Broken Legacy: Dark Legacy Book Three

by Eve, Jaymin

  Beck ordered a scotch, and I shook my head, wanting nothing. “What if it’s drugged,” I said to Beck from the corner of my mouth.

  He shook his head. “He won’t risk upsetting us. It will be fine.”

  With a sigh, I asked for some water, trusting that Beck—the most suspicious person I knew—would tell me if I needed to worry.

  Once we had our drinks, we made idle small talk until dinner was announced. I wondered if Graeme’s wife was going to join us, but she never appeared. When Beck commented on this, Graeme’s eyes lowered.

  “She hasn’t taken Katelyn’s death well.”

  I wondered if that was actually true. These wives of billionaires all seemed the same: beautiful, deadly, and fucking broken beyond repair. No doubt Mrs. Huntley had an addiction to pain pills, plastic surgery, and alcohol. At minimum. She probably didn’t even notice her daughter was dead.

  Cynic of the year goes to…

  Beck steered the conversation back to more pleasant topics, mostly about business and shares and stocks and bullshit I did not care about. I picked at my tiny little bird that was supposed to be food, but mostly freaked me out, all the while wishing we could escape.

  Just when I was pretty sure I was about to lose my mind, a suited man entered the room and leaned down to hand Graeme a folder. There was an exchange of words I couldn’t hear, and then the man left.

  Graeme rose to his feet. “Here’s your folder,” he said simply. “My manager felt it was safer than courier, so he had it delivered here.”

  Beck and I were on our feet, too, moving around the long table toward him. I held my hand out, but Graeme didn’t give me the folder. “First thing,” he said, lifting his other hand. There was a single piece of paper on it—Beck took it from him.

  He read through quickly before taking the proffered pen and signed his name at the bottom. Simple transaction that could net Graeme billions in money and incalculable power.

  Only he’d be in jail and unable to reap any benefits, of course.

  This had to fucking work. It had to, because otherwise, we were in big trouble.

  Graeme handed the folder to Beck, and I tried very hard not to sucker punch him. Of course the misogynistic asshole would think that Beck needed to handle the “black files” because a silly little woman would not be capable. Beck must have seen the look on my face because he flashed me a slow smile and handed the folder over. I opened it to confirm we had the right information, flicking through until I found the flower images. She had been sent three bouquets, as far as I could tell, starting from innocent to one dripping in blood. I flicked over one more page and gasped. It was an image of Katelyn’s body, with a single black, bloodied rose on top of it.

  “You have a photo of your dead daughter?” I asked horrified as I stared at the man across from us. “Why? How? There was no rose on her body; I would have remembered that.”

  Graeme nodded. “It arrived the night she died. I wasn’t … here at the time, and the letter sat unopened on my desk for a few days. It came in an official looking envelope, with a return address that was traced to some abandoned lot in New York City. I did my due diligence in following it up, but there were no leads, so it simply went into the folder.”

  I bared my teeth, hissing out words through them. “This should have gone to the fucking police!”

  Graeme shook his head at me like I was an annoying brat. “The police have a tenth of the resources that I do. Besides, my daughter is already dead and nothing can bring her back. Taking this to the police would have only stirred up more trouble that we didn’t need on the eve of the vote.”

  So callous. No thoughts about others being killed by this same person. Or about bringing his daughter’s killer to justice. He’d rather protect the Huntley name and not drag it through the mud any more than it already was.

  With a huff, I swung around and marched toward the front door. Beck stayed behind for a few minutes, and I wondered what he was saying to Graeme. It really didn’t matter. We got what we were waiting for.

  By the time Beck got out of the house, I was standing at the driver’s side of the car. “I need to drive,” I told him. It had been too long since I’d raced, and right now, my body was literally shaking at all the pent-up anger and fear inside.

  He eyed me for a moment before nodding and unlocking the car. I slid into the Bugatti and Beck took the folder from me while I adjusted my seat. My eyes closed for a moment as I caressed the soft leather, breathing in the car scent. When I started her up, the throaty hum of the engine settled me even more, and a somewhat genuine smile crossed my face.

  “We did it,” I said to Beck, turning so I could see him.

  He nodded. “We got the folder, and set the vote in motion, but something about Graeme is bothering me.”

  I snorted, shifting into gear. “Is it the fact he fucks his sister? Because that shit bothers me.”

  Beck’s lips quirked into a smile. “I’ve been thinking about Oscar’s body.”

  My foot pressed harder on the accelerator as we wound down the path, heading toward the large imposing gates of Graeme’s estate. “You think Graeme was the one who took it?” I asked. We hadn’t spent a lot of time focusing on the fact that my brother’s body was literally stolen from his grave.

  “It could all be connected,” I said, really considering it. “Maybe Catherine and Graeme dug it up to make sure no one ever discovered that Oscar was the product of an incestuous relationship.”

  Beck’s hands clenched on his thighs. “Despite what Richard said, we still don’t really know if he was Graeme’s child with her or Huntley Senior. Could be either.”

  I swallowed, trying not to gag.

  The gate slowly opened, and I was thankful that I could finally get the hell away from this place.

  “Do you have any thoughts on how to find out about Oscar’s body?” I asked.

  Beck shook his head. “Only the dumbest fuck alive would keep the body close to them. Unless we can get one of them to confess, I don’t think we’ll ever figure it out.”

  For a brief moment, I wondered if I could torture Catherine for information. Even though I hated her more than anyone else in this world, I doubted I could ever inflict pain like that on anyone. Something she’d no doubt view as a weakness, but for me, it was a hard line I had to draw. I mean, I did punch someone, so maybe I wasn’t exactly a pacifist. But systematic torture was a whole other sociopath game.

  Graeme’s estate was on the opposite side of Jefferson to where the Delta estates were. It was very natural out here, lots of forest and trees lining the road. It was really dark out, and that was the main reason I didn’t notice the car behind me until it was basically up my ass.

  “What the fuck?” I said, flicking my eyes to the rear view mirror and back to the road multiple times. “No lights…”

  Its engine roared, and it was coming at us so fast then that I knew it was going to hit us. Luckily, this wasn’t my first high speed chase, and I managed to swerve to the side and miss the direct hit, thereby saving my baby Bugatti any damage. These bastards better not hurt her, or I would reevaluate the torture thing.

  Beck was on high alert then, his head turned to watch the car as it dropped back, and I picked up the speed. “It tried to hit us,” I said quickly, my foot pushing harder and the engine really opening up.

  A warning flashed up at me, and I eyed the small indicator. “Tires…” I said slowly before my attention was taken by the car behind again.

  It was crossing two lanes in an attempt to come up beside me and smash me off the road. Not willing to give it that chance, I pushed my foot harder, and we jumped ahead.

  “Graeme or the serial killer?” I asked Beck between gritted teeth, my focus almost completely on keeping us alive.

  Beck didn’t answer, just withdrew his gun and lowered the window, cold air whipping around us.

  I caught a glimpse of the other car in our taillights, only noting that it was black and sleek before it zippe
d up the side again. Beck opened fire, aiming right for the front windshield. It swerved and backed off, giving us some breathing room. I let out a sigh of relief when I saw the lights of Jefferson up ahead. Once we were back in the main population, surely this other car would back right off.

  The Bugatti beeped at me again, and I remembered the tire warning which had come up before. “Beck…” I said slowly, just as I felt the car start to slide. At this speed, any loss of control was deadly, and I immediately lifted my foot from the accelerator.

  “Beck, get the fuck back in the car,” I screamed reaching out for him. At the same time there was a huge bang from the back of the car, and I knew immediately that the tire had blown. Motherfucker! Someone had messed with the tires. A slow leak or something so I didn’t notice immediately. Then the high speeds would have heated them and if the pressure was low…

  With both hands on the steering wheel, I struggled to control the car, sliding down an embankment. The moment we hit the edge, the Bugatti flipped over and over, my arms coming up to cover my face as I screamed. Flashbacks from my last crash filled my head, and I wondered if this time my luck would run out. Beck…

  “Riley!” Beck roared, and that was the last thing I heard before my head slammed into the side of the car and everything went dark.

  19

  Beck

  The moment our tires blew I knew we had been sabotaged by Graeme Huntley. That fucker wanted his files back; the accident was designed to incapacitate us but not kill. Only he hadn’t anticipated the speed Butterfly would drive at, delaminating those tires faster, and sending us out of control and tumbling down an embankment.

  Bracing myself against the door, I managed to keep my head from smashing into anything, while holding Riley back as well.

  Fear was not an emotion I felt often, generally I was uncaring about living or dying. I just did my fucking job and got on with the bullshit. But now that I had Riley, I had a lot to lose, and we were in the midst of a dangerous game.

  When the car came to a stop, I shook off the pain, reaching across to check on my fucking soul who was in the seat beside me. Her pulse thrummed strongly in her neck, and I let out a relieved breath. She was unconscious, a cut on her temple and another on her arm, but I couldn’t see anything too life threatening in my quick examination. Reaching for my phone, I dialed Dylan.

  “We’ve got a fucking problem,” I said immediately, and I knew I had his complete attention. “Someone sabotaged the Bugatti, and we crashed.” I gave him our location and told him to get the paramedics out here straight away.

  I was desperate to get Riley out of her seat, but not knowing the extent of any neck injuries, I decided not to move her just yet.

  Tires sounded on the asphalt above our ditch, and my head snapped in that direction. One car. Two sets of footsteps.

  They were coming to finish the job, which was to either grab the file or kill us. Depending on who had orchestrated this and what their end game was.

  My gun was lodged into the side panel—I’d been determined not to lose it when we rolled—so I reached down and grabbed it, determining there were three rounds left. My door was crushed, and I had no way to open it, and there was no time to crawl out the window, so I dropped my head back, feigning unconsciousness.

  Riley stirred slightly beside me, a pained moan leaving her, and I silently asked her to stay still for just another minute.

  They were almost on us.

  I always knew when someone was watching me, this unease trickling over my skin as the pair paused near my window.

  “Both out cold,” one man said, his voice not known to me.

  “Get the fucking files,” the other added, “before someone comes.”

  My finger twitched on the gun, and I gave them two more steps before my eyes flew open and I blasted the first one-point blank in the head. He dropped, and his friend did the same, clearly trained to avoid fire. He was gone along the ground, and I tumbled out of the too small window, managing to be up and after him in less than a minute.

  I was injured. and he was fast, but still, I caught him just before he reached the dark SUV parked on the edge of the road. I could have easily shot him, but then I would have been with no one to torture for information.

  He glanced over his shoulder and went pale as fuck as he saw me right on his ass. He fumbled for his gun, but it was too late. I wrapped my hand around his throat and jerked him to a stop before spinning and slamming him against a nearby tree.

  “Who sent you?” I asked, my voice deathly quiet as I fought the rage inside of me. It would be a twitch of my hand to break his neck, and I was almost desperate to do it. They hurt Riley. They could have killed her.

  No fucking mercy.

  He couldn’t speak so I loosened my grip just a fraction. “Fuck you,” he spluttered out, face red.

  My lips twisted into a smile, the sort of smile which was usually the last thing he would see in this world, but there was so much more fun for him to come. Another car screeched up, stopping right in the middle of the road like they gave no fucks about traffic. Jasper slid out of the passenger side and practically threw himself across the road.

  “Riley!” he yelled, looking pissed and frantic.

  “Alive,” I bit out, “but hurt. She’s still in the Bugatti. I was afraid to move her in case of neck injury.”

  Dylan was there as well, in his silent way. “I’ll check her out.”

  “Deal with this guy,” I said to Jasper and Evan. “I’m going with Dylan.”

  “You want us to kill him?” Evan asked, looking like he would love nothing more.

  I shook my head. “No, he has a lot to tell us about his role in this. Would be a shame to end his misery so soon.”

  When I released him, he dropped to the ground, falling in a heap. Choking and gasping for air. Evan and Jasper moved in on either side of him, their expressions dark and hard.

  “Come on,” I said to Dylan, needing to get back to Riley.

  “You’re hurt,” Dylan said as I slid down the embankment, my shirt riding up to reveal some scrapes and cuts.

  I shook him off. “It’s nothing. I’ve had worse. Let’s focus on Butterfly.”

  Because if she wasn’t okay, I would fucking destroy the world in my rage, and no one wanted that to happen.

  In the distance, I heard a car engine roar to life, and I paused because that wasn’t the same engine as the SUV or the car that had run us off the road. There were no houses around here either.

  Was there a third player?

  My feet moved faster as I raced to the crashed Bugatti. “Riley!” I shouted, fear tearing through me as fast as I was tearing through the bushy undergrowth.

  I hit my door hard, and when I saw the empty seat where she had been, rage like I’d never known tore through me.

  The next few minutes were nothing more than flashes of red and black across my vision, and Dylan calling for Evan and Jasper to try and stop me from tearing the door off the fucking car.

  “Beck!” Dylan shouted in my face. “You’re not helping Riley by losing it. We need to figure out who the fuck took her, and then we need to kill them. But we won’t do either of those things without a clear head.”

  My fists clenched as my blood pumped through my body, everything burning. Dylan was right, though, I needed to get my shit together because my Butterfly needed me. “A car started up,” I managed to get out, “about half a mile that way.”

  I pointed through the trees, already moving in that direction.

  “It was a stock standard straight six-cylinder. A regular old piece of shit.”

  There had been something familiar about its engine, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

  “I heard it too,” Dylan said. “Caught a glimpse of it down the road when we stopped, but I was too worried about Riley to pay it much attention.”

  I locked my focus on him, even as we tore up the road to where the car had been. “What did you notice?” I bit out. “Surely you
r computer of a fucking brain remembers something.”

  Dylan could catalog a scene and draw it play by play without any fucking effort. It was how his brain was wired.

  He paused, giving himself a moment to think. “White sedan with blue markings on the side. Dark windows. No one in the driver or passenger seat. Straight six-cylinder.”

  Another pause. “It almost sounded like a—”

  “Cop car,” I said, cutting him off as the familiarity of that noise finally registered. The police in Jefferson all drove the same nondescript white sedan.

  Dylan nodded. “But why the fuck would the police have taken her?”

  A rumble rocked my chest as my teeth clenched. “Not the police, but someone close enough to lift one of their cars. Or … someone that works for them.”

  The rose killer.

  It made perfect sense. That’s how he remained out of jail—he worked for the police. Probably destroying evidence before it got close to incriminating him.

  Dylan almost looked pale, despite his darker skin tone. “You think the serial killer has been that close all along. Like … at the police station while we were going in there with Riles?”

  He’d reached the same conclusion as me.

  I nodded. “Yeah, those bastards like to stay close. Keep an eye on things.”

  We reached the spot, but the car was long gone. I saw the indent from the tires, and seeing they were the exact tread of the police vehicles, I figured that was the first place we needed to go.

  “Tell Evan and Jasper to clean up the scene before the ambulance gets here and get whatever information they can out of that fucker before disposing of him,” I bit out. “I need to head to the police station.”

  Before I left, I grabbed the Huntley folder and then called for one of our cars to come and pick us up. Dylan ended up joining me, while Evan and Jasper took our guest to one of the safehouses for some one-on-one time. They’d get whatever information out of him, and hopefully we would find Riley before it was too late.