The study door was cracked just enough for me to hear. I was sixteen, home from boarding school for a rare weekend, and technically grounded for some bullshit infraction I couldn’t even remember anymore. I’d snuck downstairs for water—or that’s what I told myself—when the voices stopped me cold.
It was my father’s voice, and another man, older, with gravel in his throat.
“... t’s daughter is becoming a problem. She’s too close to Harrington. I won’t allow that, not when he’s prime for this spot.”
“She’s a child. Children are malleable.”
“Not this one. She’s asking questions—digging where she shouldn’t.”
A long pause. Ice clinking.
“Then we give her something else to focus on. Fear works, but leverage works better. And if that fails... we remove the threat,” my father says.
My stomach drops. I know that tone. They aren’t talking in hypotheticals.
The stranger grunts his approval. “Your boy’s got fire. Good. He’ll need it if he’s ever going to sit at the table.”
“He’ll sit, or he won’t sit anywhere,” my father replies.
I press myself against the wall, heart hammering so hard I’m sure they hear it. The conversation shifts—shipments, routes, “assets” that aren’t drugs or guns. Girls—young ones. Names I recognize from missing posters at school.
When the front door finally shuts, I wait until my father’s footsteps fade upstairs before slipping into the study.
The ledger is still open on the desk.
Photos. Ages. Prices.
My hands shake as I close it, placing it exactly as I’d found it.
I didn’t sleep that night.
Or the next.
I told myself I needed more proof. That one overheard conversation and a glimpse of horror weren’t enough to destroy everything I knew.
But I knew.
I’ve always known.
PRESENT DAY – SAFE HOUSE BEDROOM
Mara’s curled between Talon and Jasper, her breathing deep and even, one hand fisted loosely in Talon’s shirt like even insleep she’s holding on. Jasper’s arm is slung over her waist, possessive and protective, his face buried in her hair.
They’re out cold.
I’m wide awake, though, staring at the dark ceiling like it owes me answers.
Talon’s eyes are open; I can feel them on me, sharp and patient.
He knows something’s off.
He’s always known when I’m carrying weight I shouldn’t.
I drag a slow breath and roll toward Mara, brushing my knuckles down her spine just to feel her warmth. To remind myself why I’m doing this.
Talon speaks up. “You gonna tell me why OCK suddenly got stamped as Mara’s official escort detail? Or do I have to guess?”
I don’t answer right away.
