Chapter 13
Thirteen
The second Asher watched Daphne come down the stairs with her weapon drawn, he knew how their story would end.
Not with understanding. Not with forgiveness.
But with professional distance. Cold protocol.
And yeah, he deserved it. Deserved the weapon pointed at him. Deserved the empty look in her eyes.
Give me your weapon.
Asher’s jaw clenched. Standard procedure when someone was compromised. When trust was broken.
“Asher.” Her voice went harder. “Your weapon. Now.”
He reached slowly for his holster. Removed his Glock. Held it out grip first.
Daphne didn’t move to take it. Just stood there. Weapon still pointed at him. Eyes shiny.
“Put it on the table,” she said. “Step back.”
He placed the Glock on the coffee table. Stepped back three paces.
She wouldn’t look at him, but the tears in her eyes made his chest ache.
Then she raised her gun again. “I’m not kidding here, Asher.” Her voice was rough. Strained. “I need everything. The backup. The knife. Everything.”
His pocketknife.
Asher reached into his pocket. Pulled out the vintage pocketknife. Worn. Smooth.
He placed it on the table next to the Glock.
Daphne’s expression flickered. Just for a second. She picked it up, then instead of setting it down, palmed the blade against her wrist, hiding it as she lowered her hand back to her side.
“Now the ankle holster.”
“Sheesh. You don’t miss anything.” But he bent and removed the small .380 from his ankle holster. Placed it on the table.
Three weapons now.
Movement on the stairs. Destiny appeared. Hair disheveled. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Why are you holding a gun on Asher?”
Daphne didn’t look away from Asher, but she put her weapon away. Sighed. “Because he’s been working with Draven this whole time. Because he’s been lying to all of us. Because he’s compromised.”
“That’s not—” Asher started. Stopped. Because it wasn’t fair. But it also wasn’t entirely wrong. “That’s not exactly true.”
“That’s enough, Asher.”
But no, he was a little tired of apologizing, thank you. He looked at Destiny. “I wasn’t working with Draven,” Asher said carefully. “I was infiltrating his organization. Gathering evidence. Building a RICO case.”
Destiny stepped into the room. “By lying to everyone around you.”
“Yes.”
Destiny moved closer. Slowly. Her footsteps soft on the hardwood. She reached the coffee table. Looked down at the weapons spread there.
Then picked up Asher’s Glock.
“Destiny,” Daphne said. “Put the weapon down.”
Then she picked up the .380.
What—
“Destiny—” Asher started, but she stepped back from them. Five feet.
And his brain was mathing, fast—
Then she pointed both guns at him.
Too far for him to lunge without her pulling the trigger. Either trigger.
Roger appeared at the top of the stairs. “Good work, Mom.”
Asher froze. No—what?
Destiny smiled. “Of course it was.”
Asher stared. Wait—
“You’re making a mistake,” he said. Voice careful. Controlled. “Both of you. You need our protection. Draven will find you. He has resources. Contacts. He’ll hunt you down no matter where you go.”
“Of course he will,” Destiny said. She handed the other gun to Roger, who turned it on Asher. “Draven works for me.”
Silence.
Asher’s mind went blank. Then raced. Eighteen months of evidence. Eighteen months of tracking Draven. Eighteen months of building a case against—
Against the wrong person.
“You,” he said, voice low. “You’re—”
“The head of the Shadow Syndicate,” Destiny finished. Still smiling. Still pleasant. “Yes. I built it. I ran it. I made the decisions. Ralph worked for me.”
“Ralph was the face,” Roger said. “The name everyone knew. The person law enforcement tracked. But Mom—Mom was always the real power.”
“You said Draven was your brother. Ralph’s son. I thought—”
“You thought we were at war,” Roger said.
“You thought Draven was trying to kill us. Take over the operation.” He shook his head.
“That was the story we needed you to believe. Needed everyone to believe. Draven plays the villain. The dangerous one. The person law enforcement chases. Meanwhile, Mom stays clean.”
Destiny didn’t take her eyes off Daphne. “You should sit down, Agent Morrison,” she said.
Asher didn’t move. Just stood there processing. Recalculating. Eighteen months of lies and deception and playing both sides—and he’d been played harder than anyone.
“Turn around, get on your knees, Agent,” Destiny said, her gaze still on Daphne. “Hands behind your back. Roger, tie him up.”
Asher still didn’t move.
“Move or I shoot her. And I know how much you love her.”
He swallowed. But he didn’t refute it.
But when he glanced at Daphne, she wore horror on her face. “Don’t—”
Of course he got on his knees.
Roger had clearly been rummaging through his closet. He’d found a necktie and now used it to tie Asher’s hands.
“Don’t,” Daphne said quietly. “Don’t do this. You’re just making it worse.”
“Worse?” Destiny laughed. “Please. Nothing is going to happen to us.”
Roger pushed Asher over, onto the floor, on his stomach. “You move, you die.”
No more whining, no more complaining. Yeah, Roger and Destiny were the true actors here.
The crunch of trucks on gravel. Dust rising on the ranch road, visible through the glass.
A vehicle approaching. Fast.
Daphne’s eyes flicked to the window. Then back to Destiny. “That’s the FBI. This won’t end well for you.”
“Hardly,” Destiny said, voice amused. “The FBI works for us.”
The words punched Asher. He looked at Daphne, who, yes, looked at him. Like he’d been the one to give them away. He shook his head.
Her jaw tightened.
He barely caught the top of the SUV as it pulled up.
But by the look on Daphne’s face, nope, not the FBI.
The door closed, and in a moment, footsteps on the porch, and then the front door opened.
And the man who stepped into his house wasn’t Dani Kim or Patterson or any agent Asher recognized.
Tall. Dark hair. A scar running from his right ear to his jawline.
Draven Frost.
He smiled.
Asher’s blood went cold. His heart hammered against his ribs.
If word had gotten back about Dmitri, they’d have been here sooner. Good.
“Hey, bro,” Draven said as he walked in. “Boss.”
“Draven. We need to end this,” Destiny said. “There’s a closet in the office. Put our overeager agent in it.”
For a second Asher thought she meant him.
But Draven walked over.
And that’s when Daphne moved.
Wow, she was fast. She pulled out her Glock, stepped back. “Stay. Away.”
Roger laughed. Destiny shook her head.
“Daph. Stop—” Asher said, just as Draven put his foot on his spine. He emitted a grunt.
She glanced at him, and a tear ran down her cheek. “No. This is…”
And then Asher felt the cold barrel of a gun press against the back of his neck. “That’s enough dramatics,” Draven said. “Put the gun down, Miss Cross.”
Daphne sucked in a breath.
“Just let her go,” Asher said. “Let her walk out of here—” He tried to meet eyes with Daphne. “Go, Daph.”
But she just stood there, breathing hard.
“You move, he dies. It’s black and white, honey,” Draven said.
Another tear, and it dripped off her chin.
Then she set down the gun.
“No—” Asher said as Roger stepped up and grabbed her arm. “Roger! Don’t hurt her—she saved your life.”
Roger kicked him, low and in the gut, as he pulled her across the room.
He curled into a ball and watched as Daphne looked back at him. Furious.
And betrayed. Accusation in her eyes.
She thought Asher had brought this on them. Had been working with them all along.
Roger returned, all grins. “So. What’s the plan?”
“We need to clean this up,” Destiny said. “Starting with 007 here. Then we come back and fire the house.”
He couldn’t breathe as Draven and Roger hauled him up.
Destiny walked over to him, got close, her breath on his face.
“You brought this on yourself, Agent Morrison. Eighteen months of lies. Eighteen months of playing both sides. Eighteen months of thinking you were so clever.” She smiled.
Sad. Almost pitying. “You were never in control. You were never ahead. You were just—useful. Until you weren’t. ”
He’d been played from the beginning.
And weirdly, Duke was in his head. God will never leave you nor forsake you.
Yeah. Ha. Because as they dragged him out to the SUV, Asher wondered if He’d ever been with him at all.
Or maybe Asher had driven Him away with his years of living in the shadows, the lines blurring until he couldn’t tell which side he was really on anymore.
Either way—this was the end.
And probably, it was exactly what he deserved.
The closet was small. Dark. Airless.
Daphne sat with her back against the wall, knees pulled to her chest, breaths shallow in the confined space.
The office closet held boxes, a step ladder, a few old sweaters, and a pair of cowboy boots that still emanated the smell of the wearer, so…delicious.
They’d locked the door, and she’d tried the handle, so no joy there. And the voices had vanished long ago.
She fought a sick—very sick—feeling that they’d taken Asher somewhere to kill him.
She leaned back and, yep, this felt like the perfect time to cry, really. Because she couldn’t ignore the way Asher had looked at her as they’d dragged her away.
Maybe he did love her.
But more, he hadn’t betrayed them. Not this time. His words kept returning to her. No matter what happens, no matter what you find out, no matter what comes next—you can trust me. I promise you that.
Yes.
Her bones believed him. Her heart believed him. It was just her head that had to catch up.
She closed her eyes.
And for some reason, she heard the words from Duke, spoken today, out by the fence. She hadn’t wanted to interrupt.
But she had listened.
Now, the words raked up inside her.
Your sins won’t keep Him from saving you. His love is bigger than your failures. And His plan for you is better than you can even imagine. You’re the only one who can hold back all God has for you.
How?
Asher had asked it, but she’d felt it.
By thinking you can handle it yourself.
Yeah, those words had sat inside her, burning.