16. Cast
16
CAST
T he whiskey burns my throat as I lean back on the leather couch, watching Damien pace like a caged animal. He’s been ranting about Willow and Vincent for twenty minutes. At breakfast, Willow dropped a bomb—she misses Vincent and wants us to fix whatever is keeping him away.
I snorted and said no. Damien said yes. Now we’re both on the hook for finding Vincent.
“You’re wearing a path in my rug,” I remark, setting my glass down.
Damien stops mid-stride, turning to me. “Are you even listening? Vincent was seen at Rosemary’s. He’s hiding out.”
“I heard you the first time.” I gesture to the armchair. “Sit down before you give yourself a stroke.”
He drops into the chair, fingers drumming against the armrest. “How many chances are you going to give him? At what point do we accept that Vincent can’t be trusted? How do we tell Willow he’s not the same man she loves? ”
Willow has been out of the hospital for two months, and Vincent has been a ghost since I punched him in the cafeteria. She misses him, but he almost ruined us. Almost took her away because he’s consumed by one thing—Willow.
“You think it’s that simple?” I ask.
“I think it’s simpler than waiting for the knife he’ll put in our backs.” Damien leans forward. “Vincent isn’t family. Family wouldn’t disappear. Family wouldn’t steal the girl you love.”
I pick up my glass, swirling the whiskey. “And yet he was there when you couldn’t afford to eat. When Rosemary died. He took a bullet for Willow. He brought her into our lives.”
“Past loyalty doesn’t excuse present betrayal.”
“No,” I say quietly. “It doesn’t.”
Damien’s expression softens slightly. “I know you see something in him worth saving. You always have. But this time is different. He bought a gun two days ago. When have you ever known Vincent to carry a weapon?”
I lean forward. “And what would you have me do? Order a hit on a man we both call brother?”
“If necessary.”
“That’s cold. Even for you.”
Damien stands. “I’ve already made arrangements.”
My blood runs cold. “What arrangements?”
"Insurance. In case your sentimentality gets the better of your judgment. Marcos is watching him. One wrong move, and Vincent disappears. Permanently."
I push off the couch. "You went behind my back?"
"I protected our interests, like I always do."
We walk in silence, the soft click of our shoes against marble the only sound. When we round the corner to my office, something feels off. The door is slightly ajar. My office is never left open.
I extend an arm, stopping Damien. "Wait."
His posture shifts instantly, body rigid. My hand moves to my gun, slipping it from its holster.
I push the door open slowly, gun raised.
Valentina sits in my chair, her white dress and hands covered in blood. It’s splattered across her face, matted in her hair. Her eyes are vacant.
“Jesus Christ,” Damien breathes.
I holster my weapon and cross the room. “Val? Look at me. Are you hurt?”
Her gaze slowly shifts to my face, confusion and fear swimming in her eyes.
"I can't..." she whispers. "I can't remember."
I kneel in front of her, taking her ice-cold hands in mine. “Can’t remember what? Whose blood is this?”
A tear carves a path through the crimson streaks on her cheek.
“Mom’s,” she whispers. “I think it’s my mom’s.”
My stomach drops.
Damien is already texting, mobilizing our people to Elena’s last known location .
“We’re going to figure this out,” I promise. But I’ve seen blackouts before. Whatever her brain is protecting her from should never be uncovered.
I turn to my brother. “Get Dr. Reeves here. Lock down the estate.”
Damien nods grimly. “So we’re going to help the girl that tried to kill Willow.”
“She’s my sister. We have to help her.”
Damien’s jaw tightens. “I cannot trust anyone, can I? First Vincent and now you’re asking me to help your fucking sister.”
“I’m not asking. I am telling you to go help my sister.” I narrow my eyes. “You know you can trust me. You know you can trust Vincent—to a point. You know we would lay down our lives for each other. But none of that matters if you are in love with Willow Carter. I would shoot you dead for her, hermano. I would kill myself for her. If it meant her happiness, I would shatter the world into a million pieces.”
Damien doesn’t answer.
I turn back to Valentina. She is staring at her bloodied hands as if they belong to someone else.
“I can feel her,” she whispers. “I can feel Mom in my head, screaming. But I can’t remember why.”
I take off my jacket and wrap it around her shoulders. “We’re going to find out.”
“Damien, take her to the safe house.”
She hesitates but lets him guide her away .
I pull out my phone when I hear footsteps approaching. My hand moves instinctively to my gun.
Vincent appears in the doorway. His suit is wrinkled, dark circles under his eyes. But there’s no blood on him. No signs of a struggle.
Our eyes meet. Silence stretches between us.
"I need to talk to you," Vincent says. "And I need to know you won’t try to kill me."
“Now isn’t a good time.”
“It has to be now.” His gaze flicks to the bloodstained chair, his face paling. “What the fuck happened here?”
“You came here with something to say. Say it.”
Vincent hesitates, then exhales. “I need your help.”
I scoff. “Now that’s a first.”
“I need your help killing my father.”
I tilt my head, studying him. “You’re serious.”
“Dead serious.”
I step toward him. “And why the fuck would I help you with that?”
“Because he threatened to hurt Willow if I don’t marry some socialite to keep up appearances.”
I snarl. “If he’ll hurt Willow, then marry whoever he wants. Think about someone other than yourself.”
Vincent exhales. “I can’t live without her.”
A slow, dangerous smile tugs at my lips .
“Alright,” I murmur. “I’ll help you kill him.”
“But remember this, Beaumont.” I lean in, my voice a low rasp. “Your ass is mine now. I am the new King.”
Vincent and I have just reached the door when it bursts open, nearly hitting us both. Willow stands there, her normally perfect appearance disheveled—hair windblown, eyes wide with an emotion I can't immediately place. Fear? Confusion?
"Cast, who are the Raiders because they just—" She stops mid-sentence as her eyes land on Vincent. The color drains from her face.
Before I can react, she darts past me and throws herself into Vincent's arms. He catches her automatically, his surprised expression quickly turning to concern as she clings to him.
"Willow?" Vincent's voice is gentle as he holds her, one hand moving to stroke her hair soothingly. “What happened?”
She ignores him. “Where have you been? I’ve missed you.”
Vincent exhales shakily, holding onto her like she’s the only thing keeping him standing. Like, for the first time in his life, he actually feels something real.
“I thought—” Her voice breaks, muffled against his shoulder. “I thought you weren’t coming back.”
He presses his lips to her hair, his grip tightening. “I’m here, princess. I’m here.”
I force myself to exhale, shaking off the bitter taste in my mouth. I should be used to this by now. Used to the way she runs to him first, used to the way he holds her like she belongs to him.
But I’m not .
And right now, I don’t have the patience for this shit.
I step forward, crossing my arms. “What the fuck happened, Willow?”
She pulls back from Vincent just enough to look at me, her eyes still wide, still filled with something too close to fear. Her breath is uneven, her hands still gripping his shirt like a lifeline.
“The Raiders,” she says, her voice breathless. “They shot at Jasmine.”
Vincent’s entire body goes rigid. My own pulse spikes, my hands clenching at my sides as the weight of her words sinks in.
“The Raiders?” I repeat, my voice dangerously low.
They aren’t just some street gang looking to make a name for themselves. The Raiders are a different breed of chaos—ruthless, unpredictable, and feared even by men who have seen death up close. They don’t play by any rules, don’t care about survival.
“Are you sure?” I press, my voice sharp.
Willow nods, rubbing her cheek against Vincent’s chest like she’s trying to ground herself. His arms tighten around her instinctively, his expression dark, possessive.
“I’ll have some guys look into it,” I say, already moving. I stride toward my desk, grabbing my phone, my mind already running through possibilities. This isn’t random. The Raiders don’t move without a reason.
I type out a quick message to Damien, assigning him the task. He grew up in Raider territory—he knows their ways, their weak points, the kind of grudges they hold. If anyone can dig into why the hell they’re coming after Jasmine, it’s him.
She nods, pulls back from Vincent and smacks him in the chest. “You disappeared for two months!”
Vincent chuckles, the look in his eyes fond. “And you have a new hairstyle and color. I like the red, Princess.”
She blushes and looks at me, before slowly walking over to me with a naughty smile. “What do you think of my new hair Juan?”
Her voice is low, so I only hear her use my government name and there’s a reason she’s the only one I haven't killed for using it.
I whisper, moving closer to her ear. “I would love to see your hair wrapped around my fist while you suck my dick.”
“Mmm,” she hums. “Your wish is my command.”
Vincent chuckles. “Should I give you some privacy?”
My eyes don’t leave hers. “Yeah.”
Vincent moves towards the door, but I stop him. “You can stay here until we figure it out, but just so you know, Damien may kill you on sight.”
“Thanks for the heads up,” he nods.
“And no disappearing again!” Willow growls.
“You got it,Princess.”