Chapter 4 – Lance
Four
Brother Wounds
Lance
My damn ribs were killing me. A price paid for everything I’d gotten up to last night.
I swallowed a groan as the memory of Morgan surged through me, her writhing in pleasure, the sound of her cries still echoing like a fucking brand in my head.
That vision had chased me through every dream, and now it stalked me into daylight, too.
I stared at the monitor, greedy for a glimpse of her. I ignored Hector, who sat near the window, silent and unreadable, like a damn statue carved out of ice.
"You know," he said quietly, "I used to wonder why you never tried to take me with you."
I finally looked away from the monitor. "What?"
"When you left. When you walked away from the family." His jaw was tight, but there was something vulnerable in his eyes I'd never seen before. "You just... disappeared. Never looked back. Never tried to convince me to come with you."
The accusation hit me like a physical blow. "You think I didn't want to?"
"Did you?"
I stared at him, this man who'd found me by accident nine years after I disappeared, who'd lived in my shadow our entire childhood. "Hector, you were grandfather's perfect assassin. You think I was going to waltz up to you and say 'hey, want to betray the family and run away with me'?"
"Perfect assassin." Hector's voice was bitter. "Is that what you thought I was? His golden boy?"
There it was. The resentment I'd heard in his voice for years, finally laid bare.
"You think I was his favorite?"
"I know you were. Don't insult my intelligence by pretending otherwise." Hector's laugh was bitter. "Lance the prodigy. Lance the perfect heir. Lance who could do no wrong in grandfather's eyes."
"Lance who was beaten bloody every time I showed mercy. Lance who was punished for every sign of weakness." I met his eyes. "Is that what favoritism looked like to you?"
Something shifted in Hector's expression. "I never saw the punishments."
"He made sure you didn't. Made sure you only saw the praise, the opportunities, the training he gave me." I ran a hand through my hair. "You were two years older, Hector. You should have been his heir. But he chose me, and that destroyed us both."
"I was jealous," he admitted quietly. "Furious that you got everything handed to you while I had to fight for scraps of his attention."
"You were jealous of being his favorite target? Of the way he molded me into exactly what he wanted, while you got to be yourself?"
"I was jealous that he saw potential in you. That he believed you were worth the investment." Hector's voice cracked slightly. "Do you know what it's like to be passed over by your own grandfather? To watch him pour everything into your younger brother while you're treated like you're invisible?"
The pain in his voice was raw, real. And suddenly I understood why our relationship had been so poisoned from the start.
"I didn't want his attention, Hector. I would have given anything to be invisible."
"And I would have given anything to matter to him the way you did."
We stared at each other across a gulf of misunderstanding that had shaped both our lives.
"When I left," I said finally, "you were twenty. Already his perfect weapon. Already everything he wanted you to be. Why would I think you'd want to give that up?"
"Because I was your brother," Hector said, his voice barely above a whisper. "And despite everything, the jealousy, the competition, the way he pit us against each other. I never stopped hoping you'd choose me over him."
The truth settled in my chest like lead.
I sighed and glanced back at the monitor.
My thoughts felt chaotic, and a glimpse of her would center me.
Morgan was grieving a death that should have been hers.
She was alive because I'd grabbed her keys instead of mine that morning.
Random chance, nothing more. If I'd taken the Porsche or the McLaren or any of the other cars in our garage, she'd be dead, and I'd be planning her funeral instead of watching her grieve mine.
She was alive, and I was supposed to be grateful.
Instead, I felt like I was drowning in guilt. Every tear on that surveillance monitor was because of me. Because I'd married her, loved her, made her a target.
Grandfather had been right about one thing. loving Morgan had changed me. Made me softer, more human, less of the weapon he'd crafted.
But he'd been wrong about everything else. Killing her wouldn't bring back the ruthless heir he wanted. It would create something much worse.
A monster with nothing left to lose.
"I thought about you every single day," I said, the words scraping out of me like broken glass.
I looked at him and gave him my truth. "Every fucking day for ten years.
Do you know what that was like? Knowing my big brother was trapped in that house, being molded into grandfather's perfect assassin? "
Hector's eyes widened slightly. "Then why didn't you come back for me?"
"Because I was eighteen and terrified and convinced that if I showed my face anywhere near you, grandfather would kill us both." I gestured at the monitor. "And because by the time I was strong enough to try, you were already his perfect weapon. I thought you'd chosen him over me."
"When I found you years later, it was by accident. I wasn't looking for you. I was on a completely different job. And when I saw you..." His voice trailed off. "I realized I had a choice to make."
"What kind of choice?"
"Turn you in and prove my loyalty to grandfather once and for all. Or find a way to protect you without him knowing." Hector's hands clenched into fists. "I chose you. I've been choosing you ever since."
I stared at him, my world tilting. "All this time, you've been..."
"Feeding him false information when I could. Making sure he never got too close to finding you." Hector's laugh was bitter. "Do you think it was an accident that every lead went cold? That every promising trail dried up?"
"Fuck." I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to process this. "All this time, I thought..."
"That I was his loyal soldier. That I'd chosen him over you." Hector stood, pacing to the window. "I've been walking a tightrope, Lance. Trying to keep you alive while keeping myself from being discovered. It's been hell."
The weight of what he was saying settled over me. All those close calls, all those times I'd managed to stay one step ahead. Hector had been the reason I'd survived them.
"When did you start suspecting about our mother?" I asked.
"About three years ago. Started noticing inconsistencies in the story.
Small things at first." He turned back to me.
"But I couldn't investigate properly without arousing suspicion.
And I couldn't come to you because you had me thinking you were dead for a long time, and when I found you, you saw me as the enemy. "
"To be fair, I had no reason to trust you. But about Mom, I would have listened."
"Would you? Really?" Hector's smile was sad. "I was grandfather's perfect soldier, remember? Why would you believe anything I said?"
He was right. If Hector had approached me three years ago claiming to have evidence about our mother's murder, I would have assumed it was a trap to drag me back. I would have killed him…or died trying.
"So you waited," I said.
"I waited. And I planned. And I worked on building a case so airtight that even you couldn't deny it.
" He pulled out a tablet, swiping through files.
"Financial records going back fifteen years.
Communication logs. Witness statements from Marseille.
Payment transfers to Pernaut and the men who killed her. "
I took the tablet and scrolled through the evidence. It was comprehensive, damning. The kind of case that could bring down an empire.
"This must have taken years to compile."
"Three years of careful investigation. Three years of pretending to be his loyal grandson while documenting his crimes." Hector's voice was flat. "Four years of watching him groom me to be his replacement heir, all while planning his destruction."
"And now?"
"Now we take him down. Together." He met my eyes. "The way we should have done ten years ago, if I'd been brave enough to follow you."
I looked back at the surveillance monitor. Morgan was reading my journal again, tears streaming down her face.
"She's going to waste away while we're planning grandfather's downfall," I said.
"She's stronger than you think."
" I need to let her know she's not alone."
"If he finds out you're alive—"
"He won't. I'll be careful."
Hector stepped in front of me, blocking my path to the door. "You'll be dead. And so will she."
"Then what do you suggest? That I fucking watch her fade away?"
"I suggest you trust me. " His voice was steady, certain. "Let me get to Marseille, activate our mother's old contacts, set the wheels in motion."
"So I’m supposed to leave her in the meantime?"
"No. We'll have Silas also keep an eye on her. He’s obviously really good at being a ghost. And he’ll be back up to the Pendragon team. He can make sure she's safe."
I wanted to argue. Every instinct I had screamed at me to go to Morgan, to hold her, to make this right. But Hector was offering me a real chance to destroy grandfather and keep Morgan safe.
A chance to come back from the dead permanently.
“Fine.”
I turned back to the monitor. Morgan had finally gone to bed. Watching my wife sleep fitfully in a bed that wasn't ours, in a life that had been torn apart by my family's sins.
"For what it's worth," I said quietly, "I'm sorry I didn't trust you sooner."
"For what it's worth," Hector replied, "I understand why you couldn't. I gave you every reason to see me as the enemy."
"And our mother would have been proud of what you're doing now."
"I hope so. Because everything I've done for the last few years has been for her. And for you." Hector's hand landed on my shoulder; the first time he'd touched me with anything other than violence or perfunctory care in over a decade. "And now we're going to make him pay for what he took from us."
I nodded, not trusting my voice. On the screen, Morgan stirred in her sleep, reaching for something that wasn't there.
I could wait. I could stay dead for a little while longer if it meant giving her a real future instead of a life spent looking over her shoulder.
But every day would be torture.
"I'll start making calls to Marseille," Hector said, moving toward his laptop. "The sooner we move, the sooner you can go home."
Home.
To Morgan. To the life we'd built together before grandfather's poison had infected everything.
It felt impossible, but for the first time since the explosion, it also felt possible.
I just had to trust the brother I'd spent ten years running from.
The brother who'd saved my life.