Papa said after Mama took me from him, he searched for us, and eight months later, we appeared in El Paso, Texas. You had just been born. By the time he flew to the United States to bring us home, Mama had died, and we’d been lost to the system.
If you’re reading this, I’m either gone, or you’ve finally decided to cut me out of your life forever. I need you to know that I’m sorry I wasn’t the greatest brother. I wanted to be, but you were so happy with the Pritchards, and I couldn’t be. Not when I knew I had another father out there somewhere. I never belonged. You did. You do.
I used the CIA’s resources to perform a full DNA workup on you last year. I’m giving you the opportunity to have the same connection I did. That sense of belonging. Daniella, I tracked down your father. He’s Venezuelan, and all of his information is on the flash drive.
I’m sorry I could not give this to you in person. I love you, mi hermana.
Gil
I close my fingers around the drive, and the tears I’ve held back for years spill down my cheeks. I never wanted to know who my birth father was. Not really. Only in that vague “everyone wants to know where they come from” sort of way. I’m a Pritchard. When I took the job with the Washington Post, I changed my last name so no one would know Austin and I were related. He was already a big deal in the intelligence community, and I didn’t want anyone to think I was treading on his connections.
But Monroe? It’s Betsy’s—my mother’s—maiden name. They’re my family. My mom, my dad, and my older brother.
I don’t need what’s on this drive to feel a connection. I don’t want it. I want Gil back. The Gil who protected me in every foster home. The Gil who taught me how to ride a bike and throw a punch and lock my emotions deep inside where they’d never hurt me.
But I’ll never have that again. Gil’s dead, and even with my family around me, I always feel alone.
Chapter One
Present Day
Trevor
“Gil,last warning. You know I’m faster. Better. We have to take you in.”
“Never.”
The sound of gunfire wakes me from sleep with a shout, and I sit up and rub my chest where Gil’s bullet fractured a rib. Even five years later, I can still feel the bone cracking. Still smell the blood all around me.
Gil was only one of forty-seven kills I made for the CIA. But his ghost haunts me more than any other. The rest…faceless, nameless men—and two women—I never thought twice about. I was following orders. Doing my job. Until I had to kill my best friend.
Staggering out to the kitchen, I turn the tap on full blast and fill a glass with cold water. I’m tempted to go for the vodka, but that never ends well. Last year on the anniversary of Gil’s death, I went on a bender and didn’t show up to work at Second Sight for three days. Dax threatened to fire me.
My phone buzzes on the counter with a new text message.
Austin:I don’t know why I wake up at the exact time he died every fucking year. How does my brain even know?
Shit. I woke up at 3:14 a.m. It’s an hour later in Caracas. I fired the kill shot at 4:14 a.m. local time.
My fingers are clumsy with my emotions running so high, so I activate voice to text. “Just got back from the west coast yesterday. You should have seen it, man. Dax and Evianna, Ryker and Wren, Ripper and Cara. A triple wedding. When I was there, for a day or two, I almost forgot. Almost.”
The phone rings, and I put it on speaker so I can open my kitchen window. The frigid air helps ground me. Reminds me I’m in Boston, not Caracas. That I’m safe. That I have friends. A group of people I can count on.
“Dani called me,” Austin says. “Otherwise, I might have forgotten too. And what does that say about me?”
“That you’re human.” The kitchen window isn’t enough, so I head out onto my balcony. I’m only wearing a pair of pajama pants, and my feet are bare. The icy concrete makes my soles tingle, and the wind sends snowflakes pelting my chest.
“She wanted to talk about him. Wantedmeto talk about him.”
Rubbing my chest where the bullet hit, I sink into the snow-covered patio chair. I don’t care that I’m quite literally freezing my ass off. The physical pain is a hell of a lot better than the mental anguish. “She didn’t really know him. He never let her in. Not after your parents adopted them.”
“If I could change one thing,” Austin says, his voice rough, “it would be that. He never should have cut her out of his life.”
Dani’s heart-shaped face flashes through my memories. Her laugh. Her smile. She was always soreal. Like she saw everything about a person with just one glance. “If it weren’t for Dani, her mother never would have escaped Venezuela. And if Gil hadn’t cut her out, who knows? His bastard of a father might have gone after her too. You know that.”
“I know.” The defeat in his tone matches my own emotions. This is the one day a year I let myself feel…much of anything. “She’s the best of all of us, you know.”
I choke out a laugh. “Yeah. She is. She still working for the Post?” I’m not sure why I’m asking. I read every article she writes. But Austin doesn’t know that.
