Chapter 5 – Lance
Chapter Five
Brotherly Love and Weapons-Grade Stupidity
Lance
Two coordinated attacks at the hospital. While Gwen was giving birth. This was personal. And I knew exactly who was behind it.
Who else but my grandfather?
I fired off a text to Silas before I could talk myself out of it.
Me: I'm doing something monumentally stupid.
Silas: Define stupid.
Me: Seeing Hector. At Rosewood.
Silas: That's not stupid. That's suicidal.
Me: Semantics. He came to the hospital. That's unacceptable.
Silas: I'll be on standby. Try not to die, kid.
I tossed my phone onto the leather passenger seat of my Aston Martin and pressed down on the accelerator. The engine snarled in response, a sound that usually settled my nerves. Not today.
Monumentally stupid didn't begin to cover it. But when Hector's enforcer had shown up at the hospital—where Gwen was giving birth, for Christ's sake—he'd crossed a line. And lines had consequences.
The drive to New Jersey took just under an hour. I knew this route by heart—had driven it hundreds of times as a kid.
It could be anyone behind the threats. I'd made plenty of enemies over the years. So had Atticus. But the coordination, the timing, the way they'd targeted us at our most vulnerable—that was family business. And Hector liked to fuck with people for sport. Always had.
The entrance to Rosewood appeared exactly as it had when I was a kid, two massive stone pillars topped with snarling gargoyles. Subtle. The gates swung open as I approached. Of course they were expecting me.
My pulse quickened as I drove up the long drive toward the house—partly from adrenaline, partly from the memories flooding back.
My hands tightened on the wheel. Breathe.
I'd spent years working to be someone different, to suppress the instincts that had been drilled into me since childhood.
Now I was deliberately walking back into the lions' den.
Since Hector found me, I stopped wasting energy on hiding.
The familiar crunch of gravel under tires sent my mind spiraling back. Summer, fifteen years ago.
Me, ten years old and fearless in that innocent way only kids can be, racing to the stables Hector, twelve and already trying to be the man of the family, pretending to be annoyed by my antics but always joining in eventually.
"Come on, slow poke!" I'd called to Hector. "I'm gonna get the black stallion again!"
"No fair, Lance! You always get Midnight!" Hector had shouted back. Always irritated with me if I managed to best him at anything.
The two of us, inseparable. Before everything changed.
I parked in front of the main house, a sprawling mansion that had been in the DuLac family for generations. Through the windshield, I could see the stables in the distance, red paint faded to a dull rust color. I wondered if Midnight was still alive. Probably not.
The moment I stepped out of the car, I felt it—the weight of surveillance.
Eyes tracking my movement from hidden cameras.
Men positioned strategically around the property, just out of sight but present all the same.
My DuLac training kicked in. That deadly instinct flowed through me as I catalogued exit routes, identifying potential threats, and mapping the fastest path to weapons if needed.
Ten years away hadn't dulled those instincts.
The realization unsettled me. The man I had tried to be wouldn’t notice these things. Lance Lakewood would see a beautiful family estate, not a tactical battlefield. But here, in this place, Lance DuLac was never far beneath the surface.
The front door opened before I could reach it.
"Little brother," Hector drawled, leaning against the doorframe with practiced nonchalance. "What a pleasant surprise."
Complex emotions rushed through me, and I ruthlessly shoved them away. I didn't bother with pleasantries. "Let's skip the bullshit, Hector."
He laughed, the sound hollow and cold, nothing like the boy I'd once known.
"Still direct as ever. Come in, then. Grandfather's not here, if that's what you're worried about."
"Of course he's not here. He's never here.
" I followed him into the foyer, the familiar scent of lemon polish and old books hitting me with unexpected force.
How many times had I run through this very hall, sliding in my socks across the floor while our mother scolded us half-heartedly?
Before everything changed. Before the "accident. "
Hector led me to our grandfather's study.
Some twisted form of power play, no doubt.
The room was exactly as I remembered it—leather-bound books lining the walls, the massive mahogany desk dominating the space, the smell of expensive scotch and cigar smoke permanently embedded in the fabric of the place.
This room had always been the heart of the DuLac empire, where decisions were made and fates sealed.
He gestured to one of the leather armchairs. "Drink?"
"No."
"Suit yourself." He poured himself two fingers of scotch, swirling it lazily. "I must say, I'm surprised you came. You've been so determined to play house with your new... family ."
The way he said 'family' made my skin crawl. Something primal and possessive stirred within me—the DuLac in me wanting to punish him for the implied threat. I forced myself to remain still, to keep my expression neutral. Lance Lakewood would handle this with words, not violence.
You still think you can hide me away? An inner voice taunted.
"You sent someone to the hospital,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “Where my friend was giving birth."
Hector took a slow sip, watching me over the rim of his glass. "Did I? Hmm. Must have been a miscommunication."
I laughed, sharp and cold. "Your men are getting sloppy, brother. Anyone could have walked into that hospital. This was personal."
Hector's finger tapped against the glass once, twice – a subtle nervous tic I'd forgotten about. His eyes flicked away for just a millisecond. Interesting.
"Cut the shit, Hector. You wanted my attention. Now you have it."
He set his glass down, all pretense of pleasantry vanishing. "What do I want ? I want my brother back. I want the old man to stop obsessing over his wayward golden boy. I want things back the way they were."
My gut tightened. "That's not happening."
"No?" He circled the desk, perching on the edge of it. Too close. "Because from where I'm standing, you don't have much choice."
I held his gaze, refusing to be the first to look away. "I'm not coming back. I made that clear ten years ago."
"And yet, here you are." Hector spread his arms. "Back at Rosewood. Just like old times."
"This isn't a social call. It's a warning. Stay away from my people."
He laughed, the sound sharp enough to cut.
" Your people? You mean your little designer girlfriend?
Or Gwen Price and her billionaire husband?
Or maybe those Pendragon security goons you call friends now?
" He leaned forward. "They're not your people, Lance.
We are. Me , Grandfather. Blood. And blood always wins. "
I felt my composure slipping, that familiar darkness rising. The part of me I'd spent years burying. The part that made grown men step back when I entered a room. In this house, surrounded by memories of who I used to be, it was harder to remember who I was trying to become.
My vision tunneled, the world narrowing to just Hector's smug face. It would be so easy to show him. To remind him why our grandfather had chosen me. My fingers twitched, muscle memory for violence I hadn't permitted myself in years.
But that wasn't who I wanted to be anymore. Not for Morgan. Not for myself.
"You know what's funny, Hector? I've spent years running from what I am. What our family made me. But you—" I stood, closing the distance between us, "—you're making me remember exactly why I was Grandfather's favorite. Why he trained me personally while you got the scraps of his attention."
Hector's jaw tightened and there was that double tap on the glass, a tell he'd never managed to control. Two years older than me, but always second in line.
"I won't tell you again," I continued, voice dropping to that quiet place that had always served me better than shouting. "Stay away from them."
"Or what?" he challenged, but I could see the flicker of unease in his eyes. "You'll kill me? Your own brother?"
"It's been a long time since I've threatened to kill you, Hector. But you touch what's mine, and you'll meet the real boogeyman. Not the stories Grandfather told you about me. I'm deadlier now than I ever was under his training."
The words tasted familiar in my mouth, like slipping into an old, comfortable coat.
This was who I'd been trained to be—the man who made threats and followed through.
The man who would do anything to protect what belonged to him.
The man who saw people as possessions to be controlled, guarded, kept.
But even as the DuLac in me snarled with satisfaction, something else—something newer, something I was still building—recoiled.
Morgan wasn't "mine." Not in the way my grandfather had taught me to think about people.
She was her own person, with her own choices, her own agency.
And how many of those choices had I already taken from her by hiding the truth?
Fucking hell .
Hector's face hardened. "You think I'm acting alone? Grandfather wants you back. The family business is expanding, and he needs his best weapon."
Coldness encased my heart. "I'm not a weapon anymore."
"Oh, but you are." Hector smiled, all teeth and no warmth. "It's what you were made for. And until you accept that and come back to the fold, everyone you care about remains fair game."
My hands itched to grab him by the throat. But violence here, in this house, would only reinforce his point. The truth was, I didn't know if I could protect them all. Not from this. Not from the sprawling, insidious reach of my family.
For the first time since this nightmare began, real fear gripped me—not for myself, but for Morgan and my friends.
This is why I had created Lance Lakewood.
I'd always controlled every situation, used my training and resources to ensure her safety.
But this? This was beyond my control. If I stayed close to her, I endangered her.
If I distanced myself, I left her vulnerable. The realization left me hollow.
Instead of attacking, I turned to leave.
Look at me. Such fucking restraint. Grandfather would be so proud. Or disappointed . Hard to tell with him.
Hector laughed, the sound echoing off the walls. "You know what's really funny? All this time you spend trying to keep her away from me. And you've forgotten the ultimate protection you can offer. It's funny, really. I wish I could be around when you figure it out."
I ignored him, calculating the best course of action.
"You can't protect them all, Lance," Hector called after me. "Not forever. Morgan especially." His smile turned predatory.
Dismissing him, I walked away.
He chuckled. "Pretty thing. Fiery. She has no idea who you really are deep down, does she? I could tell her. Even better show her. Who knows, she might prefer the brother who doesn't keep secrets from her."
I froze, every muscle tensing. The darkness surged, nearly overwhelming me. Images flashed through my mind—Morgan's face if Hector got to her, the terror, the pain. Everything I'd tried to shield her from.
When I turned back, Hector's smug expression faltered. Whatever he saw in my eyes made him take an involuntary step back.
"Touch her, or harm her in any way, I will forget whatever brotherly bond you hide behind," I said softly. "Should you hurt her, when I am done, there won't be enough left of you to bury."
I left without another word, the threat hanging in the air between us. As I walked back to my car, past the stables where we'd once been just children, I knew I was making his point for him. I hadn't escaped what I was. I'd just been pretending .
And now that pretense was putting everyone I cared about at risk.
As I drove away from Rosewood, white-knuckling the steering wheel, I couldn't shake the cold reality of what had just happened. Hector had made it crystal clear—he would hunt down everyone I cared about unless I came crawling back to the family. Back to being the weapon our grandfather had crafted.
The brother I once knew was gone, replaced by our grandfather's perfect soldier. Just as I had nearly become.
Everything I'd done to protect Morgan had failed. Keeping my distance, controlling every variable, trying to shield her from my family—none of it worked.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, fear and determination warring within me.
I'd spent my whole life believing I could control everything, protect everyone I cared about through sheer force of will and training.
But Hector was right about one thing—I couldn't be everywhere at once.
I couldn't anticipate every threat, account for every variable.
Someone was coming for my family.
For Morgan.
If I didn’t embrace both of my halves. Someone was going to die.