Gabriel
Present Day
“Goddammit!” I slam the laptop shut and hurl my scotch against the wall, the glass shattering into a thousand tiny pieces.
She’s with Maverick. My wife—my rightful property—is with the one man who’s trying to destroy everything I’ve built.
“Maid!” I yell, smoothing my hair back and straightening my suit.
The old wench hurries into my office. “Yes, sir?”
I snap my fingers. “Clean this up.”
“Right away, my lord.”
She immediately drops to her knees and starts picking up the shards of glass by hand, and the sight brings me a small sense of peace.
I leave her in the office and head downstairs, grabbing the keys to the Jaguar.
Normally, I would have Brother Paul drive me in the SUV, but I don’t have time for that today.
I pull out of the garage and speed down the driveway, winding through the forested roads toward the capital. The other high lords gave me twenty-four hours to fix the problem on my own, and that time is about to expire.
When I woke up two days ago to find Delilah missing from the hotel, I was angry—rightfully so—but I just assumed she had Paul drive her home.
We’d had a fight, after all, and Delilah’s always so goddamn sensitive, especially about her failure to get pregnant.
So I spent the day in bed with my favorite whore—Angie?
Angel? Who the fuck cares what her name is, she gives incredible head.
And since I thought Delilah abandoned me at my own party, I took my sweet time fucking her each and every way I pleased.
It wasn’t until I made it home that night that my panic set in.
Delilah was nowhere to be found. None of the house staff had seen her since we left for the city the day before.
I called Lord Thomas, thinking maybe she was with his wife, but they hadn’t seen or heard from her either.
My first fear was that she left me, but I know Delilah.
She would never run away, which left only one possibility: she was taken.
I called Gentry, who talked me down, reassured me that no wife has ever been taken. He said if I was truly worried about her, I should look at the security footage from the hotel.
I knew it was Maverick as soon as I saw the video.
His height, his gait, all undeniably my childhood best friend turned traitor.
I didn’t realize it was him at the party when he was talking to Delilah, but the way he humiliated me when I was…
indisposed later in the evening made it obvious.
No brother would treat another brother with such disrespect.
I made the situation known to Gentry and the other high lords.
They all know Maverick Stetson as the leader of the Rebels and nothing more.
Women—maids and other staff of little consequence—have been disappearing intermittently for a while now.
We’ve always suspected it was the Rebels, but could never get any definitive proof.
But now that they’ve stolen a wife—my wife—it’s become personal.
They of course questioned why he would take Delilah, and I was forced to divulge our complicated personal history.
Hence, the twenty-four hours to solve this problem on my own.
I speed around a corner, my hands gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles whiten.
I failed.
The situation is no longer in my control, and I have no idea what my brothers have in mind.
Regardless, my image is forever tainted.
I won’t be Gabriel Sinclair, the brother who brokered trade deals and changed the history of our country.
I’ll be Gabriel Sinclair, the brother whose wife was stolen by the Resistance—the husband who failed to protect what’s his.
It’s unacceptable.
I call Gentry on my way into the city, who assures me he’ll gather the other high lords for a meeting. By the time I’m walking into the conference room of the high-rise, my palms are sweating. I feel like a teenager being called into the principal’s office again.
The highest ranking lords in the region are all already seated around the large, circular table. The atmosphere is tense as I take my seat next to Gentry, who clears his throat and stands to address the group.
“Brothers, thank you for coming on such short notice. As you all know, Brother Gabriel’s wife has been captured by the Resistance. She’s being held in an unknown location, though we suspect they’re on one of the islands off the mainland.”
“Did you attempt to negotiate her release?” Lord Dean asks.
I grit my teeth. “Their demands were absurd.”
“What did Stetson want?” another Lord asks.
“It’s irrelevant,” I snap.
“We deserve to know the details of your conversation with the Rebel leader. Especially considering your history with the traitor.”
I stare Dean down. “I told you, it doesn’t matter.”
“We’re here to help, brothers.” Gentry holds up his hands. “Clearly, talking to Stetson is a waste of time.”
The only sound in the stuffy room is the incessant tapping of my foot, a nervous fucking habit I’ve never managed to kick.
“What if we put out a video appealing to the public?” Lord Malcolm suggests. “We could say she’s been kidnapped by a terrorist organization and make a plea for her safe return.”
“That will make us appear weak,” Dean sneers. “We’ll be seen as a joke.”
“I disagree,” Gentry says, tapping his chin. “It will humanize us.”
“How so?” I ask, agreeing with Dean for once.
“Currently, the rest of the world views us as ruthless. They’re scared of us, which is why it’s been so difficult to arrange meetings with other countries.”
A few brothers nod their agreement.
“But,” Gentry continues, “if we put out a video explaining that one of our treasured wives has been brutally taken, it will villainize the Rebels and appeal to our humanity. It will open countless doors for us and crush any further efforts by the Resistance.”
My foot stops tapping. That could work.
Gentry looks at me, a question in his eyes. I give him a quick nod. “All those in agreement?”
Every hand in the room goes up. We never do anything without unanimity.
“It’s decided, then. Malcolm, work with Gabriel on a script. Wade, get in contact with the studio and schedule a time to record the message as soon as possible.”
Gentry’s a natural-born leader; he’s always been good at assigning tasks based on our strengths. Malcolm has a background in public relations and Wade’s worked in marketing. They’re the perfect choices for making this video what it needs to be.
The brothers disperse, and Gentry calls me over. “Gabriel, a word.”
“Yes, sir?”
He clasps me on the shoulder. “This will work.”
I nod. “I know.”
“We’ll get her back.” His hand squeezes.
“Should we inform the other regions?” I ask, knowing this could impact more than just the Northwest.
“I’ll call them,” Gentry reassures me. “Let me know once the video is ready and we’ll broadcast it as far as we can.”
We part ways and Malcolm, Wade, and I get to work writing the script for the video. An hour later, I find myself in front of a green screen with hot studio lights shining down on me, a camera and a teleprompter in my face.
“Whenever you’re ready, brother,” the camera operator says. “It’s not live so we can edit whatever we need to later.”
I nod and take a deep breath, hoping my performance is convincing.
I stare straight into the camera and read off the scripted words.
“My name is Gabriel Sinclair. Two days ago, my wife, Delilah, was stolen from me, ripped away from her family and her home. She was captured by Maverick Stetson, a domestic terrorist and the self-proclaimed leader of an inconsequential group of radicals. If you see him, we ask that you report his presence to your local authorities immediately. Do not attempt to approach him as he is armed and dangerous, and we believe he means my wife and the general public great harm.” I look down briefly and take a deep breath before looking back up into the lens once again.
“Delilah, if you see this, know that I will not rest until you’re safe at home, back where you belong. ”
“Cut!” someone yells.
My expression relaxes, the devastated look I had pasted on my face melting away since the camera’s no longer rolling.
I’m still not ecstatic about this plan, mostly because it makes me appear like a fucking simp.
But I trust Gentry, and if he thinks this is the best method to get Delilah back, I’ll do it.
“Let’s try one more take,” Malcolm suggests. “Maybe try to look a little less murderous this time.”
I glare at his silhouette through the blinding lights. “Fuck off.”
Malcolm shakes his head but doesn’t push me. Smart man. Despite my pleading performance, I’m one comment away from walking out of this goddamn studio and finding a new wife who can actually fulfill her duty and produce some children.
It’s not that Delilah isn’t a good wife, she is. She’s quiet and obedient. She lets me fuck her whenever I want, even if her sensuality leaves much to be desired.
It’s just that she clearly can’t do what I need her to do, even after eight years. If she can’t produce me an heir, I’ll have no one to pass on my legacy, no one to inherit the hard work I’ve put into making New Athens what it is today.
Getting her back at this point is more a matter of principle than anything. She’s mine. No one steals what’s mine, especially Maverick fucking Stetson.
That video call is burned into my brain. Everything about her body language had the alarm bells in my head going off. She was comfortable around him, felt safe around him. And despite all the time we’ve spent apart, I know Maverick. I could tell he cares for her, wants to protect her.
I swear to god if he fucks her I will lose my shit.
Everyone resets as I prepare to read through the script one more time.
This is bigger than me, after all. If Gentry’s right and my appeal gains us some popularity with the outside world, it could do wonders for international relations.
The trade deals I brokered were a step in the right direction, but without some major developments, our economy will collapse, sooner rather than later.
We’ve also talked about opening our borders, welcoming female foreigners to grow our population even more.
We’ve had countless applications from men across the world asking to relocate to New Athens, but we don’t need more brothers.
We need more babies, children we can raise in our ways so that they’ll never know any different.
That’s why I’ll suffer through another bullshit recording, why I’ll put on the acting performance of my career. Because the future of the Brotherhood depends on it.