Chapter 23
JACOB
T he morning after leaving Camille’s bungalow, I drove to Dominion Hall, the Jeep’s tires humming over Charleston’s uneven streets. The air was thick with salt and heat, the city waking up slow under a sky still brushed with dawn.
I was still in yesterday’s clothes. The glow from yesterday, from Lily’s words, still burned steady in my chest, but it was tangled now with a gnawing need for answers.
I’d left Camille’s place with her laughter in my ears, her body warm against mine, but the questions about Dominion Hall, the Navy, and Caleb had piled higher overnight. I needed Marcus to lay it out, no more cryptic bullshit.
Dominion Hall loomed ahead, its stone walls heavy with ivy, the kind of place that looked like it held secrets older than the city itself.
I parked in the lot, and headed for the main entrance.
The air inside was cool, smelling of polished wood and something sharp, like gun oil.
A butler nodded me toward a hallway, his eyes flicking over me like he knew more than he said.
I’d been here before, but today it felt different—familiar in a way that prickled my neck, like I’d seen these walls in a dream I couldn’t place.
Marcus was in a study at the end of the hall, sprawled in a leather chair, his wetsuit swapped for jeans and a black polo that looked too clean for a guy who’d been diving yesterday.
He grinned when he saw me, that smartass glint in his eyes, but I wasn’t here for jokes.
I shut the door behind me, the click loud in the quiet room.
“Morning, Marine,” he said, leaning back, hands behind his head. “You look like you slept better than you should’ve.”
“Cut the shit,” I said, my voice low, steady. “What’s the Navy up to? I’m supposed to be your liaison with Dr. Allard, but I’m working blind. No brief, no intel. Give me something.”
His grin faded, just a fraction, but he didn’t move. “You want the Navy’s dirty laundry? That’s above my pay grade. And yours.”
“Don’t play dumb,” I snapped, stepping closer, my hands clenching. “You’re the glue in this town, you said so yourself. You know what’s going on—sonar, strandings, whatever’s got Dr. Allard ready to burn the fleet down. I can’t do my job if you’re holding out.”
Marcus tilted his head, studying me like I was a puzzle he hadn’t decided to solve. “Whose side you on, Jacob?” he asked, his tone light but sharp, that smartass edge cutting through.
I bristled, my jaw tight. “I’m trying to do the job you tasked me with. You dragged me to Charleston, threw me into this mess, and now you’re dodging. Why the hell am I here?”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his eyes locked on mine. “You tell me. You’re the one pressing like you think there’s a bomb under the table.”
I stepped closer, my voice dropping to a growl.
“Because there is a bomb. You’re not telling me shit, Marcus.
Why am I in Charleston? And what the hell does my brother Caleb have to do with it?
” My pulse was hammering now, paranoia creeping in like a tide.
The room felt too small, the walls too familiar, like I’d walked these halls before, in another life, another mission.
Marcus, Ryker, Atlas—they were operators, same as me, but there was something else here, something I couldn’t pin down.
It was like staring at a target through a busted scope, the edges blurry but the threat real.
Marcus didn’t answer, just stared at me, his grin gone, his eyes unreadable.
I wanted to scream, to grab him by the collar and shake the truth out of him.
My hands twitched, ready to move, when the door behind me creaked open.
I spun, my body tensing, and there he was—Caleb, my brother, striding in with a wry grin that didn’t reach his eyes.
“I told you he’d keep pressing,” Caleb said, his voice light, like he was commenting on the weather.
Marcus laughed, a sharp, bright sound that grated on my nerves. “Officers,” he said, shaking his head. “Always sniffing.”
I turned on Caleb, my blood hot. “What the hell is going on?” I demanded, my voice low, dangerous. “You’ve been here, and you didn’t say a damn thing. What are you mixed up in? Do they have something on you?”
Caleb leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, his posture too easy, like he’d taken a chill pill and forgotten to tell me.
His clothes—black polo, jeans, boots—matched Marcus’s, like he’d been issued the same uniform.
He looked different, not just older but settled, like he’d found something I hadn’t.
It pissed me off more than I wanted to admit. My brother, my blood, standing there like he was in on a joke I’d never heard.
Marcus motioned to Caleb, his grin back. “You want to tell him, or should I?”
Caleb shook his head, his grin widening. “Nah, I want to see the look on his face. Need my hands free, too, in case I want to take a picture.”
I stared at him, my mind spinning. “What the fuck, Caleb? You drop off the map, show up here looking like one of them ”—I jerked my head at Marcus—“and now you’re playing games? What is this?”
Marcus leaned back, his eyes glinting. “What do you remember about your father, Jacob?”
The question hit like a gut punch, my breath catching. My father, Byron Dane, was a ghost in my memory—always gone, always chasing something I never understood. “What kind of head shit is this?” I snapped, my voice rising. “That’s none of your damn business.”
I turned to Caleb, expecting him to back me up, to tell Marcus to shove it. But he just stood there, hands in his pockets, watching me like I was a stand-up comic bombing on stage.
“Caleb,” I said, my voice tight, “what the hell have you gotten me into?”
He shook his head, his grin fading to something softer, almost pitying. “Wasn’t me, Jake. It was Dad. Answer the question.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My hands clenched, my pulse hammering so hard I felt it in my throat. I turned back to Marcus, my voice shaking with anger.
“You know what I remember? Dad was always gone—missions, trips, whatever the hell he was doing. Then he died, left us with nothing but a shitty house in Montana and a mom who worked herself to the bone. That’s it. That’s all I’ve got.”
Marcus laughed—actually laughed, the sound sharp and reckless, like he was daring me to swing. I was half a second from doing it, my fist twitching, when he held up a hand.
“You never asked me my last name, Jacob. Or Ryker’s. Or Atlas’s.”
I froze, the words hitting like a slug to the gut. My breath caught, my mind racing. “What the hell are you saying?”
Marcus leaned forward, his eyes locked on mine, no trace of his usual grin. “You can ask now.”
I swallowed, my throat dry, the room tilting. “What’s your last name?”
“Dane,” he said, the word dropping like a stone.
“Dane?” I echoed, my voice hollow. “What …”
Caleb cut in, his voice steady but heavy. “It’s true, Jake. Marcus, Ryker, Atlas—seven of them, total. They’re our half-brothers. Dad left them billions. That’s why I’m here. That’s why they pulled you from your unit.”
The world spun, my vision blurring at the edges. Half-brothers? Billions? My father, Byron Dane, a man who’d left us with nothing but debt and a rusted truck, had billions ?
Memories came unbidden, sharp and jagged. Dad in Montana, teaching me to cast a fly rod in the Bitterroot River, his hands steady but his eyes always somewhere else, like he was looking for a way out.
The time he came home late, smelling of whiskey and gunpowder, promising me a fishing trip that never happened because he was gone again by dawn.
His funeral, a cold day in Missoula, the casket closed, Mom’s face gray as she clutched my hand. I’d been twelve, Caleb ten, and all we’d had was each other.
I stumbled back, my shoulder hitting the doorframe, the wood solid against my back. My chest heaved, my mind a blur of anger and disbelief.
Half-brothers. Dane. Billions.
The words didn’t fit, didn’t make sense.
I looked at Caleb, his easy stance, his clothes matching Marcus’s, and felt a betrayal I couldn’t name.
“You knew?” I said, my voice raw. “You knew and didn’t tell me?”
Caleb’s grin faded, his eyes softening. “I found out a few months ago, Jake. Part of the deal was not telling you, yet.”
Marcus stood, his hands up, like he was calming a spooked horse. “We’re not the enemy, Jacob. Dad was … complicated. He left us something bigger than you know. We’re trying to make it right.”
“Make it right?” I snapped, my voice breaking. “You drag me here, keep me in the dark, and now you’re saying my dad was some billionaire with a secret family? What the fuck is this?”
Caleb stepped forward, his voice low. “It’s not a game, Jake. It’s family. Our family. And it’s messy as hell, but it’s real.”
I shook my head, my hands shaking, the room too small, the walls closing in. That familiar light—the one I’d felt walking in, like I’d seen this place before—was brighter now, sharper, like a memory I couldn’t grab.
Dominion Hall, the Danes, Caleb—it was all connected, and I’d been too blind to see it. My father’s ghost loomed, not just a man who’d left us but a puzzle I’d never solved.
I turned, shoving the door open, my steps heavy on the hardwood. I needed air, needed out.
The last thing I heard as I rushed for the exit was Caleb’s voice, wry and quiet. “I told you he wouldn’t take it well.”