Chapter Thirty-Two
TOREN
I pause on the stairs and notice it the way I notice most things these days…sideways, without meaning to, while I'm focused on something else entirely.
Pope hands Harper a coffee without being asked.
Not the communal pot from the counter. He made it separately, took the time to do it the way she has it, too much sugar and barely any actual coffee, the kind of drink that requires a specific patience that Pope does not display for anyone else in this house.
Harper takes it without looking at him.
He doesn't look at her either.
It is the most careful non-interaction I have ever watched two people execute, so deliberate and so practiced and so thoroughly unconvincing to anyone paying attention that I have to look away before one of them catches me watching.
I file it under things I'm not asking about right now.
Harper has her own story. I learned that recently. Pope clearly has a chapter of it. I trust her to tell me when she's ready, the way she has always done things worth doing, bluntly and without apology.
I leave everyone downstairs in the living room—voices mixing together as they plan tonight's briefing.
Carnage called them all over an hour ago. Ezekiel, Pope, Vivian, Halo, Harper, and at least a dozen others I don't recognize. Denver Kings members. Filthy Few. All of them coordinating how to present Masen to the cartel soldiers, how to maintain control, how to show strength.
They think tonight is about stabilizing the organization.
I have to stand up there in front of two hundred men and act like me and my brother are a united front. The thought alone churns my stomach, Masen is my brother by blood. Nothing more.
I told them I needed to lie down.
That the baby was making me exhausted.
The others barely looked up when I excused myself but Carnage, he tried to follow and make sure I was okay. I waved him off and assured him I just needed to lay down and nothing was wrong. I know he knows I’m lying but I’m grateful he didn’t call me on it.
Now I'm alone in the room I claimed as mine when we first came back to town. I’m so detached from myself that I can’t even focus on a single thing, I can’t formulate a coherent thought.
I’m numb to everything right now. There are so many thoughts spiraling through my head and I can’t focus on a single one.
I never pictured my life turning out this way, this was not the plan. I had dreams and wants and now they seem so redundant and pathetic.
Masen is locked in the room at the end of the hall. Two guards stationed outside his door.
My phone sits on the nightstand, dark and silent.
I stare at the ceiling, my hand on my stomach, trying not to think about tonight.
About walking into that mansion with two hundred cartel soldiers.
About standing beside my brother and pretending everything is okay.
A soft knock on my door makes me jump.
“Tor?” It's Masen's voice, low and urgent.
I sit up, confused. “How did you—”
The door opens slowly, and Masen slips inside, closing it quietly behind him.
He's moving carefully, favoring his side where he's still bruised from the interrogation.
“What the fuck?” I hiss, climbing off the bed. “How did you get out?”
“The guards are focused on the hallway, not the room,” he says quickly, keeping his voice low. “I picked the lock on the window. Climbed along the exterior.”
He steps closer, and I see the desperation in his eyes.
“We need to talk. Now. Before anyone realizes I'm gone.”
“I'm calling Carnage—”
“No!” He grabs my wrist, not hard, but urgent. “Please, Tor. Just listen to me for two minutes. That's all I'm asking.”
I yank my arm free but don't scream.
Don't alert the others.
Something in his expression stops me.
“Two minutes,” I say. “Then I'm calling everyone up here.”
“Xaden's in trouble,” he says immediately, and my blood runs cold. “Fiona took him. Federal custody. She's keeping him locked up so he can't interfere tonight.”
My heart stops. “What? How do you—”
“I lifted a phone off one of the guards,” Masen interrupts. “I have people loyal to me who feed me information. I just got word thirty minutes ago. His men don't know where he is yet, but I do.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I demand.
“Because I need your help,” he says, and there's genuine fear in his voice. “I have information about where Fiona's holding him, but it's at the mansion. Hidden in Dad's safe. Documents, locations, everything we need to get him out.”
“Then tell Carnage. Tell everyone downstairs—”
“They won't believe me,” Masen cuts me off. “They'll think it's a trap. They'll waste time debating while Xaden—” His voice breaks. “Tor, I know I fucked up. I know I don't deserve your trust. But Xaden shouldn't pay for my mistakes. Please. Let me try to fix this.”
I want to not believe him.
But the fear in his eyes...
“What do you need me to do?” I ask slowly.
“Come home with me," he says. “Now, before the briefing. The place is empty—no one arrives for hours. I'll show you where the documents are. You bring them back here, give them to Carnage, and they can extract Xaden before Fiona moves him.”
“Why can't you just tell me where they are?”
“Because they're in Dad's safe,” Masen says. “Behind the painting in his study. The combination is biometric—thumbprint and retinal scan. Dad's son. It only recognizes me.”
He holds up his hand.
It makes sense.
Horrible, dangerous sense.
“If this is a trap—” I start.
“It's not,” Masen insists. “I'm trying to save him, Tor. I know you love him. And he—he deserves better than being locked in a cage because of me. Because of our family.”
His voice cracks.
“Please. Let me do one thing right.’
I stare at him for a long moment.
Thinking about Xaden in custody. About him being helpless while something happens tonight.
It shouldn’t be like this, I should be able to trust my own brother and take his word but Mase isn’t the person I once knew.
He isn’t the brother who would hold me while I cried over our father being absent and not having our mom around.
He’s no longer the guy who would make sure I’m okay and try to cheer me up if I had a bad day.
He’s the guy who turned his back on me and left me to rot in hell for a year so he could pretend like he didn’t take the lives of four innocent people.
He’s now the guy who let the world believe his little sister drove drunk and let everyone make me into a fucking meme.
“How do we get out without anyone noticing?” I ask.
Relief floods his face. “The same way I got in. Window. There's a trellis. My car is parked two blocks away, I had someone leave it there this morning.”
I look toward my door, hearing the voices downstairs still discussing strategy. If I leave now, they might not notice for twenty minutes. Maybe longer.
“Okay,” I say. “But I'm taking my phone. And if anything feels wrong—”
“You call your protector,” Masen finishes. “I know.”
He moves to the window and opens it carefully. The climb down is terrifying, my hands shaking, my pregnant body making balance harder.
But I make it.
Masen follows, moving slower, clearly still hurt. We run through the tree line, keeping to the shadows. Two blocks away is a car. We climb in and Masen starts driving.
“Twenty minutes,” he says. “That's all this will take.”
The mansion looms ahead, my childhood home, dark and empty.
It looks more like a glamorous prison now.
This place was once my home, my safe haven and now when I look at it, all I see is a cage.
Steven and Masen both chose to lie to me about who they really were.
I never saw the evil inside each of them until it was too late.
Masen parks around back and we go in through the kitchen entrance.
“The study,” he says, leading the way.
Every instinct screams that this is wrong, that I should turn and run. But I follow him anyway.
Through familiar hallways. Past family photos that feel like lies. The smiles aren’t real, they can’t be. How could the three of us look so happy when two of them were living a lie. Well, I was wearing rose colored glasses and thinking the world was my oyster.
I thought my life was perfect, I was so excited to go to college with the guys and Kenna and finally be able to be with Kellan.
I had it all planned out. We would marry after we both finished school, I would travel with him while he played hockey for the NHL and we would have a couple kids.
KennaDee would be their godmother, Mase and Cas the godfathers.
It was a fucking lie!
The study door is open. Masen walks in first, heading straight for the painting behind Dad's desk.
I stay in the doorway, watching.
This room has always felt cold and devoid of any warmth but now, knowing I’ll never see my father sitting behind the desk it feels…
forsaken. Many times I would pass by this room and see my father sitting at that desk and feel a sense of pride.
I was so proud of him for chasing his dream of becoming a senator.
He worked tirelessly and always remained focused.
I remember thinking Mase was so much like our dad, he was driven and always pushing to be better at hockey and never once settled.
Steven always said, to be the best, you have to beat the best.
He removes the painting revealing the safe, then places his thumb on the scanner. He leans forward for the retinal scan. The safe clicks open.
“See?” he says, reaching inside. “Told you—”
He turns to face me.
And pulls out a gun instead of documents.
My blood turns to ice.
“Masen—”
“There are no documents,” he says, his expression shifting from desperate to something cold and hateful. “No information about Xaden. No rescue. Just all Dad’s records.”
He steps toward me and I back into the hallway.
“Just you, me, and payback.”
“What are you talking about?”