"Me and Nina's baby died before it was born," Brady finally said, his shoulders slumping in relief, though his tears fell freely.
I stared at him as he stared at me, my hands becoming clammy as my heart raced wildly. I could see how much he was struggling, so I put my hand on his shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze, trying to comfort him or at least let him know that I was there for him.
"I'm so sorry, Brady," I told him, choking back sobs. "But what–"
"Julian isn't mine or Nina's," he blurted out, and my throat tightened and my jaw fell to the fucking floor.
"Wait, what do you mean?" I questioned, refusing to believe what I had suspected, mainly because it was too fucking heartbreaking.
Brady looked at me, his eyes filled with tears. "Fallon wanted to keep him safe, especially from Foley. She knew if he found out he had gotten her pregnant the night he raped her then he would do anything in his power to take Julian away from her. She gave up her son—the love of her life—just to make sure he'd remain safe and out of Foley's control."
I was stunned. I couldn't speak. I couldn't move. I couldn't even pick my fucking jaw up off the floor. My phone went off and a text from the devil himself popped up on my screen. I saw Fallon's name and I fucking lost it.
"Fuck!" I screamed, standing up quicker than I ever did before.
"What?" Brady asked, following my lead, worry written all over his face.
"He has her. Foley fucking has Fallon, and we have to get her back," I said in a panic as I rushed to the front door.
"Let me call Eliza to come sit with Julian and I'll come with you," he said, already putting his phone to his ear.
As I opened the front door, my jaw dropped again. Standing in front of me was War, bloody and pale, hunched over looking like he was about to pass out.
"He fucking shot me," War muttered, shivering from the cold and the loss of blood from his wound. "But he took Fallon, and I need you to help me get her back," he pleaded right before he fucking dropped to the snow-covered porch, his blood staining the snow bright red.
I didn't hesitate. I scooped War up bridal style, ignoring the searing pain from his wound and the blood soaking through my clothes.
"Brady, call an ambulance! And get a fucking gun! Now!" I yelled, my voice raw with urgency.
I carried War inside, laying him gently on the living room floor. He was losing blood fast. Every second counted. Brady,already on the phone, barked orders into the receiver, his usual composure shattered. He glanced at War, his face a mask of concern. He then hung up the phone and grabbed the hunting rifle from the corner, his movements swift and decisive.
"Where do we start, Hitch?" he asked, his voice tight.
"War, where did this happen? Where did Foley take her?" I asked, my voice as steady as I could make it.
War groaned, his eyes fluttering open. He clutched at my arm, his grip surprisingly strong for a man bleeding out.
"The old mill," he rasped, his breath coming in shallow gasps. "Foley... he always takes them to the old mill."
The old mill. A dilapidated, abandoned relic on the outskirts of town. A place of shadows and secrets, a fitting place for Foley's depravity. My gut twisted with a familiar fear—the same fear I'd known when I realized I was about to lose Fallon all those years ago.
"Brady, call Eliza. Tell her to stay with Julian. I need you with me," I said, my gaze fixed on War. "We're going to get her back. And War," I said, kneeling down beside him, "you're going to get through this. Just keep the pressure on your wound until Eliza or the ambulance gets here."
War gave a weak nod, his eyes glazed with pain. "Just... hurry," he whispered.
Without another word, Brady and I were out the door, the icy wind biting at our faces. The air hung thick with the threat of violence. The fate of Fallon, and maybe even our own, hung precariously in the balance. The old mill was our destination, a place where evil had taken root. We had to go there and face the devil, or at the very least, his demons. I hopped in my car, speeding out of the driveway, Brady hot on my heels in his beat-up pickup truck.
"Let's go," I said out loud, hitting the gas pedal, the engine roaring in defiance. "Let's fucking bring her home."
The words were a promise, a desperate plea, and a death sentence, all rolled into fucking one. The tires spun on the icy road, a blur of motion against the backdrop of the snowy night. As we drove, I couldn't help but feel a gnawing sense of dread. Foley had her. That alone was enough to make my blood run cold. His power, his reach, his cruelty—they were all legendary. And now, Fallon was in his clutches again.
We sped toward the old mill, the headlights cutting through the darkness. The familiar road we’d traveled countless times now seemed foreign, each turn a gamble, each landmark a reminder of the impending confrontation. Brady stayed right behind me. His presence, usually a source of annoyance, now offered a sense of grim comfort. We were in this together, two brothers bound by a complicated history of love, loss, and the ever-present threat of ruthless mafia don, Evander Foley.
The mill came into view, a hulking silhouette against the star-filled sky. It stood like a silent sentinel, its windows like vacant eyes, staring into the darkness. Fear coiled in my stomach like a cold, constricting snake. I could practically smell Foley's stench from here—that sickening mix of arrogance, malice, and expensive cologne that smelled cheap.
I pulled up a distance away, trying to remain out of sight of the mill's many cameras. I shut off the engine, listening intently to the quiet night, trying to gauge if any sounds were coming from inside. I turned to Brady, my face grim.
“Stay here and keep an eye out for anything, especially if you see any other cars coming. I’m going in.”
