Chapter 24 – Lance #2
Atticus pressed his lips together. “Not all of us can go, Morgan,” he said gently.
“You can stay if you want, Atticus. But Charles took something that belongs to me. And I'm going to make him regret it."
Atticus studied me for a long moment. Then, to my surprise, he nodded. "Okay."
"Okay?" Was it that simple?
"You're right. We’ve got variations of contingencies. But we’re not flying off half-cocked. Lance left some instructions. I just hope he’s in a position to do his part when we get there.”
“Asshole shouldn’t have gone alone,” groused Hector.
Gwen tried to offer some hope. “The old Lance wouldn’t have told us shit. So I’ll take this progress.”
"Jet is already fueling," Gavin said.
"Pierce, coordinate with your contacts in France. Gwen, I need everything you have on that compound, blueprints, guard schedules, security systems. If we're doing this, we're doing it right."
"What about me?" I asked.
Atticus paused in the doorway, his expression serious. "Morgan, you follow orders. No heroics, no improvisation. Lance would never forgive me if something happened to you."
The knot in my belly loosened. “Deal.”
As everyone scattered to prepare, I caught Silas watching me from his position by the windows. He’d been silent throughout the entire exchange, but his eyes held understanding.
“You know what you’re walking into,” he said quietly.
It wasn’t a question.
“I know,” I said. “And I’m going anyway.”
“Good.” His smile was sharp as broken glass. “Because that old bastard needs to learn what happens when you fuck with this family.”
I thought about Lance, tied up somewhere on that yacht, probably blaming himself for everything. Probably thinking he needed to handle this alone.
Wrong, husband. We’re not in this alone.
Hector stepped forward. “If we’re doing this, we need to move fast.”
Hold on, Lance. I’m coming.
“Silas,” I said, turning to face the man who’d been Lance’s only link to his past life. “I need a refresher on how to kill someone. Efficiently.”
The smile that spread across his face was sharp enough to cut glass. “With pleasure, Mrs. Lakewood.”
Lance
I woke up to the sound of rotors. But stationary.
My head felt like someone had used it for batting practice, and my mouth tasted like I'd been gargling with battery acid. The tranquilizer Amber had used was wearing off, leaving me groggy but functional.
Functional enough to be thoroughly pissed off.
I was zip-tied to a chair in what looked like a bedroom. Mahogany paneling, crystal decanters, the kind of understated luxury that screamed old money. Through the window to my left, I could see the ocean and a helipad.
"Awake, I see."
The voice made my blood turn to ice. I knew that voice. Had heard it in my nightmares for years.
My grandfather stepped into view, looking exactly like the monster from my childhood memories. Silver hair perfectly styled, expensive suit tailored to perfection, eyes like chips of blue ice. He'd aged, but the aura of controlled menace remained unchanged.
"Grandfather." I kept my voice level, casual. Like being kidnapped by family was just another Tuesday. "A little dramatic, aren’t you?”
His smile was thin as a blade. "Still the smart mouth. I see some things never change."
Some things. Others change completely.
I tested the zip ties binding my wrists.
"Where's Amber?" I asked, scanning the room for threats.
"Your aunt is handling other arrangements." My grandfather moved to the bar, pouring himself two fingers of what looked like very expensive scotch. "Would you care for a drink? I imagine you have questions."
"How long have you been planning this?"
My grandfather smiled, and his expression was genuinely pleased. Like I was finally asking the right questions.
"Since the moment you walked away," he said.
"Did you really think I'd let you go so easily? You're my legacy, Lance. My greatest creation. You almost had me with that explosion. But that little business with the mugger. I know your handiwork. And we can’t prove it, but my people have a possible sighting of you and your wife on a motor cycle. But really what did you in was CCTV cameras at Federal Bank around Pendragon. Your profile was caught in the back of a car going into the Pendragon office underground executive lot. You should have known better. I’m disappointed. "
"I made my choice ten years ago," I said. "I'm not coming back."
"Ah, but you already have." Charles gestured around the cabin with his glass. "You're here, aren't you? Just like I knew you would be."
"You could have asked nicely."
My grandfather laughed, the sound genuinely amused. "Would that have worked?"
“I would have told you to go fuck yourself. So what happens now?" I asked. “Lock me in the basement until I agree to play heir again?"
"Nothing so crude." My grandfather settled into the chair across from me, studying my face like he was memorizing it. "I simply want to remind you who you are. Who you've always been."
"I'm Lance Lakewood," I said firmly. "Husband to Morgan. Brother to the people who chose to be my family."
"No." My grandfather leaned forward, his eyes burning with that familiar intensity. "You're Lance DuLac. My grandson. My heir. The French Devil."
The name hit like a physical blow. I hadn't heard it in years, had hoped I'd never hear it again.
"The French Devil is dead," I said quietly.
"Is he?" My grandfather smiled. "Then how do you explain what you planned for Samuel? What did you plan to do to that man for daring to touch what's yours? What did you do to Morgan’s father?"
How does he know about that?
"The beast is still there, just barely leashed. All it needs is the right... motivation."
Something cold slithered down my spine. "What kind of motivation?"
My grandfather's smile widened. "The kind that involves your lovely wife and a very sharp knife."
“Touch her, and I'll rip your throat out with my bare hands.”
"There he is," he said softly. "There's my boy. The man who would burn the world down for the woman he loves."
You don't know shit about love.
"Morgan has nothing to do with this," I said through clenched teeth.
"Doesn't she?" My grandfather returned to his chair, settling back with the confidence of a man holding all the cards. "She's the reason you're here, after all. The reason you'll do exactly what I ask."
But even as I thought it, I knew he was right. If he threatened Morgan, really threatened her, there wasn't anything I wouldn't do to keep her safe.
Including becoming the monster he'd created.
"What do you want?" I asked again.
"I want my grandson back," my grandfather said. "I want the French Devil to take his rightful place at my side. And I want the files. Specifically, where your mother put my money."
"And in exchange?"
"Your wife lives. Your chosen family remains safe. Simple."
But I could see the trap closing around me. The careful orchestration of everything that had led to this moment. Amber's months-long infiltration. The attack at the co-op. The systematic targeting of everyone I cared about.
My grandfather stood, moving toward the cabin door. "I'll give you time to think about it. But not too much time. After all, she’ll be here soon.”
What?
"It seems your friends will be joining us shortly. Whether she arrives breathing or not depends entirely on your cooperation."
The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving me alone with the sound of waves and the taste of my own rage.
I tested the zip ties again, harder this time, feeling the plastic bite into my wrists. Blood welled, making the restraints slick, but they held.
I just prayed Atticus followed the instructions I left.