Chapter 33 The Tether
THE TETHER
KAIDEN
The apartment is too quiet when she leaves.
I watch Emma disappear into the elevator, bag over her shoulder, heels clicking on the marble. She turns at the last second, catches me watching, smiles and waves. The doors close.
The silence rushes back in.
I hate this. The crutches, the boot, the way my ribs protest every time I breathe too deep. I hate that I can't drive her to work myself, that I'm stuck in this glass box while she navigates a world that doesn't know how to appreciate her.
I hate that she saw me stumble yesterday. That she has to remind me to take my pills like I'm a child who can't be trusted with his own body.
The coffee she made sits on the counter, still warm. I take it to the window, lean on one crutch, stare at the city below. Somewhere down there, the person who tried to kill me is walking free.
My phone buzzes. Maddox.
Maddox: Update. Call when you can.
I call immediately.
“Talk to me.”
“Good morning to you too.” Maddox's voice is dry. I hear keyboards clicking in the background. He never stops working. “The brake line was definitely tampered with. Clean cut, then resealed to look normal. Whoever did this knew what they were doing.”
“Professional.”
“Very. I pulled the security footage from Hammond HQ's parking structure. The afternoon you were there meeting Victor. Most of it was corrupted or conveniently erased. But I found one angle from a service camera they missed.”
“And?”
“Someone in dark clothing, face obscured, approached your bike. Spent about four minutes underneath it.”
“That's it? No face?”
“No face. I'm running gait analysis, body measurements. It's not much, but it's something.” A pause. “There's more.”
I wait.
“The corruption on the security cameras wasn't random. Someone accessed the systems remotely and wiped specific time windows. That takes skill and access. This wasn't some street thug, Rhodes. Whoever did it had credentials to get into Hammond's security network.”
I set down my coffee. Hand isn't quite steady.
“Someone inside Hammond Industries.”
“Or someone with access to their systems. Which narrows it down to about two hundred people, plus any contractors with network privileges.”
I think about my father. His ruthlessness, his need for control. But something doesn't sit right.
“It's too direct for Victor,” I say slowly. “He doesn't get his hands dirty. He destroys people through lawyers and board meetings and whisper campaigns. He wouldn't risk a murder investigation.”
“Unless he's getting desperate. The divorce rumors are heating up. His mistress is apparently pregnant. Helena's been making moves on the board.”
“How do you know about the divorce?”
“I know everything.” Maddox says it without arrogance. Just fact. “Your mother has been quietly meeting with attorneys. Your father's been moving assets. The Hammond empire is fracturing, and you're holding shares that could tip the balance either way.”
I close my eyes. The familiar weight settles on my chest. Even from a distance, even after everything, I can't escape their gravity.
“What about Dylan? Are you ready to cut the cord?”
“Yes. But I want to find out who's reading those leaks first. You said the information wasn't going directly to Victor.”
“It's being routed through a secondary channel. Someone else is reading those reports before they reach him. The encryption is good. Give me another day or two and I'll have a name.”
Someone intercepting Dylan's reports. Someone inside the Hammond circle, but operating independently. The list of people with that kind of access is short.
“One more thing,” Maddox says.
“What?”
“James. Emma's ex. He's still in Silverpoint. Moved to a different location three days ago. Nicer place. Someone's funding him.”
The coffee turns to acid in my stomach.
“Where is he?”
“Apartment complex on the east side. 1847 Crane Street, unit 4C. I can send you the details.”
“Do it.”
“Rhodes.” A warning note in his voice. “You're on crutches. Whatever you're thinking—“
“I'm thinking I want to know where the man who hurt Emma is sleeping at night. That's all. For now.”
A pause. Maddox knows me well enough to hear what I'm not saying.
“I'll send the address. But don't do anything stupid until we know who's backing him. If someone's using James as a pawn, confronting him now could tip our hand.”
“Understood.”
He hangs up. I stare at the phone, then at the city, then at the empty space where Emma stood twenty minutes ago.
1847 Crane Street. Unit 4C.
I could have Tank there in twenty minutes. Could have James dragged out of that apartment and delivered somewhere quiet where we could have a real conversation about what happens to men who put their hands on women.
But Maddox is right. If someone's funding James, someone's pulling strings. I need to know who before I make my move.
The elevator chimes. I turn, heart jumping, but it's not Emma.
Logan steps out, takeout bags in hand. “Figured you'd be brooding. Brought sustenance.”
“I'm not brooding.”
“You're standing at the window staring at nothing with your jaw clenched. That's the definition of brooding.” He sets the bags on the kitchen island, starts unpacking. “Ethan's on his way. We need to talk.”
“About?”
“About the fact that someone tried to kill you and you're sitting here like a target in a glass cage instead of doing something about it.”
“What would you have me do? I can barely walk.”
“You can plan. You can let us help.” Logan slides a container toward me. “Eat. You look like shit.”
“Thanks.”
“That's what friends are for.”
I hobble to the island, lower myself onto the stool that's becoming Emma's spot. The thought catches me off guard. Her spot. Like she belongs here. Like this is becoming ours instead of mine.
“How's Sin?” Logan asks, reading my expression with annoying accuracy.
“Emma. Her name is Emma.”
“How's Emma?” He indulges me.
“Good. She's good.” I open the container. Some kind of grain bowl. Healthy. Logan's been on a kick lately. “She's at work.”
“And you're here pining.”
“I'm not pining.”
“Kai.” He leans against the counter, arms crossed. “I've known you for fifteen years. I've seen you with models, actresses, heiresses. I've never seen you look at any of them the way you look at her.”
I don't have a response to that.
“Have you told her yet?”
“Told her what?”
“Don't play dumb. About Hammond. About who your family is.”
I focus on the food. “Not yet.”
“Kai—“
“I know. I know I need to tell her. But things are finally good. She's finally settling in, finally trusting me. If I tell her now...”
“If you tell her now, she might be upset. If she finds out some other way, you're done.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Because from where I'm standing, you're building something on a foundation of sand. And when the tide comes in—“
“I said I know, Logan.”
Silence. He backs off, hands raised.
The elevator chimes again. Ethan walks out, phone pressed to his ear, finishes a conversation in clipped tones. He hangs up and joins us at the island.
“Maddox sent me the footage,” he says without preamble. “Professional job. Someone knew exactly what they were doing.”
“We talked, earlier” I say.
“Did he cover the part where the same body type matches three unsolved incidents in the past two years? All involving people who crossed major corporate interests?”
I look up. “Maddox didn't mention that.”
“We just got the match. If he's right, we're not dealing with amateur hour. This is a fixer. Someone who makes problems disappear for people with deep pockets.”
A fixer. The word settles into my bones like ice.
“Same fixer who maybe hired those bikers to torch the school.”
“It’s a warning.” Ethan takes a container from the spread. “A real hit would've been cleaner. Brake lines are risky. Too many variables. This feels like a message.”
“A message saying what?”
“Back off. Fall in line. Stop being a problem.” He shrugs. “Take your pick.”
I think about my father's threats. My mother's maneuvering. The board meetings, the proxy votes, the endless war for control of an empire I never wanted.
“I want out,” I say quietly. “I'm done with all of it.”
“You think wanting out will stop this?” Ethan shakes his head. “Kai, you know better than that.”
“Then what's the play?”
“We find out who's behind this,” Logan says. “We trace the fixer, trace the money, trace whoever's pulling Dylan's strings. Then we handle it.”
“And in the meantime?”
“In the meantime, you heal. You let us do our job. And for god’s sake, tell Sin… Emma, the truth before someone else does it for you.”
We sit in silence. The city hums beyond the windows, indifferent to the weight of what we're discussing.
The afternoon fades. Logan and Ethan leave with promises to check in tomorrow. The apartment goes quiet.
I'm alone with the silence and the view and the growing certainty that I'm running out of time.
The elevator chimes. Emma steps out, bag over her shoulder, hair escaping its clip. She looks tired but lights up when she sees me.
“Hey.” She drops her bag on the chair, kicks off her heels with a sigh. “How was your day?”
Terrifying. Frustrating. Full of shadows I can't name and threats I can't trace.
“Better now,” I say.
She smiles, crosses to where I'm sitting. Her hand finds my shoulder, squeezes.
“You're tense.”
“Long day.”
“Want to talk about it?”
I should. I should tell her everything. About the investigation, about James, about the name I was born with and the legacy I can't escape.
Instead, I pull her closer. She comes easily, settles against my side, head finding my shoulder. She fits perfectly.
“Not tonight,” I say. “Tonight I just want this.”
She doesn't push. Lets the silence hold us.
I breathe her in. Citrus and something floral. Home.
Tomorrow, I tell myself. I'll tell her tomorrow.
Even as I think it, I know I'm lying.