Chapter 27 - Cain
Cain
I don’t expect my father to make it to the cabin before me, and I’m right. He has a lot farther to travel. I doubt he’s made the majority of the journey by road. He’ll have taken a private plane and had a car waiting for him.
I’m not afraid or nervous about what’s about to go down. No, I’m too fucking angry for that.
I want my father to think I’m here alone when he arrives, so I order the others to find good spots around the cabin where they can keep me covered.
I’d like to think my father wouldn’t hurt me, but if he or his men realize his life is under threat, and it’s a case of me or him, they will not hesitate to shoot me.
I’m not sure I can even find it in myself to care about dying either.
I’m more concerned about Malachi being taken down in the shooting than I am about myself.
He doesn’t deserve anything bad happening to him. Unlike me.
I keep going back in my head, questioning why I hadn’t learned the truth sooner.
Why hadn’t I even suspected him? Maybe others would argue that I’d just been a child when my father had arranged Ophelia’s kidnapping, but surely, I should have considered the possibility?
I’d known how much my father disliked Ophelia’s family and how much he hated me spending time over there.
I’d done my best to hide my nightly visits to her room, but of course my father had known.
If only I’d realized the truth sooner, I could have saved Ophelia from years of torment at the Prophet’s hands.
I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive myself for being so blind, but there is one thing I can put right.
The Prophet is dead now, and soon my father will be, too.
Any man who hurts Ophelia will meet the same fate. Myself included.
A low purr of the engines of expensive, powerful vehicles meets my ears. I toss a glance over my shoulder, ensuring everyone is in place and none of the others can be seen from the narrow, unpaved road that leads to the cabin.
Two large Mercedes SUVs appear and slowly make their way toward the cabin.
They reach the clearing and draw to a halt, the engines silencing.
Every muscle in my body is rigid with tension, and I clench and unclench my fists at my sides.
I’m painfully aware of the gun wedged in my waistband, and I won’t hesitate to use it.
A part of me just wants to shoot the fucker in the face the moment he climbs out of the car, but the other part knows I need to hear the truth coming from his mouth.
While I’m ninety-nine percent sure that he’s the one responsible for Ophelia’s kidnapping, I don’t want that remaining one percent to haunt me.
From out of the passenger seat climbs my father. Then the rear door opens, and a second, much younger, man climbs out.
My stomach drops. It’s been a while since I last saw my brother, Samuel, and he’s filled out. His frame is now almost as big as mine, and gone are the light curls of his childhood. His hair has darkened, and now he has my thick, light brown hair and blue eyes. It’s clear we are brothers.
He’s still young, at aged sixteen, but he is big, broad, and his face shows he’s already a man in the ways our father would expect.
That makes my heart sink. I can only imagine the violence he’s seen because it will be the same as I saw at his age.
The life we live has already begun to turn him hard, and I hate to see that.
Automatically, my hands come up to sign to him. ‘Sammy, I didn’t know you were coming.’
He replies, ‘Good to see you, Brother.’
It is good to see him, but also… it isn’t. My brother knows nothing about what has happened, and it’s not as though I can take him to one side and explain it.
Whose side will he be on? Mine, or our father’s?
I want to believe he’ll choose me every time, just like I would always choose him, but the truth is that we haven’t been in each other’s lives much recently—something I feel guilty about—and I don’t know how closely our father has brought him into his fold.
Being at the college, fighting in the club, saving, it’s partly been for my brother, but he knows nothing of it, so it won’t be something he counts in my favor.
It’s my father’s fault Samuel is deaf, but that all happened a long time ago. Is it possible Sammy has forgiven him?
My father slams the car door shut. “Hello, Cain. It’s been a while.”
He holds out his hand to shake mine in greeting, but I can’t bring myself to do it, and I keep my fists clenched at my sides.
His eyes narrow. “Problem?”
I grit my teeth. “You could say that.”
My father gives a jerk of his chin, and four armed men climb out of the vehicle behind his. Perhaps I should have been more subtle and shaken the son of a bitch’s hand, but I just couldn’t do it.
“I assumed it was something serious by the way you’ve made me come all this way. I notice Felix isn’t with you.”
“Felix is dead.”
He sucks air in over his teeth. “One of my best men. What happened?”
“I shot him in the forehead when I learned that he’d betrayed us to the Prophet.”
I study my father’s expression for any sign of guilt, but the cold bastard’s expression remains unmoved.
“Are you sure about that?” he says. “That doesn’t sound like something Felix would do.”
I can’t help it; I burst out laughing. “Really, Dad. You missed your calling for Broadway. Your acting skills are spot on.” Then I cock my head to one side. “Except, in your effort to appear as if you know nothing, you’re far too calm. Surely, you’d be shocked to hear such news?”
“I am shocked, but I’m not sure I believe it, and I have no idea what you’re talking about, Cain. I hope you haven’t brought me all the way here to waste my time.”
God, the bastard. I’ve just told him that one of his men betrayed us, and even if he hadn’t instigated it, I don’t think he’d have cared. He’s a stone-cold sociopath.
“Not at all. I wanted to tell you something. Something important.” I hold his gaze.
“Get on with it, then. I really think this could all have been done over the phone.”
“I have to say that you’re taking one of your men’s betrayals really fucking well, Father. Aren’t you the man who says loyalty is paramount?”
My father’s jaw ticks. “I don’t have time for this.
You said he did you wrong, and now he’s dead.
You shot him, as you should have. Well done, son.
I just don’t understand why I’m here when you could have told me all of this over the phone.
Where are the rest of my men? I want them back home with me.
If the Prophet is dead, the threat is gone, no? ”
“I’ll be sure to pass on the order.” I try to keep my voice as calm as his. “You’re here for something much more important, as I said.”
One of his men shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and I have to fight not to check the positions of my men.
I can see Samuel growing more uncomfortable with each passing second.
He can sense something is very wrong here but doesn’t yet know how to act.
The armed men behind my father would normally know exactly how to act, except I am also my father’s eldest son, and rightful heir to his business.
If I was any old person, I’d probably already be dead because my father would have ordered them to open fire.
“What is it, then? Spit it out.”
“I wanted to tell you in person that I’m going to marry Ophelia Sinclair.”
I watch my announcement get the reaction that the news of Felix’s death and betrayal didn’t. His eyes darken, his jaw clenches, and a muscle ticks beside his mouth.
“You will do no such thing.”
“Our families will be united. The Lockwoods and the Sinclairs. One big, happy family at last.”
Truthfully, I don’t want Ophelia’s father to be part of my family—especially not after what he did to Roman—but if having Ophelia in my life for good also means accepting her family, I’ll do it. And if it means destroying my father’s dreams for the future, I’ll do it with a smile.
“Over my dead body,” he snaps.
I shrug at that. “Tempting.”
“What the fuck are you doing, son?”
Red climbs up his throat, and I want to laugh at him, but I bite it back.
“Don’t call me son. Why do you hate the Sinclairs so much?”
He scoffs and shakes his head. “They are an insult to our way of life. They call themselves mafia, but they are weak. Too emotional to make the hard decisions, which is why they have achieved so little while I have gone on to rule cities.”
“Or perhaps they would have achieved more if it wasn’t for them grieving over their missing daughter for the past seven or so years.”
He gives a flick of his eyebrows. “I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting for the girl to find her way home again.”
“Wasn’t expecting it? Or hadn’t planned for it?”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, you planned the rest of it, didn’t you? You planned for Ophelia to be taken when she was only a child. You planned to hand her over to your friend, the Prophet. How did the two of you meet, huh?”
“What are you saying, Cain? This is ridiculous. You’re letting that girl twist your head around until you don’t know what way is up and what is down. You need to snap out of it.”
“We know someone set Ophelia up all those years ago, and, since Felix admitted to betraying us, it makes sense that you were the one to plan it.”
“Son—” he starts.
“I said don’t fucking call me that!” My fingers are itching to go for my weapon, but I want him to say it before I kill him.
He takes a breath. I’m aware of his men poised right behind him, but I can sense their uncertainty.
Are they really going to shoot the boss’s son?
Would he have given them instruction to take me out if it looks like I’m a threat to his life, or is he so cocksure that he never even considered that I might want him dead?