I nodded, my jaw tight, the plan risky but solid. I hadn’t told my brothers—Marcus, Elias, Noah, the others—and the guilt gnawed at me. They’d have my back, bring firepower, but I’d kept this personal, too personal, and now it was too late.
“Stupid,” I muttered under my breath, but fuck it, I was in it now.
She stood, her eyes blazing. “Four men, outside in a rental car. My people, not your grandfather’s. They’ll act like they’ve kidnapped you, Silas, and get you in.”
Portia cut in, “I’m coming, too.”
My mother’s face hardened, her voice cold. “Impossible. Stupid. Irresponsible. You’re a civilian, Portia. You’ll get yourself killed.”
Portia didn’t flinch, her voice rising. “I’m coming. Monte died for me. I’m not sitting this out.”
I stepped between them, my hands up, my voice low. “Portia, listen. This isn’t a game. You stay back, stay safe.”
She turned on me, her eyes fierce. “I’m not safe, Silas. Not since I met you. I’m in this, all the way.”
Caroline’s eyes flicked to me, her jaw tight, but I saw her relent, her voice flat. “She can stay in the rental, wait for us. But if things go south, she’s up shit’s creek.”
Portia’s chin lifted, her voice resolute. “I’m coming.”
I wasn’t happy, my gut churning, but what could I do? Her fire, her resolve, burned through my doubt, and I nodded, my voice rough. “Fine. But you stay in the car.” I turned to my mother. “Will she be safe in the car?”
My mother nodded.
Caroline wasn’t happy either, her eyes cold, but she didn’t argue. She led us downstairs, where four black-clad men waited in a rental car out back. Their faces were hard, ready. Caroline had terse words with them, her voice low, sharp, laying out the plan.
I watched Portia, her black outfit still silly but her posture steady, her hand brushing mine, a silent promise. We loaded into the rental, Caroline in front, me and Portia in the back, the men silent, their gear clinking softly. The engine roared to life, and we pulled out, speeding through Charleston’s dark streets, toward Blackthorn Hollow, toward destiny.
This was one of the stupidest things I’d ever done, I thought, my pistol heavy at my hip, the ribbon burning in my pocket. Caroline’s plan—her men posing as kidnappers—was reckless, a gamble that could get us all killed. We were trusting her people to play their parts.
I should’ve called my brothers, brought their firepower, their trust, but I’d chosen this path, my mother’s war, Portia’s fire, and now I was in it, no turning back.
My chest tightened, doubt clawing at me, but then Portia’s hand found mine, her fingers squeezing, her eyes meeting mine in the dark. She gave me a brave nod, her fear clear but her resolve clearer, and I knew I was in the right place. Had to be. Her love, her strength, was my anchor, and I’d fight through hell to keep her safe, to end this war, to make Monte’s death mean something.
The rental sped on, the city lights fading, the road narrowing as we approached Blackthorn Hollow.
I thought of my mother’s words—I wish your father had done the same—and the secrets she still held.
I thought of Portia’s fire, her demand to face Monte’s killer, her love that burned through my shadows.
I thought of my brothers, asleep at Dominion Hall, unaware of the storm I’d walked into.
The ribbon in my pocket was a promise of blood, of endings, and as we raced toward our fate, I squeezed Portia’s hand back, my heart steady, my war clear.
This was it, the moment I’d been forged for, and I’d face it with her, no matter the cost.
29
PORTIA
The car smelled like vinyl and tension.
I sat in the backseat, arms wrapped around myself, eyes fixed on the crumbling estate in the distance—Blackthorn Hollow, as Caroline had called it. The name alone sounded like something from a Southern gothic ghost story, all decay and bloodlines and whispered regrets. The gravel drive snaked beneath moss-covered oaks, their branches clawing the night like warning fingers.
I couldn’t see Silas anymore. Not since they’d pulled him out of the car, his wrists zip-tied like he was a real prisoner. He hadn’t looked back at me. He didn’t need to. His fingers had brushed mine in the dark before the door opened, his grip firm, a silent promise he’d come back.
My heart hadn’t stopped racing since.
The man who stayed behind with me—one of Caroline’s team—stood a few feet away, his silhouette backlit by the moonlight slashing across the driveway. He was tall, quiet, professional. The kind of man who didn’t flinch at a scream. He hadn’t saidmuch beyond the terse, “You stay in the car. Don’t move unless I say.”
