Chapter 3 Silas
SILAS
The open bar is mine.
Well, me, Jace, and Cal's. Charles has little to do with it, but when he needed a venue for this entertaining week, it was the best option for him and Sienna. Our hotel. Our liquor. Our cameras. Our fucking problem is when guests drink too much and start making scenes.
Right now, I don’t give a shit about any of that.
I round the bar, ignoring the bartender’s questioning look, and grab the Macallan from the top shelf. The expensive stuff. The bottle we save for high-rollers and special occasions.
Fuck it. This qualifies.
I pour three fingers into a tumbler. Throw it back. The burn is good. Clean. It doesn’t touch the knot in my chest, but at least it’s something.
Six years.
Six fucking years since I’ve seen Parker Carter, and the first thing I do is pick a fight with her on a patio while she looks at me like I’m still just her brother’s annoying friend who won’t leave her alone.
You weren’t my friends, Silas. Not really. You put up with me because of Charles.
I pour another drink.
She has no idea. No fucking clue.
And maybe that’s on me. On us. On the code we lived by—the one that said sisters are off limits. Best friend’s sisters are double off-limits. And Parker fucking Carter? She might as well have had “untouchable” tattooed across her forehead.
Guy code. Man code. Whatever you want to call it. The rules were clear.
Except I’ve wanted to break those rules since I was sixteen years old, and she showed up to one of our parties wearing a dress that made my brain short-circuit.
Since I watched her laugh at someone else’s joke and wanted to be the only one who made her smile like that.
Since graduation night, when Jace threw her over his shoulder, and every cell in my body screamed to fight him for her, even though he was doing exactly what needed to be done.
Maybe that’s the real joke. My parents saw it before I did—the volatility, the obsession, the parts of me that didn’t bend the way normal people’s did. They were afraid I’d ruin someone. Afraid I’d breed another version of me.
Just because I enjoyed coaxing resistant informants. Because I liked making my own tools. I was a tinkerer. What did they think I’d build with an immersion blender?
But they saw it. Maybe Dominic didn’t care—he kept sending me volunteers for my office—but my parents needed their peace of mind.
A “procedure” after a supposed infection.
Papers I wasn’t old enough to read. A signature that wasn’t mine.
I found out years later what they’d done—that the Vale bloodline would end with me.
Cannon fodder. A weapon. A monster who could only expand the family name through fear and blood, never through life.
I didn’t even piss on the fire that burned down their house. Seemed a waste of fluids.
I throw back the second drink.
Six years of telling myself it was better this way. That she was gone and safe and living her life without us hovering. Without me watching her like a fucking obsessed asshole who couldn’t get his best friend’s little sister out of his head.
And she comes back looking like that. All curves and confidence and California polish.
Checks her phone every thirty seconds like she’s waiting for something important.
Stands on the patio in a dress that shows off legs that go on forever and asks me how I’ve been, like we’re strangers making small talk.
Like I didn’t spend years memorizing the sound of her laugh. The way she bites her lip when she’s thinking. The exact shade of her eyes when the sun hits them just right.
Your responsibility. That’s all I ever was to you.
“Fuck.” The word comes out rough. Bitter.
Were we overprotective? Hell yes, we were.
Because she was reckless. Because she hopped metal fences in jean miniskirts instead of waiting for me to pick the damn lock.
Because she snuck out to parties where guys twice her size looked at her like she was prey.
Because she had zero sense of self-preservation and a smile that could get her into—and out of—any kind of trouble.
And yeah, maybe we went too far sometimes. Maybe Jace shouldn’t have thrown her over his shoulder. Maybe Cal didn’t need to confiscate every drink. Maybe I didn’t need to follow her around like her personal shadow.
But what the hell were we supposed to do? Let Ryan fucking Matthew’s and every other dipshit put their hands on her? Let her drink herself sick? Let her make mistakes we knew she’d regret?
I pour another drink and stare at the amber liquid.
She’s probably just as reckless now. Maybe more. Six years in California without anyone watching her back. She’s a whole grown ass woman now who does grown ass things.
Like clubbing, dating, experimenting with dumb fucks who don’t deserve her.
The thought makes my jaw clench.
“You planning to drink our entire inventory, or are you saving some for the paying customers?”
I don’t turn around. I know that voice. Know the dry tone that means Cal is either amused or about to tell me something I don’t want to hear.
“Fuck off.
“Charming.” He appears at my elbow, leaning against the bar with that casual grace he uses to put people at ease.
It doesn’t work on me. “Does this have anything to do with the contractor in the basement who’s two days behind schedule?
Because if you’re planning to go down there and commit murder, at least wait until after the wedding. Bad optics.
I don’t answer. Just lift the glass to my lips.
Cal watches me for a moment, then reaches over and takes the bottle from my hand. He pours the whiskey into a proper glass—because of course he does, because Cal never drinks like a normal person—and slides it back to me before pouring himself two fingers.
“What happened?” His voice is quieter now. Less teasing.
I take a breath and let it out slowly. “I talked to Parker.”
Cal goes very still. Then he throws back his drink in one smooth motion, his throat working as he swallows. He sets the glass down on the bar, turning it slowly between his fingers.
“Yeah.” His voice is rough. “I saw her too. She looks good.”
Good doesn’t begin to cover it.
She looks like every fantasy I’ve tried to bury for six years. Like coming home and torture and everything, I can’t have all wrapped up in a floral dress and white heels.
I think about Cal. About the way he watched her at graduation.
The way he’d slammed the back door shut on his Jeep after he’d yelled at her to put on her seat belt.
He’d put her back there because he’d turned the child locks on.
Told her if she was going to act like a child, he’d treat her like one, with how much she was whining about us being unfair.
He hated seeing her at our parties. Hated seeing her with the girls he’d fucked, but hated seeing her around the guys who wanted to fuck her even more.
Was it fair? No. But she was ours—I mean—fuck—she was Charles’s little sister.
Cal wanted to say fuck the code, too. Especially after we took over the island. After we built our empire and proved we could protect what was ours.
He mentioned flying out to California last year to scout the company she worked for.
We knew she wasn’t working for a regular marketing firm.
We knew all about the vibrating pitchfork toys and shit, but Jace gave a hard no.
He wanted her, too, and honestly, the last six years only made him more controlling and cold.
I may be the one people are scared to find themselves alone with in my workroom, but he’s the one who sentences them there.
I shake my head, trying to clear the thought. “I need to go.”
“Silas—”
But I’m already moving. Already heading for the door because if I stay here, I’m going to say something I can’t take back. Do something stupid.
“Where are you going?” Cal calls after me.
I think about the contractor in the basement. The one who’s two days behind schedule and has a very breakable face. A very breakable arm. A very convenient outlet for all this tension coiled tight in my chest.
“To solve a problem,” I say without turning around.
And then I’m gone, leaving Cal at the bar with his drink and his own demons.
Because right now, I need to hit something.