Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Lucian
I want all this to be over. I want Erin in my arms; our house filled with laughter and the chaos of her family. The brooding boot steps of mine.
She doesn’t know the dragon has two heads.
I have to defeat Carlos in the world, and the Isobel inside me.
I don’t want her tied to me any longer.
The guilt, the hatred, the betrayal that cuts me deeper than anything Erin has ever done or planned on doing.
Erin and I were strangers.
Isobel and I were together and had something between us that no one knew about. Something that tied us tighter than anything.
She was pregnant.
With my child.
I was young, stunned, lost, yet fiercely protective of the tiny being in her belly. It was early, she was joyous, and we chose to keep the secret to ourselves as long as we could.
She lost the baby just before the fire.
Later I learned this can happen, especially with first pregnancies.
But then, it felt like a punishment had been handed down.
I didn’t know how to handle it. Nothing like this had ever happened to me where I had to go through it with someone else. With Gregory, I was the older one, shielding him.
With her, there was nothing I could do.
And maybe in her weakness, Carlos moved in. Maybe he offered her a new life and that’s what she needed.
I don’t know.
I only know she remembers, too.
I saw her hand pass over her womb that first night she showed up on the doorstep at Red Shutters.
She’s kept it to herself, all this time. Then, at the table, I feared she was about to tell everyone.
To tell Erin.
It never occurred to me that Erin might even need to know. I thought the less I talked about that part of my past, the more I protected her from it.
Looking back, maybe cracks were formed between us then, ones that made it easier for Carlos to poison her against me. It still haunts me; what lie did Carlos tell her about me to make her do what she did?
That’s the dark inky poison that leaks into every corner of my mind.
Poison I don’t yet have the antidote for.
And I have to tell Erin. About the baby we shared.
She’s just begun to trust in our forever.
But if she finds out any other way, from anyone else.
It might be too much. It might break something in her.
And she might leave me too.
That fear grips me, and it’s why I haven’t told her before now.
I can’t lose Erin. Not now. Not ever.
Erin decrees a house reset when we return upstairs. “We’re all going to lose it if we don’t have normalcy.”
“Luckily, we have a little kid here and they demand structure,” Cass says. “Pizza game night?”
Isobel slips up to her room, as discreetly as one can, followed by armed guards. I hear Erin whispering to the staff who cook tonight to send up a Margarita for Isobel.
Funny how well she guessed. That’s Isobel’s order.
I’m tired of hating myself for knowing stuff like that.
My men put down over a dozen meat pizzas. I struggle to eat. I distract myself by playing board games with Ryan. He cheats sliding his purple plastic man up the slide instead of down, and I let him when I wouldn’t.
Cass sees and lets it go, too. We all need a win in this house.
Erin brings dessert out of who-knows-where, a Skyr Cake, a delicate cheesecake like dish with a buttery crust and fresh berries that must have been flown in from far away from this iceberg we call a home.
Again, I keep telling my freezing counterparts. I built it as a summer home.
I take her to bed and bury myself inside her until I’m anywhere but here.
And there’s still time to tell Erin the secret that’s welded me to Isobel.
By morning, the house I built to brood away the summers, isolated and alone, is a bustling den of controlled chaos, and too soon we’re back in the war room.
A room I’m starting to loathe.
A room I’m turning into an arcade for Ryan when this is all over.
Rafe has owned the long table since we arrived. With Erin here, I’m no brain and all brawn, ready to strike without even a moment’s notice. Rafe runs the show this time.
Three laptops. Two encrypted tablets. Maps layered over maps. Tech I’d be lost in, but that intrigues my baby brother.
Gregory sits beside Rafe in a wrinkled sweater, sandy hair destroyed by wind and sleep, glasses sliding down his nose as he studies the screen like Carlos might tell us where he is if Gregory stares hard enough.
My heart fills with pride while my stomach sinks.
This is everything I wanted to keep him away from, yet he’s the man I hoped he would be.
I have to let him make his own choices. He chooses to have a seat at the table.
As does she.
My beating heart sits across from me wrapped in my coat.
Across from me, watching every piece move.
I hate it. I need her. Like I’ve come to need my brother in this room. Hell, one day I’ll want Ryan here too.
Family. We’re family.
Isobel sits near the far end of the table with guards behind her. Pale. Silent. Broken.
I think of the baby that never was.
I look at Erin. She smiles at me and the gesture is a knife stabbed into my gut.
Twisted.
We’re twisted. All of us.
But me the most.
Rafe taps the screen. Gregory leans in, looking right at me. “Dad’s seal is where everyone is getting distracted.”
Gregory saying ‘Dad’ so casually, like he’s in the room and hasn’t been murdered, twists the knife another turn.
Blaze is sprawled in an oversized armchair in the corner of the room, as far away from Isobel as we can get him.
He’s glaring at his useless phone and says, “The dead-dad seal?”
Anger rises in me. “That is an appalling phrase.”
Gregory sighs. “It’s fine. It’s true, and the inner circle fighting is getting in our way.”
“It’s a clear phrase,” Blaze adds, snapping his phone shut. He glares at me.
I give him grace. I know why he holds that phone. I know why he’s as miserable as he is.
He needs his wife.
“It’s appalling and clear,” Erin says, ending the rift.
Rafe folds his hands. “Your father’s seal was not a fresh authorization. It was an old master credential. Family-level access built into the old Bachman courier system.”
I stare at the screen, at the dead-dad seal. My father’s authority.
Another ghost Carlos has dragged into the room.
“Explain,” I say. Erin cuts me a look. “Please,” I add.
Rafe does. Quickly. Thank God.
“The original Bachman system had hidden courier routes, service doors, emergency overrides, old tunnels, and master credentials. Your father either created, inherited, or approved the credential. After his death, it should have been retired.”
“But it wasn’t,” Gregory says.
“No,” Rafe answers. “Someone preserved it.”
Isobel’s eyes lower.
I do not need more.
“Marina knew where it lived,” Rafe says. “Carlos learned how to use it.”
There. A clean answer. My father did not rise from the grave to turn against us all.
“Carlos used Dad’s authority like a stolen key.” Gregory gives a look I know well—he’s choosing logic over emotion.
Rafe moves to the next file. “The twelve-second delay is the real weapon.”
Gregory straightens, grateful for facts. “It was not lag. It was programmed. Twelve seconds is long enough for a gate to read closed while opening. Long enough for a camera feed to loop one clean frame. Long enough for an alarm to route to the wrong terminal.”
It all comes to me at once. “A Bachman Seal overrides everything.”
Gregory takes a deep breath. “Yes, and Carlos used it at the Bachman Village, Carlos’s new men pulled guards to a false breach while the real access opened. Everyone was distracted enough for one man to make it inside the walls.”
Bayne steps away from the window. “So, the bastard has been using dead credentials, old routes, and a wee pause in the system to make ghosts walk through walls.”
Blaze points at him. “This is why we keep the Scots. They make even cybercrime sound sexy with that damn accent of theirs.”
Bayne wants to hide his smile but can’t. “Enjoy me while you can.” Even though he’s more controlled, he’s desperate to be back in his bed with his own wife.
Erin looks over. “You’re leaving us?”
His humor fades at the sound of her voice. “Freya made the call,” he says. “My clan leaves in a few hours.”
The room tightens.
“I’ll leave a smaller crew through the night and two men for transport,” he continues. “But Red Shutters is compromised. I cannae keep my people stretched between Scotland and Iceland any longer.”
I do not like it. But I can’t argue. He’s stayed longer than he should have. Risked more than I wanted him to.
“Thank you,” I say.
Bayne’s brows rise. “Careful, Bachman. Gratitude makes you sound soft.”
Then he looks at Erin. “Keep him from locking you in a tower before I see you again.”
“Bayne,” I warn.
“Did you hear him?” Erin says to me. “Freya made the call. A woman.”
“Aye. She’s the head of our wee operation. And she’s damn good.” His mouth curves.
“Don’t encourage her, Scot,” I warn.
“And when the wedding happens, I expect proper notice. I’ll not be hauled over the coals because Kitt only has a week to choose an outfit when the two of you finally admit the obvious.”
The word hits the room.
Wedding.
Erin’s face colors.
Mine does not.
Isobel sinks into the walls.
Four carats. Princess cut. Platinum band.
Bachman’s finest.
Erin says quickly, “Marriage has not been discussed.”
Blaze lowers his phone. “Oh, I love this. Finally, something more interesting to talk about than Carlos.”
Erin looks at him.
“What?” He shrugs. “I mean, I’m not one to talk. I married my sister.”
“Stepsister,” I quickly correct.
He raises both hands. “Hey, family first. Am I right?”
Bayne breaks. “Yer disgusting. Will someone call that wife of his and get Cleopatra here as fast as possible, so we don’t have to listen to his gibberish any longer?”
“You’re leaving,” Erin reminds him gently. “You don’t have to put up with it anymore.”
Before I can interject, the front security panel chimes.
Every man not in on the secret moves toward the weapon of choice he carries.
Blaze goes from lounging to lunging in one movement. His knife flashes in his hand as he flies up from the chair. “Why the hell weren’t we warned someone was approaching?”