Marshall leaned back, his hands spread like a salesman closing a deal.
“Sloane’s made her choice, haven’t you, darling?”
Sloane’s voice cracked, her words barely audible. “I’ll do it. I’ll marry you. Just leave my parents alone.”
The words hit me like a punch, even though I knew they were part of the plan, and I slammed my fist on the table, the wood creaking under the force.
“This is bullshit, Marshall!” I roared, my anger real, fueled by the thought of him anywhere near her.
He raised an eyebrow, his grin never faltering. “Easy, Dane. She’s doing the right thing—saving her family, saving you from a fight you can’t win.”
I glared at him, my chest heaving, and Sloane’s fingers tightened on mine, her touch a reminder to stick to the script, to buy the time Elias needed to track Department 77.
The park was still quiet, no signs of Marshall’s backup, but I didn’t trust the calm, my eyes scanning the trees, the beach across the street, every shadow a potential threat.
Sloane’s performance was flawless, her tears glinting in the sunlight, her voice trembling as she spoke. “What do you want from me, Marshall? Just tell me.”
He leaned forward, his voice smooth as oil. “Your hand, your name, your loyalty. In return, Department 77 leaves your family untouched, and the Carrington fortune stays intact.”
I snorted, unable to hold back. “You think you can buy her like that? You’re pathetic.”
Marshall’s eyes flicked to me, cold and calculating. “I’m practical, Dane. Something you’d do well to learn.”
Sloane’s breath hitched, her hand shaking in mine, and I knew she was pushing herself to the limit, playing the part of the broken woman while her fire burned beneath.
“How do I know you’ll keep your word?” she asked, her voice small but steady.
Marshall’s grin returned, predatory. “You don’t. But you know what happens if you don’t agree—your parents, your legacy, gone.”
I wanted to rip his throat out, to end this now, but Sloane’s plan was working, Marshall’s arrogance blinding him to the trap we were setting. I leaned back, forcing a bitter laugh. “You’re a real piece of work, Preston.”
He shrugged, his eyes on Sloane. “I think I’ve got what I came for.”
The meeting stretched on, Marshall laying out terms—dates, contracts, a public engagement to seal the deal—each word a nail in my patience, but Sloane played along, her tears drying, her voice gaining strength as she nodded, agreeing to his demands.
I kept up the act, my anger simmering, my hand on her back a silent promise that this was temporary, that we’d burn him down. The park remained calm, the beachgoers across the street oblivious, but I felt the weight of eyes—Department 77, maybe, or Marshall’s own men, watching from a distance.
Sloane’s performance was a masterclass, her every word and gesture drawing Marshall in, his confidence growing with each concession. I hated every second, hated seeing her play this role,but I trusted her, trusted the plan, trusted that my brothers were closing in on Department 77’s men.
The meeting was a stall, a game to buy time, and we were winning, even if it felt like losing.
Marshall stood, brushing off his khakis, his grin triumphant. “We’ll be in touch, Sloane. Welcome to the family.”
I stayed seated, my arm around Sloane, my glare boring into him as he walked away, his steps light, like he’d already claimed her. Sloane’s hand tightened on mine, her breath shaky but controlled, and I leaned close, my voice a whisper. “I love you.”
She nodded, her eyes meeting mine, fierce and resolute, the martyr look gone, replaced by the fire I loved. I stood, pulling her to her feet, and we walked back to the Bentley, my team’s comms silent, confirming no immediate threats.
The engine roared to life, and I drove away from the park, Sloane’s hand on my thigh, her presence a lifeline in the storm. Marshall thought he’d won, but he’d just stepped into our trap, and I’d be damned if I let him touch her. The fight was coming, and we’d be ready—together, with my brothers, with Sloane’s fire, we’d end this, no matter what it took.
But reality loves to take well-laid plans and shit all over them.
I’d just taken a right hand turn to go across the bridge back to the mainland, when my phone ran shrilly. Elias. I pressed to answer and Ryker’s voice filled the car, “Charlie, it's a trap. Get the hell out?—”
I didn’t hear the rest of the words, because a semi-truck coming from the opposite direction veered suddenly, and before I could do anything, it smashed into us, pushing us, and I knew as time slowed, what was happening. When the Bentley’s nose tipped over the edge of the bridge, all I saw was the look of horror in Sloane’s eyes. I reached for her as we went weightless, gravity taking us in freefall. I don’t remember the car hitting the water. But I do remember the darkness. So much darkness.
29
SLOANE
