Minds of Fate (Heirs of Cape Canyon #2)

Chapter 1

“Smile, Dempsey.”

My mother’s words were accompanied with a subtle, sharp jab to my ribs.

I masked the pain through gritted teeth, forcing a broader smile across my face and edging away from her so Sinclair and Presley were between me and the woman who gave birth to me.

Rousing music blared, and a blinding sea of cameras flashed. Byron and my mother clasped hands as they waved to the gathered crowd surrounding the stage. They’d gotten the turnout they wanted for this political rally—apparently Byron running for Governor was well supported in Altadena.

Dacre shifted closer on my right, his hand brushing my lower back and causing a shiver to shoot down my spine. He leaned in, pointing at something to the left as though whispering to me about whatever he could see.

Nothing to see here but a stepbrother and stepsister swapping stories.

They had no idea that he’d had his head between my legs behind the step machine in the Aston’s home gym this morning.

“That’s it, Bambi. Be a good girl. Do as your mom says now, and you’ll be rewarded later.” His grin widened at the crowd, the double meaning to his words making my body heat.

Presley shifted at my other side. “Rewarded by all three of us.”

I had to resist the urge to bite my lip in front of all these cameras, imagining the pleasure I’d be receiving at the hands of my stepbrothers when the cheers finally faded.

My gaze trailed over the energetic crowd, taking it all in. They cheered for Byron, some waving flags, others with handmade posters.

From the side of the stage, Byron’s personal publicist, Kesia, and her assistant, Gia, were watching our every move. Probably because Byron would demand Kesia give us all feedback on how we could better behave to support his political dreams the moment the rally ended.

Kesia and Gia had both become part of the furniture in the Aston household these past months. Byron had them on near-constant call during his campaign for governorship.

Gia watched Presley with a level of interest that had irritation tightening in my chest.

He’s mine, I wanted to scream at her, while knowing I never could. Least of all here.

This was our third major showing as a family since Byron had declared himself in the race for the next Governor of California.

All eyes were on us now. Critical eyes. Ones looking for any reason to tear Byron down.

The increased scrutiny had the potential to ruin all of us if our secret was discovered, but the pull I felt towards Dacre, Sinclair, and Presley was something I could no longer control.

They were ingrained in me, and I was never going to give them up.

As much as I’d come to loathe my stepfather for the ways he’d damaged his sons in the years before I’d known them—and the way he still treated them—I had no interest in tanking this latest ridiculous career venture before it had properly begun.

With Byron and my mother completely wrapped up in Byron’s campaign with his team, it meant Dacre, Presley, Sinclair, and I were afforded more freedom to be together at home without their scrutiny.

Today, though, we were the picture-perfect family.

My mother and I in our matching demure cream Tory Burch dresses, the boys in their suits and freshly pressed shirts.

Byron looked the same as he always did — the poised and dominant billionaire in his tailored suit and six-thousand-dollar leather shoes.

Nothing about him was “of the people”, but that wouldn’t stop him.

Byron Aston was a powerhouse of wealth, control, and charm, and I pitied his opponent in this race.

The only thing that could kill Byron’s chances of dominating this political race would be a scandal beyond all scandals. Kind of like his three sons sharing their stepsister.

Shaking off the thought, my eyes scanned the crowd, a fake smile frozen to my face so firmly it was making my cheeks ache. It didn’t matter how many of these events we did, I hated each one more than the last.

I hated being the center of attention.

I hated having to dress up in these prissy ‘young Stepford wife’ outfits and act like the perfect daughter.

And I really hated having to be this close to Sin, Pres, and Dacre and not be able to touch them like I wanted to.

The crowd was a moving beast in front of us, all grinning and waving at Byron like he was going to change their lives.

Then my gaze snagged on a face that made my stomach drop like an elevator hitting the ground floor of a high-rise.

Tall and imposing.

Muscular build like a warning.

Dark brown eyes that promised the destruction of anything that got in his way.

My heart hammered against my sternum, stress vibrating through my body.

Sensing the change in me, Presley looked my way, his brow creasing. Then he followed my gaze.

A scowl twisted on his classically handsome face. “What the hell is he doing here?”

Dacre scanned the crowd this time. “Who?”

Sinclair shifted subtly closer in a protective move, and I swallowed hard.

“My husband.”

Boston Ivers.

It had been four months since he’d turned up at our door claiming to own me. Sinclair, Presley, and Dacre had managed to run him off with threats of pain, the authorities, or the endless reach of their wealth if he didn’t stay the hell away from me.

Yet in the months since, I’d seen him. Always against my will.

I refused to tell Pres, Dacre, or Sin. Too afraid that they’d react badly and do something to get themselves hurt or killed.

Like the time I’d been shopping with Arena at the mall and returned to my car to find Boston waiting for me, leaning against his own vehicle, watching me.

Or the time my mother had forced me to the country club for some inane function and Boston had been there in the crowd, watching me.

Always watching me.

He never tried to approach me, or even speak to me. I suspected that he was stalking me in an attempt to send a message in the most sinister of ways—that regardless of my new wealthy, protected family, he could get to me if he wanted to.

Just like my father.

I’d never be able to prove that my father was the one who had sent Boston here, or that they were now working together to drag me back to hell in Seattle; but there was no question in my mind that my father was still plotting ways to ruin me.

“We need to do something about this asshole. I want him gone,” Pres snapped, forcing his fake smile to stay put for the sake of all the cameras trained on us.

I shifted on my feet, forcing my gaze away from Boston and his silent attempt to torture me. “I want him gone too. But unless you plan on committing murder, we have limited options.”

“We always have options,” came Sinclair’s deep voice.

I glanced his way. “Like what?”

“Pay him off,” Dacre cut in.

I shook my head. “He has money. A ton of it. He doesn’t need yours.”

Sinclair’s hard, determined gaze locked on mine and he went to respond, but Byron leaned over and cut him off, his own smile never slipping. It appeared genuine, but I knew better.

“Will you four shut up and focus on the task at hand?”

My eyes widened at his tone. There was no way he’d heard what we’d been talking about, but Byron had never spoken to me like that. His sons, sure. But never me.

Maybe the doting stepfather act was finally unravelling, and the mask was coming off now that his political aspirations were in play.

“Don’t worry, Sass.” Pres’s hand landed on my lower back in a reassuring touch. “Your husband won’t get anywhere near you as long as we’re breathing.”