Chapter 25
Arena slid in the seat next to me in the one class we had together today.
“Hey girl, I’m surprised to see you here.”
I frowned in her direction. “What do you mean? I’m here every week.”
“After what happened this morning with Dacre, I thought you’d be at home.”
I stilled. “What do you mean?”
Her eyes widened. “Holy shit, you didn’t hear? Dacre was jumped in the parking lot this morning. From what I hear, they did some damage. Which is hard to believe, because that dude is built.”
I didn’t wait to let her finish talking. I was up and out of my seat, making it to the aisle of the lecture hall and bolting up the stairs. I jogged the entire way to my Bentley in the secured lot, tossing my book bag on the passenger seat and flooring it out of the lot.
Why the hell hadn’t any of them called me? Sent me a text? Or a damn Snap, for all I cared.
I stormed into the house, slamming the door behind me.
“Someone better tell me what the fuck is going on!” I shouted from the entrance hall.
It had ceilings higher than the heavens so my voice echoed through the house.
A few moments later, Presley appeared from the hallway to the left. His expression was drawn, which was completely at odds with his usual charming energy.
“He’s in here, Sass.”
He motioned down the hallway in the direction of the gym, following behind me.
A hiss of pain greeted me as I stepped into the room. Dacre was seated on one of the weight benches. He was shirtless, his ribs and torso covered in black and purple bruises.
Sinclair had pulled another bench up close, an extensive first aid kit open beside him. He was stitching a cut above Dacre’s right eyebrow, a short cut on his left cheek was already taped, and his left eye was swollen shut.
I sucked in a startled breath at the sight of him. Arena was right, whoever had jumped him had really done some damage.
“You’ve got more money than sense, you think you might be able to pay a professional to do that instead?” The bite to my tone covered up the panic rolling through me at the sight of Dacre beaten and bloodied.
“We’ve been stitching each other up since we were kids. I know what I’m doing,” Sinclair said flatly, his attention focused on his task.
Dacre glanced at me with his good eye. “I’m okay, Bambi.”
I bit my lip. “Not from where I’m standing. What the hell happened?”
“He got jumped on his way to the art studio,” Presley said from where he sat on the edge of the raised boxing ring, his arms folded over his chest. “Beat the living shit out of him and left him there.”
My hands shook and I clenched them into fists.
“There were two, maybe three of them. They surprised me, otherwise I might have been able to hold my own.”
I softened. He was a boxer. They’d clearly landed a couple of blows to his ego as well as his body when they got the jump on him.
“Did you manage to get the security footage from the lot?” Presley asked Sinclair.
He nodded once. “I’ve got a couple of my team working on it. It should be in my email any minute.”
It was helpful having a tech CEO in the family.
I stared at Dacre, wanting to reach for him, but knowing it would likely only hurt him. “Why would someone do this?”
He shrugged, then winced at the pain it caused. “I don’t fucking know. Money means enemies. It could have been any one of the jealous assholes we’re forced to hang out with.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, following along with every movement Sinclair made while stitching. Clocking every wince Dacre made when the needle pierced too deep or the stitch pulled too tight.
Fuck. It hurt me to see him hurt.
Sinclair finished the stitches, pulling back to check his work, then started packing up the supplies. His phone pinged with an email, and he pulled it from his pocket, tossing it to Presley.
“Check it. It’ll be the footage.”
I sidled over, sitting next to him as he pulled up the security video.
The camera was across the lot, but you could see Dacre getting something from the trunk of his car just as three guys approached him from behind. One gripped his shirt and yanked him out of the trunk. They tossed him to the ground out of shot behind some cars and the three of them converge on him, boots and fists swinging.
“Oh my god.” My body shook at the violence of it all.
Presley went to comfort me, but I got to my feet. Striding for Dacre and taking a seat beside him. I slipped my hand in his, careful not to hurt him.
“I’m okay, I mean it. I’ve copped worse in the ring.”
I nodded silently, knowing full well that wasn’t true. There was a big difference between being hit by one person in a controlled setting for training and being wailed on by three when you’re on the ground.
Dacre squeezed my hand. “I need a shower and a long ass nap.”
I helped him to his feet, and he kissed my forehead before leaving.
“I want to know who the fuck did this,” Presley said with more bite than I’d ever heard from him.
Sinclair’s gaze landed on his brother. “I’m working on it.”
I left them in the gym, determined to be there for Dacre when he was done in the shower, but one of the maids stopped me as soon as I stepped into the hall.
“Another letter for you, Miss Dempsey.”
She thrust it in my hand, hurrying off in the direction of the kitchen.
I glanced at the closed door to the gym behind me, praying Presley and Sinclair hadn’t heard her. Swallowing against the bile rising in my throat, I tore open the envelope, pulling the card out.
Hope your brother is still alive.
I sucked in a sharp breath, my hands shaking with a mix of rage and fear.
My father was escalating, and there was a chance he knew about me and my stepbrothers. Or at the very least, me and Dacre. The video he’d sent me was questionable, but not damning.
But if my father knew the truth and had people tailing me, it meant we were all in trouble now.