Chapter Twenty-Six
Cian
I stared at the door my boss walked through, thinking about what King said. Sylvia St. James and Jane Craven. Two names tore through my chest, destroying what little happiness I’d finally found. Everything I’d wanted in life was slipping through my fingertips with the mention of two fucking names.
“It’s not your fault.”
I turned to look at Mac. Duncan stood beside him, both of them studying me as if they knew what I was thinking.
They might.
I didn’t argue with either of them, just silently went back to work. Starting with Henry Craven. The man who raped Sylvia St. James. He’d had four daughters: Elizabeth, Charlotte, Jane, and Angela.
No sons.
Sylvia was only twenty-one when Henry raped her. He was forty-three.
She’d been the same age Maddie was when Henry was born.
Even my grandson’s name was tainted now.
How would I ever look him in the eye knowing he shared a name with a man so evil? He died in 1990, and the only bright spot was that he died violently.
He was sixty-one years old. At least he hadn’t been one of the many men who’d hurt Indie. But I knew there had to be countless others he had hurt.
His daughter Elizabeth was raped by William Doherty, president of the Golden Skulls Motorcycle Club. She had two children: James Doherty and Sienna Ross Mitchell.
Sienna was married to Issac Mitchell, a former presidential candidate. And she was the leader of the Society.
James became president of the Golden Skulls after William died, and from what I could see, hadn’t been much better than his father. The club had been involved in human trafficking for years until his son Maxwell, aka Reaper, took over and was instrumental in bringing down the Society.
Charlotte married James Stone and had one child. A son named Joshua, who was a member of the Soulless Sinners MC. Charlotte must have been just as bad because Joshua killed both his parents.
Jane never married and never had children.
It was believed she’d had a son with Kane Baudelaire, aka Morpheus, the president of the Brotherhood of Bastards.
But when Sal was in Nebraska a month ago, we learned the man she claimed as her son was actually King’s half-brother.
Duncan’s sister Darcy had another child a year after King was born, and Jane had stolen him and taken him to the Trick Pony.
Jane was killed earlier in the year by Crispin Sinclair.
Then there was Angela. She was born the same year I was. Henry Craven wasn’t satisfied with just having his wife; he’d chosen to have other women as well, whether they wanted him or not. She was married to Alexander Goldman and had twins.
Katherine Goldman, who died from a gunshot to the head eight years ago. And Solomon Goldman, aka Sandman, a member of the Golden Skulls.
Angela then married Shane Keller, who had a son from his first wife, and together they had Charlotte Goldman. Carly was married to Christian Moreno, aka Fury, of the Soulless Sinners MC, and Sal’s cousin.
This shit was so twisted and convoluted, I felt like I needed to set up a fucking murder board in my office to keep everything straight. I’d just learned I had four sisters and they were all dead.
“Cian?”
“Not now, guys. I have work to do.”
“You should talk about this,” Mac pushed.
I leaned back in my chair. “Talk about what? The fact that my father was a rapist and my mother kidnapped children? Or would you like to talk about your father, Mac? And all the shit he did over the years?”
“Ci,” he warned.
I pointed my finger at his chest. “Fuck you,” I snapped. “Get out of my office, both of you.”
I heard the door close as I went back to my screens, reading article after article about Sylvia St. James. I found information about Division, a group created to seek out the best and brightest minds in the world. They dealt with everything from scientific discoveries to medicine.
In 1990, the same year Henry Craven died, Sylvia started a charity called Sunshine Child that helped orphan kids.
It was her sub-charity, Sunshine Kids, that was different.
It was linked to several hospitals as well as adoption agencies.
Their purpose was to locate remarkable children.
The higher IQ, the better, and the more vulnerable the children were.
Then she created the Poseidon Innovation whose function was two-fold. One department dealt with the military and federal government. Specializing in modern urban warfare.
The other department was pharmaceutical. Together with three other pharmaceutical companies, they won the bid to create the vaccine for the pandemic five years ago.
The company was still active and worth trillions.
Sylvia St. James had two other children after marrying Franklin Montague.
Donna St. James, who was only three years younger than I was.
From what I found, Donna left the area with her husband after Sylvia framed him for the murders of 9/11 first responders.
Donna and David Campbell were killed in a fire in 2011, leaving their daughter, Delany, an orphan.
A quick search for Delany told me she’d married Jason Calloway, aka Storm from the Soulless Sinners MC.
I was relieved to know she and her daughter, Harlow, were safe and protected.
No doubt Sylvia had something to do with Donna and David’s deaths.
I had a niece who was a year older than my daughter.
Sylvia’s third child was a son.
Gideon St. James.
A quick cursory search showed he went by the Guardian. I’d heard of the Guardian. He was a man who fought for good. But he’d disappeared. No one had seen or heard from him in years.
I would be lying if I said seeing she’d had a son didn’t affect me. A son she kept. A son she raised herself.
It was a feeling I wasn’t comfortable with.
I loved my parents. I’d never thought about the people who gave birth to me.
Until now, and a small part inside me felt the rejection of being thrown away.
The part of me that loved my parents and wouldn’t trade them for anything was so big, yet somehow it was overshadowed knowing that I wasn’t good enough to keep.
I knew enough about the Society to know that it had been run by women. But looking back, that wasn’t always the case. From what I read, Henry Craven’s death and the creation of Sunshine Kids coincided. Was it a coincidence? Or something planned?
My computer pinged, letting me know I had an email. It was from Navigator, King’s club brother. Opening the file, I started digging through the countless names.
Sylvia St. James took children born at the Trick Pony or kidnapped off the streets, specifically targeting those who had no one to look after them, and sent them to distribution centers.
The remarkable ones were sent to New York and enrolled in her gifted program.
The others were shipped off to God knows where.
She used those intelligent kids to better the Society’s agenda, which, from what I was seeing, looked like world domination. The kids who didn’t live up to her expectations were sold to Bianchi’s and Valentinetti’s breeding farms. In the hope of creating more children with higher-than-average IQs.
I leaned back in my chair as I stared at what I found. At what I’d come from. What happened to this woman to make her who she was? Was being raped by Henry the catalyst that created the monster that was Sylvia St. James?
Or had she always been a monster?
I spent hours digging through the information I’d found. And there was one thing that was missing.
Her death.
There was nothing, not a whisper, not an arrogant confession by some nobody who took down the infamous Sylvia St. James. Not even rumors of sightings.
Was she still alive?
Was she hiding?
With both of her children gone, what was left for her?
Me.
If Sylvia St. James were alive, what did that mean for Maddie?
“What’s that look on your face?”
I peered around my computer and found Mac sitting on the couch. “I told you to get the fuck out of my office.”
“You tell me a lot of things, except that you were fuckin’ adopted.”
“Get over it.” I turned my attention back to my computer and the thoughts running through my head that shouldn’t be. But they all meant one thing. Caity and Maddie would be safe.
“What are you thinking?” Mac asked, unbothered by my attitude.
“That I need to keep my family safe,” I replied absently.
“Why wouldn’t they be safe?”
I didn’t answer; my fingers flew over the keyboard as I searched for the answer I needed. The answer that would allow me to keep my family safe. The answer that would allow me to keep them.
Because if Sylvia St. James was still alive, I had no choice but to walk away.
“Why wouldn’t they be safe, Ci?” he asked again. He wouldn’t understand. He didn’t have anyone but Sal, me, and Duncan. It was the way he wanted it, and I respected it; I just vehemently disagreed with it.
I stood from my desk and grabbed my jacket. I rushed out the door, as Mac followed me to the elevator.
“Where the fuck are you going?”
“Home,” I said as I bypassed the elevator to take the stairs. This was something I had to do now, while I was in the right frame of mind. It was the hardest thing I would ever do in my life, but I loved my girls too much to put their lives at risk.
I walked away once to keep her safe. I could do it again. Because her life was more important than my happiness.
I slammed open the door that led out to the street.
Walking quickly, I made my way back to the apartment.
In the elevator, I leaned against the back wall and closed my eyes, giving myself a pep talk that would allow me to follow through with breaking the heart of the one woman I never wanted to hurt.
I reminded myself of everything I’d just read. The countless victims. The accounts of what was done to them. And for what? Money? Power?
Sal often said I was the brains in the family. The one who did the searching, the puzzle solver. Mac was the muscle. He was the one we sent to deal with the shit.
Duncan was the conscience. He was the one who kept us from becoming what Eamon was. He was always there to pull us back when we took a step too far.
Sal was the leader. The man in charge. He ruled with a heavy but fair fist. I’d never wanted to be in charge.
The idea never even occurred to me. I had more than enough information to send all three of them away for the rest of their lives and take over.
Become the big man everyone admired and idolized.
But that wasn’t who I was.
And I owed it all to Daniel and Tabitha McCarthy. My parents. The people who taught me it was okay to love. It was okay to be vulnerable and give someone your heart.
It didn’t make you weak.
But it did make you vulnerable.
When the elevator doors opened, I found Caity and Maddie once again sitting at the table. I took a deep breath and walked toward the two most important people in my life.
Caity looked up and smiled. “You’re home.”
“I am.” I smiled back, though I knew it didn’t reach my eyes. And Caity knew it too. Her shoulders slumped just the slightest bit, but she kept the smile on her face.
For Maddie.
Everything she’d ever done was for Maddie. I only hoped she’d understand that what I was about to do, I was doing for Maddie, too.
And for her.
“Hi, Dad.” Maddie’s voice was so chipper. I did my best not to let her see the war brewing inside me. I kissed her on the head.
“Hey, sweetheart. Liam is downstairs to make sure you get home okay. I need to talk to your mom.”
“Okay,” she said, drawing out the word. She looked to Caity, who smiled and nodded.
“Remember what I said, Mom.” Caity nodded again and hugged Maddie.
Once she was gone, I asked, “What did she say?”
Caity shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. What did you need to talk to me about?”
She stood up from the table, taking the dishes with her, and walked to the sink. I knew from the stiff set of her shoulders she was bracing herself.
I took a deep breath, hoping the air in my lungs would cushion the blow to my heart. “It’s time you moved back to your house.”