I want to see how far he’ll go.
I want to see if there’s any part of me left he can’t own.
I close my eyes, and wait for the next time.
Chapter 6: Colton
Themessagecomesat19:01. I’m at my desk, staring at the overlay of campus security feeds, one thumb idly pressing Eve’s location on my phone, when the notification shakes the screen. No signature. No greeting. Just a line:Funder’s office. 19:30.
The sender is a dummy number, but I know who it is before I even read the message. The Board doesn’t schedule meetings; they hand out court summons. This is neither. This is my father.
I shut down the surveillance app, slip my phone into my jacket, and leave. My shoes echo in the empty hallway. The walk to the Administration Building is out the main building and down to the left, stone steps worn smooth by two centuries of assholes pretending to run the world.
It was completely rebuilt after the Castillo incident. It didn’t need to be, but hey, if you’ve got the funding, may as well use it on useless shit, am I right?
Bam is already waiting by the side door. He’s in a black coat, head shaved fresh and neat, like he’s prepping for an execution. He doesn’t acknowledge me as I approach, just flicks the butt of a cigarette onto the wet ground, grinds it out, and opens the door.
Inside, the air is cold and dry. I can smell the money, new paint, and something sweet that doesn’t belong. We take the elevator to the top floor because it’s the only way up. The Funder’s Office is a glass box with views of the main quad, nothing but marble floors, steel fixtures, and the night bleeding in from three walls of windows. Harrison Ellis stands behind the desk, hands folded, suit so black it eats the light. His tie is bloodred, perfectly centered against the white of his shirt. There’s not a hair out of place.
“Sons.” The word is clipped. “Take a seat. Both of you.”
Bam and I sit. The chairs are leather, stiff, and expensive. They’re also bolted to the floor, in case anyone decides to get clever.
Harrison waits until the clock sweeps 19:30, then lowers himself into the executive throne behind the desk. “You know why you’re here?”
I say nothing. Bam shrugs. Harrison’s gaze narrows to a pinprick.
“You’re here because my patience is a finite resource,” he says. “And because the Board is losing confidence in Westpoint’s future—specifically, in its next generation of leadership.”
I let the words hang. He wants me to flinch, wants me to argue. I keep my face blank, my eyes on the glass. The city looks dead from up here. Only the library is still lit.
“Let’s get to the point,” Harrison says. “I’m not a sentimental man, but even I know that legacy can’t be left to chance. The Ellis name is worth billions, and when I’m dead, one of you two will decide what happens to it.”
Bam glances at me. He’s used to these meetings. Used to being the muscle, never the son. But Harrison isn’t interested in blood; he’s interested in power. Bam’s value is in the violence he brings to the table. Mine is in my ability to pretend I don’t want to kill everyone who gets in my way.
Harrison’s eyes flick between us, two wolves in a kennel, waiting for someone to bleed.
“Which brings us to the issue of succession.” He leans back, laces his fingers. “Bam, you’ve proven yourself useful in a thousand ways, and I reward loyalty. But the Board wants a clear line, and as much as I hate to say it, Colton’s the one with the name. That’s not to say you won’t help run the company, but this is the way.”
Bam’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t argue. He knows the rules. I know them better.
“Of course, there’s the small matter of a final test,” Harrison says, smiling thinly. “The Night Hunt was just reinstated. We received word this morning. The Board has hand-picked your runner, Colton. They expect you to make an example of her. This event will be televised to funders to ensure there are no issues like the last one. As such, we expect a good show. Rough her up, make her kneel. Make her earn her place beneath your feet before you claim her as one of us.”
My pulse jumps, then settles.
“And if I don’t?” I ask.
Harrison’s smile vanishes. “Then we have a problem.”
I watch his hands. They’re steady, but there’s a tremor in the right one. Too many years clutching at power, too much booze and too little sleep.
I think about the way Eve’s hands shook as she tried to push me off her in the gym. The taste of her sweat, the raw heat when she arched under my fingers. My father’s threats have nothing on the addiction she’s started in my blood.
“I’ll do what needs to be done,” I say.
Harrison leans forward. “You’d better. Because if you fuck this up, I’ll make sure the only legacy you get is a cemetery plot.”
I don’t flinch. “Understood.”
