’s messy and complicated.”
I clench my fists, my knuckles white with the effort. “Don’t patronize me, Dax. I know exactly how messy life is. But all we’ve done is sit around and wait. I’m done waiting.”
He takes another step, now close enough that I can feel the heat of his presence. “You want to do something? Fine. Let’s go a round in the ring.” His lips quirk in a cruel smirk. “Let’s see if you have the guts to channel that anger into something useful.”
The challenge hangs in the air, heavy and electric. My heart pounds in my chest, a mix of fear and exhilaration coursing through me. I’ve seen the brutality Dax brings to the ring, the ruthless efficiency with which he dismantles his opponents.
“Gray.” Wariness lines Royce’s tone. He, more than anyone, knows what Dax is capable of. I won’t be coming out of this unscathed, but the thought of an outlet for all this rage and frustration is too tempting to pass up.
“Fine,” I spit out, my voice shaking with barely restrained fury. “Let’s do it.”
A flicker of something dark and satisfied crosses Dax’s face. “Hope you’re ready to bleed, pretty boy.”
I scoff. “I might not live for the taste of blood in my mouth like you two, but I can hold my own in a fight.”
Dax’s grin only turns more savage as he wags his eyebrows in a weird mix of mischievous violence. Dude is clearly a little unhinged.
“This is a bad idea,” Royce groans as we follow Dax out of the office and down the hall. Being the middle of the day on a Sunday, The Depot is closed. Xander is our only audience, and he’s doing inventory behind the bar when we emerge into the main bar area and stalk toward the ring in the center of the room.
Tension crackles like static electricity as I shed my top, thankful I was feeling lazy and put on sweats today. Rolling my shoulders, I duck to step through the ropes. Dax has already dressed down to a pair of loose shorts, his chest bare and displaying the patchwork of tattoos covering every inch of exposed skin. Jeez, I thought Royce was addicted to pain.
With a cocky smirk, he tosses me a pair of gloves. “Better put these on. Wouldn’t want you to damage those pretty boy hands of yours.”
I catch the gloves and slip them on, ignoring the jibe. I already know I’m going to hurt like a bitch by the time we’re done. If I can get away without fucking my hands up, then I’m not about to turn down the opportunity out of fucking stubbornness.
“Ready when you are,” I inform him once I’ve stuck the Velcro straps in place. I knock my glove-covered knuckles together as I jump up and down on the spot, getting my blood pumping. Not that I need to. I can already feel the adrenaline rushing through my body, desperate for release. I need this. I need an outlet. I need to feel something other than this helplessness consuming me.
Dax cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders, his eyes locked onto mine. “Alright then. Show me what you’ve got, Desk Jockey. I’ll even give you the first shot.”
Bouncing on the balls of my feet, I don’t bother playing games or trying to suss him out. I charge straight at him, putting my weight behind my first punch as I drive it into his face. There’s the satisfying crack of leather on flesh as his head whips to the side.
He chuckles, his fingers swiping the corner of his mouth and coming away bloodstained before he turns to face me. Blood stains his teeth as the crazy asshole grins at me. Already, the adrenaline of the fight has a manic gleam in his eyes. “Come on, Grayson, is that all you’ve got?”
Nostrils flaring, I slam my fist into his gut. I become enraged when he barely moves, laughing like I’m an annoying fucking gnat buzzing around him. Letting loose, I unleash on him. Jab. Uppercut. Cross. Hook.
Over and over.
The pent-up frustration of not finding Aurora, the anger at my father, the self-hatred for how I treated Riley—all of it pours out with each punch. But it’s not enough. I need more. I need to feel more .
I grit my teeth and throw a combination of punches, my fists flying with all the anger I’ve been bottling up. Memories flash through my mind—my father’s harsh words, Riley’s voice trembling when she disclosed her dark secret, the sickening fear when Royce and Logan came home without Aurora.
The entire time, Dax takes every hit I deliver until my arms are heavy, and I begin to fear that I’ll run out of steam before I sort through the shit in my head.
Eventually, Dax has enough. He moves. His fist shoots out, catching me in the ribs. Pain explodes through my side, and I stagger back, gasping for breath. He’s not holding back anymore. He’s giving me what I asked for.
“You think this will help?” he growls, his eyes cold and calculating. “You think beating me will find her?”
I charge at him, my vision red. “Shut up!” I roar, swinging wildly. He sidesteps and delivers a punishing blow to my ribs that sends me to one knee.
Pain radiates through my body, but I push it aside and get back up. “You don’t get it,” I spit out, gasping for breath. “I have to find her. I can’t just sit around and wait.”
Dax’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, I see something in them—a flicker of understanding, maybe even respect. “Then get up,” he says quietly. “And keep fighting.”
I do. I launch myself at him again, driven by a need to prove myself, to show that I’m not broken. The fight becomes a blur of fists and fury, each punch a release of the emotions that have been tearing me apart.
His blows are relentless, each one a reminder of my failures. My failure to recognize the monster that is my father. To see the hurt and pain he was causing Riley all those years ago. To stop him. To save her. To rescue Aurora.
Failure.
Failure.
Failure.
A punch to my jaw snaps my head to the side, but I barely feel the physical pain beyond the emotional one. Riley’s face flashes in my mind, the reservation in her eyes when she looks at me, the uncertainty of whether she can ever forgive me, ever trust me, ever rely on me.
The fight has become less about the catharsis of unleashing my fury and more about the punishment I deserve. With each hit Dax lands, the pain radiates through me, burning away the self-disgust, the self-hatred. I deserve this pain for my failures, for not protecting Aurora, for hurting Riley. Each blow is a penance for my mistakes, a reminder of how I’ve fallen short.
Another hit to my ribs, and I swear something cracks, threatening to take me to my knees. Dax’s fists are like sledgehammers, but I deserve every hit. Every stab of pain. Every punch of air from my lungs and bruise to my bones.
Poor little Grayson with his confusing feelings that are too big for him to control. It’s far easier to hate on me than actually confront how you’re feeling, right, Grayson?
My anger has always been my crutch, my way of avoiding the deeper, more painful emotions buried within. It’s easier to be angry, to lash out, to build walls that keep everyone at a distance. But in doing so, I’ve only pushed Riley away, and that’s the last thing I want.
This anger of mine—it’s been a shield, a way to protect myself from the vulnerability that comes with confronting my true feelings. But that shield has become a prison, keeping me locked in a cycle of rage and isolation. And it’s cost me. It’s cost us .
I can’t keep using my anger as a crutch. Not when all it ever does is alienate me. It was because my anger blinded me that I didn’t see the truth of what my dad did to Riley. That I didn’t just fucking listen to her. I might have seen the clues earlier if I hadn’t been so hellbent on revenge, so consumed by my anger. We could have gotten Aurora away from Lydia before it was too late. My obsession blinded me, made me miss the signs, and now we’re paying the price for my stubbornness.
With every one of Dax’s brutal hits, I feel a piece of that weight lifting until he finally steps back, breathing heavily. A look of respect mingles with the disdain in his eyes. “You’re tougher than I thought, Suit Slicker.”
The metallic taste of blood is sharp on my tongue, and every inhale hurts. It’s taking everything in me to stay on my feet.
Shaking his head and frowning, Royce approaches. “Hope you feel better for that,” he drawls. “Here, drink this.” He shoves a water bottle into my hands, and I down half of it before pouring the rest over my face, letting it run down my neck and mingle with the sweat on my chest.
Dax moves directly into my line of sight, and amidst the pain occupying ninety percent of my body, a faint spark of satisfaction ignites when I see the cut on his lip and eye, along with the red marks over his chest and the sweat coating his skin.
“You’ve got fire, Grayson. Use it. But don’t let it consume you.”
I’m breathing hard, swaying on my feet where I stand. My body aches, but there’s a clarity in my mind that wasn’t there before.
With Royce’s help, I hobble over to a stool at the bar, practically collapsing into it as Xander sets a cold beer in front of me.
“So why haven’t we found any trace of Aurora?” Royce asks, immediately getting back to business. Now that my mind isn’t polluted with anger, I can think straighter and focus better on the task at hand.
“‘Cause we reckon whoever has her isn’t selling her.”
“They bought her to keep for themselves?” I clarify, taking a sip of my beer as I process what that might mean.
“That or they sold her to someone they know. Off the books, no digital trail.”
Dax sighs, knocking back a gulp of his own drink. “I’m sorry, but we’re at a dead end until we find out who the buyer was.”
I sigh as Royce rubs his hand over the scruff covering his chin. “That’s not going to be easy,” he admits. “Lydia’s not just going to give us a name—assuming she even has one.”
Nodding as if he expected as much, Dax offers, “I could have a couple of guys pick her up. Scare her into giving up whatever information she has.”
Honestly, not a bad idea.
“Word would likely get back to my father, and we can’t have him finding out about Aurora’s existence,” I reluctantly admit.
“Besides, I’m honestly not even sure Lydia would give us a name—even under torture. She hates her daughter,” Royce adds. I nod in agreement.
“That’s fucked up,” Dax comments before shrugging off his offer like it’s no big deal. It probably isn’t to him. Tapping his knuckles against the top of the bar, he says, “Well, let me know if you change your mind. I can get some guys to pick her up.”
With that, he walks off, and I tuck his offer into my back pocket. Not because I think resorting to torture will get us any answers, but because, once we finally get Aurora back, I plan on eliminating every threat against her from the board—starting with the bitch who sold her.