Chapter 23
MICAH
We were just leaving the bakery, boxes stacked in our arms like some kind of absurd care package, when my phone buzzed.
Joy's name lit up the screen.
I answered immediately. "Hey."
"Micah." Her voice was clipped. Tight. Wrong.
Every muscle in my body locked. "What's wrong?"
"Victoria came to the farm."
The world narrowed to a pinpoint.
Not the street. Not my brothers. Not the fucking pastries I was holding.
Just her voice and those four words.
"Are you hurt?" I demanded.
"No. But she—"
"Stay there."
"I have work—"
"Joy." My voice went hard. Command, not request. "Stay right there. I'll be there soon."
I ended the call before she could argue.
My brothers were already watching me, their expressions shifting from casual to alert in the space of a heartbeat. Years of training, years of reading a room, a situation, a threat.
They knew.
"We need a car," I said.
Caleb grinned—not humor, strategy. "We've got something better."
Ten minutes later, we were standing in the dugout of the Charleston RiverDogs baseball field, and I was starting to wonder if my brothers had lost their fucking minds.
Then I heard it.
The unmistakable whup-whup-whup of helicopter rotors.
I looked at Caleb. "You're kidding."
He just grinned wider.
The helicopter settled in the middle of the field, grass flattening under the downdraft, and the side door opened.
The same butler from Dominion Hall—impeccably dressed, completely unruffled—gestured us inside like this was a normal day.
We piled in.
The interior was outfitted like something out of a James Bond film—leather seats, sleek paneling, and a row of weapons secured along one wall. Tactical rifles. Handguns. Body armor.
I gave the butler a look. "Seriously?"
He just inclined his head slightly. "Mr. Dane thought you might need options."
Which Mr. Dane, I didn't ask.
We lifted into the air, Charleston falling away beneath us, and I felt the familiar shift—adrenaline sharpening everything, thoughts narrowing to mission parameters.
Except this wasn't a mission.
This was Joy.
And that made it different. More dangerous. Because missions had rules. Objectives. Clear lines between success and failure.
This? This was personal.
And personal made you sloppy.
We made quick time to Wadmalaw, the marsh and farmland blurring below us, and when the McKinley property came into view, I felt my chest tighten.
The house. The fields. The tidy rows of flowers stretching out like something out of a painting.
And in the middle of it all, Joy.
Standing in the yard with her family around her, arms crossed, chin up.
Alive. Safe. Angry.
Thank God.
We landed in the yard, grass and dust kicking up, and I was out before the skids fully touched down.
Multiple sets of wide eyes greeted me—Joy's siblings, her parents, all of them staring at the helicopter like we'd just dropped out of the sky on a spaceship.
And then there was Joy.
Her eyes weren't wide.
They were narrowed.
Pissed.
I didn't care.
She could be as mad as she wanted. I was here. And I'd brought backup.
The helicopter lifted off behind us, rotors deafening, and I moved toward her without thinking, my brothers fanning out instinctively—assessing, securing, making sure there was no immediate threat.
"Micah," Joy said, voice tight. "What the hell—"
"Are you okay?" I cut her off, hands already reaching for her, checking, needing to confirm with my own eyes and hands that she was whole.
"Yes," she said, pulling back slightly. "But you didn't need to—"
"I did."
Her jaw tightened. "You brought a helicopter. And guns. To my parents' farm."
"Yes."
She stared at me like I'd lost my mind.
Maybe I had.
But I'd also kept her safe.
Before she could argue further, Sunny—the big, shaggy dog I'd only heard about—came barreling over, tail wagging, tongue lolling out like he'd just met his new best friends.
He went straight for Ethan first, who crouched down and let the dog lick his face with zero hesitation.
"Good boy," Ethan said, grinning. "You're a good boy, aren't you?"
Sunny moved down the line—Lucas, Gideon, Levi, Jacob, Caleb—tail wagging harder with each one.
Joy's momma's expression softened immediately.
Dogs were truth-tellers. Everyone knew that.
If Sunny liked them, they couldn't be all bad.
Her daddy, though—he wasn't convinced.
He stood near the porch, arms crossed, eyes sharp, taking in the weapons, the helicopter, the seven large men who'd just invaded his property.
"Who was the woman?" he asked, voice hard.
I met his gaze. "It's complicated. But it has to do with our father's past."
"Your father," he repeated slowly.
"Yes, sir."
His eyes narrowed. "And you're Micah."
"Yes, sir. I'm Micah."
He grunted—low, considering, like he was making some internal calculation I couldn't see.
Then he turned toward the house. "Make yourselves at home. There's still work to do, so I'm going to see to it."
Joy's siblings were still staring—wide-eyed, curious, a little starstruck.
Her father rounded them up with a jerk of his head. "Work to do. Let's go."
They followed, reluctant but obedient, and suddenly the yard felt a lot quieter.
My brothers did what they did best—split up, spread out, get a lay of the land.
Which left me alone with Joy.
She turned on me immediately. "Why did you come in a helicopter?"
"It wasn't my idea," I said honestly. "It was theirs."
"You scared everyone."
"I know. I'm sorry."
Her arms were still crossed, but some of the tension in her shoulders eased. "You could've just driven."
"Not fast enough."
She exhaled, shaking her head. "Micah—"
"I brought pastries," I said, pointing to the boxes Ethan had set on the porch. "From the bakery below your condo."
Her expression shifted—surprise, then something softer.
"You brought pastries," she repeated.
"Yeah."
She stared at the boxes for a moment, then back at me. "You're ridiculous."
"I know."
And just like that, the fight went out of her.
Not completely. But enough.
Then we heard it again.
The unmistakable sound of helicopter rotors.
My brothers reappeared from their positions, all of them converging on the yard, eyes on the sky.
The helicopter descended, and through the window, I saw him.
Byron Dane.
My father.
My jaw tightened so hard it ached.
The helicopter touched down. Byron stepped out, waved to the pilot, and the bird lifted off immediately, leaving him standing alone in the middle of Joy's family's yard.
He walked toward us slowly, deliberately, like he knew exactly how volatile this situation was.
"I'm sorry for the intrusion," he said, looking at Joy first. "Mine. And Victoria's."
Joy stepped forward, and I felt a surge of pride so fierce it nearly knocked me sideways.
Because she didn't cower. Didn't shrink.
She laid into him.
"You don't get to apologize for intrusion," she said, voice sharp. "That woman threatened my family. On our land. Because of you."
Byron took it. Didn't flinch. Didn't deflect.
Just nodded. "You're right."
"You're damn right I'm right," Joy said. "And if you think—"
"I'm here to explain," Byron interrupted gently. "If I can have a moment with my sons."
I didn't hesitate. "I want Joy there."
I looked at my brothers, waiting for someone to object.
No one did.
Byron's gaze flicked to Joy, then back to me. "All right."
Inside, the McKinley house was exactly what I'd expected—warm, lived-in, full of the kind of details that said family louder than any words could.
Photos on the walls. A quilt draped over the sofa. The faint smell of something baking that probably came from the kitchen.
Joy's momma gave us privacy, disappearing into another room with a look that said I'm trusting you not to break anything.
We filled the living room—seven large men and Joy, all of us standing or leaning because sitting felt wrong for this conversation.
Byron stood near the window, hands in his pockets, looking older than he had at Dominion Hall. Tired.
"Victoria and I met decades ago," he began. "We had a ... fling. Brief. Intense. The kind of thing you look back on and realize you missed all the warning signs because you were young and stupid."
No one spoke.
"I saw the cracks eventually," he continued. "She wanted power. Fast. She didn't care how she got it or who she stepped on to get there. When a new program came up—something classified, something important—I recommended to my superiors that she not be selected."
His jaw tightened.
"She found out. And she disappeared."
"Just like that?" Gideon asked.
"Just like that," Byron confirmed. "I thought she'd moved on. Found another empire to disrupt. Another ladder to climb."
He paused, staring out the window at the fields beyond.
"But since she's reappeared, I've done some digging. She maintained contact with The Vanguard over the years. Quietly. Strategically. She didn't get over her hatred of me—she just hid it. Buried it. Let it simmer."
My hands curled into fists.
"If she killed your mother," Byron said quietly, looking at me now, "and if she's the one who set The Vanguard on this path to take down Dominion Hall ... she's more powerful than I ever imagined she could be."
He let out a humorless laugh. "Turns out anger can lead to glory. If you're patient enough."
The room was silent.
I could feel my brothers processing, their minds running through the same calculations mine were.
Victoria wasn't just dangerous.
She was personal.
She'd taken our mother. She'd threatened Joy's family. She was playing a long game, and we were all pieces on her board.
Finally, Joy spoke.
"What should we do about Victoria?"
Her voice was calm. Steady.
But the question hung in the air like a blade.
My brothers exchanged looks. Quick. Knowing.
We all knew the answer.
There was only one way to deal with someone like Victoria. Someone who'd killed our mother. Someone who'd come to Joy's family home and made threats.
Victoria needed to be killed.
Or we were all very much on the menu.
I met Joy's eyes, and I saw the moment she understood.
Not because I said it.
Because she saw it in my face.
In my brothers' faces.
In the cold, hard certainty that settled over the room like a shroud.
This wasn't about justice.
This was about survival.
And survival didn't leave room for mercy.