“We both know there’s nothing that could break Ford. He was always being pulled in a thousand directions, and remained as cold and controlled as ever,” she says softly, perfectly encompassing Ford's anger in a single sentence.
I don’t interrupt. I can tell she needs to say it out loud. But I can hardly stop myself when the words spill out anyway.
“The idea of my protector, my cold savior, Ford, having feelings for someone is hard to comprehend. He was always so focused on maintaining our father's approval that I never thought he would have time for something emotional.”
Plus, he was always so flippant about women. Sleeping with entire sports teams and having a league of women waiting for a phone call back.
“For a long time, he hated me,” she continues, her voice sounding worn and brittle. “He thought I was a distraction. Some spoiled, desperate brat. He said it himself every chance he got.”
She pauses to take a sip of her martini, her hand trembling slightly.
“But then…there was a night,” she swallows, eyes flicking toward mine. “It was maybe six months before he was killed. Or disappeared. Whatever.”
“What happened?” I ask, almost afraid to hear it.
Dale leans back, her expression far away. “He just came to my room. Not drunk. Not angry. Just…tired. He sat on the edge of my bed and said nothing for a while. Then he looked at me and said, ‘You belong tome.’”
The words hang in the air between us as we sit in the silence. Brown eyes on green, unwavering as we share the moment.
“What did you say?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
“I didn’t say anything,” Dale murmurs.
She looks back at the fire, like she has more to say, but is holding back for my sake.
“I hate this,” I murmur, staring into my glass like it might give me an answer. “Not knowing where Ford is. Or what Hayden’s doing.”
Dale nods, curled up beside, her blanket pulled to her chin. “I keep telling myself Ford’s fine. That he’s Fordham Huntington-Russell, for God’s sake, but it’s not helping.”
I glance at her. “Being in love is almost too much to bear, isn't it?”
She hesitates. Then exhales slowly. “Ford’s arrogant, but he’s not untouchable. And whoever has Ford means they’re capable of something awful.”
“I just need them to walk through that door,” I whisper. “I don’t even care if Hayden yells at me for disobeying. I just want to hear his voice.”
Dale shifts closer and rests her head against my shoulder. “I know. Me too. I want Ford back. Both of them.”
We sit like that, pressed together beneath the weight of worry, watching the fire burn lower. And even though the room is warm, I can’t stop shaking.
Hayden Herron
The tires scream against the pavement as I push the car harder, faster, the engine growling under the weight of my rage.
I should have seen it. I do not hit dead ends, yet everywhere I turned, there was one. It didn’t matter how much money I threw at the problem or how many high-tech security experts I brought in; nothing worked. The truth was right there all along. A problem that didn’t exist could never be solved, and this was a Brotherhood problem. I should have known they had him.
I should have known Ford was with the Brotherhood all along.
It seems almost absurd now. When I met with Ford and Dex, it was clear they were grappling with a problem they intended to solve creatively, yet I never stopped to consider how deeply the Brotherhood was entwined in their situation. Now it is obvious that a faked death was clearly part of a larger assignment. And all along, I had been under the assumption that we were operating under the radar. That Ford and Dex’s deaths were a personal choice in a plot to rid themselves of their father. And while Dex may have been collateral damage, Ford’s death wasn’t real at all.
Of course, the Brotherhood’s deeper involvement had been unfolding right under my nose in only the way the Brotherhood could.
The twins went to the Brotherhood for permission to kill their father, something that had turned out to be a bit more complicated than they had anticipated. Henri Huntington-Russell had been wrapped up in dark shit, and the Brotherhood made the tough decision that, although he was a Legacy, he needed to be eliminated. The moment you’re no longer trusted, you’re gone.
The twins had a plan, and when they asked for my help in exchange for their sister, I recognized that manipulation was at play. I could sense the edges of it—the careful weaving of a scheme designed to pull me in, but my pride and ego kept me from pressing for the truth. I didn’t ask the right questions. My obsession with their sister had narrowed my vision until I could see nothing beyond her. Every calculated move, every whispered conversation, every subtle shift in their behavior became irrelevant next to the thought of claiming her.
Knowing the truth might have been critical later, a key that could have changed the course of what came next, but I led with ego, measuring my days only by how close I was to having her.
“Why the mausoleum?” Hudson asks from the passenger seat, disrupting my train of thought. His voice too calm for my taste, or for the rage exploding through my body.
