by Lucy Smoke
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I snap. “You know we’ve always
done what we had to in order to protect ourselves, but if my father is too
scared to tell us who’s behind this, I don’t know how I’m supposed to protect
her or do anything if I don’t even know who the fuck I’m fighting.”
“You know, Dean,” Viks steps around the counter and grabs me by the
arm. He stares down at me, his expression hard. “If your father is afraid of
someone, that means you need to be, too. Think about—who are the only
people he can’t do anything to?”
My blood runs cold. “No.”
“You need to go get her,” he says.
“It’s not them,” I say. “It can’t be.” But the only people it could be are …
Elric Smalls and Lionel Frazier—Braxton and Abel’s fathers. The only men
who have the same power as Nicholas Carter. The only men he’s tied to. The
only ones he can’t fucking hurt. I hate how much sense it makes. I’d always
thought—they were fucking assholes, monsters to their own children, but
they were Eastpoint and so were we. The only time an Eastpoint heir turned
on another is if the rules were broken—and that’s exactly what Chaz Mason
had done with Avalon’s mother.
“If I’d hazard a guess, Nicholas being out of town just gave them an
opportunity—the timing lines up. They called your boys back. Nicholas is
gone.”
I jump away from him, ripping my arm from his grasp. “Fuck!”
“I’ll meet you at your place,” Viks says quickly as he starts to move.
“What?” I glance back over my shoulder.
He’s frantically searching through drawers, pulling up fake bottoms, and
withdrawing what looks like a Ruger 57. “I said I’m fucking coming with
you,” he says. “I’ve gotta send Haley a text, then I’m meeting you at your
place. You can’t come here, not with Haley so close to giving birth, but I can
certainly fucking stay with you until Nicholas gets back. I’ll call Troy as well
—I assume he’s still working for you?”
“He is.”
Viks looks at me standing there, stunned by his offer—does he not even
realize how fucking selfless it is? “What the hell are you doing, man? Go get
her!”
“It’s dangerous,” I tell him. “You can’t put your family in danger. Even if
Haley’s not coming with you—you could get shot or hurt if you get in the
middle of this.”
Viks reaches out and grips my arm, his eyes boring into me. “You are
fucking family, Dean. Even when you’re acting like a snot-nosed little
brother.”
I want to punch him for that comment, but I don’t have time. He’s right. I
really need to go get Avalon. I reach up and grip his arm, tightening my hold
for a brief moment before letting him go. “Thank you,” I say, hoping he
knows that I’m thanking him for far more than his help now, but for all of the
times when I felt like my world was spinning out of control. “I’ll see you at
the house.”
“Go get her, man.” It’s the last thing I hear from him as I rush towards the
front door, throw it open, and dive down the front steps as I pull my phone
out and dial her number.
Come on, baby. I race towards the SUV. Pick up…
42
AVALON
MURDERED. MY FATHER WAS MURDERED, AND IT WAS MY FAULT. "I'M SORRY,
Ava..." Rylie says.
She looks at me, and I hate the expression on her face. It's a mixture of
guilt and pity. I hate pity. She's my friend, but that one emotion is enough to
make me want to pound my fist into her face. I clench my hand against my
side and resist the urge. She's not doing it on purpose, I remind myself. She
just feels bad that she had to be the one to tell me that I essentially killed the
only parent who ever fucking wanted me.
I shove up and away from the bed because I can't stand to remain sitting a
second longer. "Who do you think did it?" I ask, trying to distract myself.
"There aren't a whole lot of people who can kill an Eastpoint heir," she
says. "Much less kill them and get away with it."
There's no proof that they did get away with it, though, I think. From
what I've come to understand about the Eastpoint heirs over the last few
months, they often take care of their business outside of social guidelines,
specifically outside of the law. They’re shrouded in darkness, just like me.
"But if I'm the reason he's dead, then it has to be someone close to him," I
said. "What about his parents?" My grandparents—the reminder is there in
my brain, but it wasn't like all parents truly cared for their children. My
mother certainly hadn't. Neither were the guys’ parents for that matter … no,
my father’s parents haven’t been mentioned even once. It’s not them, but
Rylie confirms it a moment later.
"No, his parents actually passed away just before he graduated high
school,” she says as she moves to stand. “He was in his early twenties when
your mother was pregnant with you and he died. He'd already been the head
of the Mason family fortune for a few years. Unlike the other families,
though, it looks like the Masons don't really have any minor branch families
attached to them. Each heir only ever had one child."
"Nicholas knew," I state, feeling like my head's about to fucking explode.
There's something I'm missing. If Nicholas knew who my father really was,
then the only reason he didn't tell me everything is because he knew it would
lead me to the truth. To who was behind it all. "Whoever killed my father is
trying to kill me.”
Rylie lifts a hand to her face and bites down on her thumbnail, her brows
scrunching up on her face. "But why?" she asks. "You're not a threat. At least
you weren't then. You might be now that you know more."
There was something that Dean had said weeks ago, before we'd found
out Corina's connection to everything, before we found out that she'd been
working for the enemy all along, perhaps even longer than I'd been here.
Otherwise, how would she have known who I was? How would she have
known to approach me early on?
"The succession of ownership and inheritance..." It hits me like a
lightning bolt, and as soon as I see a clear picture in my mind, horror is fast
on its heels. That's it, I think. It all makes sense. I just need to prove it.
"Rylie," I snap, "who got my father's money when he died? Outside of the
trust fund, there must have been businesses. Eastpoint heirs aren't low tier
rich."
Her eyes bulge. "No," she agrees. "They're not. They're each worth
millions, if not billions." She reaches for her computer, propping it back on
her desktop. I stand behind her as her fingers fly across the keyboard again. I
can almost see her mind jump through the screen, her focus becomes so
sharp. She's completely enthralled by the numbers and words flipping
through the screen in front of her. Pictures. Images. Bank accounts. Tracers.
I'm smart, but I'm nowhere near her level. She's a fucking computer genius,
that much is clear. It's no wonder the guys hired her. She's the best of the
best, I
've never known anyone to type that fast, much less read and process
the information she's searching.
"Oh my god..." Her fingers freeze and she presses her palm against her
mouth as the whisper escapes her lips.
"What is it?" I ask, leaning over her. "Did you find him?"
"Th-them." Her voice trembles as she looks back at me with big hazel
eyes full of fear. "I found them. Avalon ... the money went to the rest of the
Eastpoints. It went to the guys' fathers."
I open my mouth to respond when she gasps and her screen glitches.
"What the fuck?" she snaps.
"What just happened?" I ask.
"The wifi went out," she replies. "Ugh. Stupid fucking, shitty ass—I have
my own wifi, this shouldn't be happening."
I scrub a hand down my face as she fiddles with the computer, trying to
get the information back. Her discovery makes sense. The Sick Boys—or
rather, the Eastpoint heir families—have had this tradition for ages. Dean told
me. Their businesses are intertwined. Their families so deeply interwoven
that one cannot hurt the other lest the rest fall apart. Business deals. Hostile
takeovers. Marriage contracts. American royalty. American industrialism.
One family cannot attack another, but what happens when one family
disobeys? What happens when one heir breaks the rules? What happens when
three gang up on one? Wait, no, not three.
Nicholas had truly seemed heartbroken at the loss of his friend, the loss of
my father. Dean doesn't trust him, but he's never shown hatred towards me.
He's never tried to hurt me. He even accepted my relationship with Dean.
Then that has to mean…
"Braxton and Abel are in danger," I say.
"What?" Rylie pushes back from her chair as soon as Abel's name leaves
my lips. "Why?"
I shake my head. There isn't enough time. I reach for my cell and as soon
as my fingers touch it, a sharp, piercing alarm screams through the room.
Rylie yelps, jumping as she cups her hands over her ears.
"What the fuck?" I look up as the lights flicker and the alarm continues to
blare.
"It's the fire alarm!" Rylie yells over the noise.
Fuck. Just our luck. "Grab your computer," I snap. "We need to at least
go to the first floor to see if it's just a drill or real."
She nods and spins back to her desk, snatching her computer and shoving
it into a nearby satchel. I head for the door as I pull my cell phone out. The
second I hit the hallway, though, I know the fire is very much real. Though I
don't yet see flames, the scent of smoke is thick.
"Shit." I hiss and quickly dial Dean's number, but nothing happens. I look
at the top of the screen and curse when I see the lack of bars and lack of wifi
—whatever is fucking jamming Rylie's laptop appears to be working on my
cell phone as well.
"Avalon!" Rylie grabs my arm and points down the hallway. I turn my
head and my jaw drops. The scent of smoke isn't the only thing in the air
now, black smoke billows up from the first floor, creeping over the staircase.
"We need to get out of here," she says quickly.
"The emergency exit staircase," I yell over the still screaming alarm.
She nods and follows me as I race towards it, on the opposite end of the
hall, hoping like fuck that the fire is on the other side of the building and not
on this one. I'd rather avoid jumping from a second story window if at all
possible. I glance back as Rylie hurries to keep up with me. She's so small,
she'll probably break both of her legs on the way down if we have to go that
route.
We hit the emergency exit running and thankfully, the stairwell seems to
be smoke free, but the sound of the alarm echoes upward, resounding back
and hitting our eardrums even louder than before. I wince as we rush down
the stairs and hit the first floor. But as soon as we're out of the enclosed
emergency staircase, smoke hits us in the face.
I curse, turning away as it begins to burn my eyes. "Get down!" I yell,
crouching as I grip the top of my shirt and pull it up over my nose and mouth.
"This way!" Rylie calls back. Her hand finds mine and this time, she tugs
me after her as she rushes along the first hallway. Her nails sink into the back
of my hand, but the sting is nothing compared to the burn in my eyes. I can
feel tears begin to form tracks down my cheeks.
My head's fucking pounding by the time Rylie stops in front of a door and
drops my hand. She covers her palm with the bottom of her shirt and touches
the handle before trying to open it, but nothing happens. Her eyes widen and
she looks back at me helplessly.
I don't even have the voice to tell her to move back, I just push her against
the other side of the hallway and take a step back from the door. I reach
towards my back and withdraw the gun from my waistband. Pointing the
barrel at the lock, I flip the safety off and pull the trigger. The lock and the
wood around it explode, and I lift my foot and kick as hard as I can. The door
slams inward, the frame where the lock had been coming away in pieces.
Breathing hard, I cough as my shirt falls away from my face and more smoke
enters my lungs. It's hot as fucking hades in here and we need to get the fuck
out.
Rylie moves before I'm even ready, shoving me into the room and turning
and pushing the door somewhat back in place. It's an empty dorm room.
"What ... are you ... doing?" I cough out.
"The windows," she says, pointing to the glass windows across from the
beds and dressers. We both hurry towards them. Setting the gun down on the
ledge, I unlock the top and try to open them, frowning when I see that
someone's fucking corked up the sides and sealed the window shut. Fucking
campus policies.
I pull out my pocket knife and start digging at the sides. Rylie rips me
away as more smoke begins to slip in from the broken doorway. She picks up
one of the chairs and pushes it towards me. "Break it!" she yells.
I nod, gripping the chair and taking a deep, burning breath before I heft
the fucking heavy ass wood up and throw it as hard as I can. With the
building being as old as it is, the window has double panes. The chair only
breaks one. I pull it back and try again.
Glass shatters and fresh air pours into the room. "You first," I say, ripping
off my shirt and wrapping my hand in the fabric to push out the glass along
the bottom, top, and sides.
Rylie clambers through the now open window and drops down onto the
grass below and seconds later, I follow, grabbing my gun on the way.
Gasping in the clean air and feeling it against my semi-naked skin, my
head starts to spin. A cough escapes my throat and as soon as one does,
another follows it. I turn on my side as the coughs become rougher and
harder.
"Ava..." Rylie croaks. I see her start to crawl towards me, there's a
smudge of something dark on her hand and when she reaches up and wipes
the sweat away from her brow, it sticks to her skin. "Ava, are you..."
"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" a familiar voice asks.
I'd been so hot. Burning really. My chest feels like it's cavin
g in, and I
feel like I've inhaled enough smoke to never want another fucking cigarette in
my life, but that voice makes me go cold.
I get up on shaking legs, clutching the gun in my free hand even as Rylie
pushes herself under me and holds one of my arms over her shoulders.
"Who's that?" she asks as I look up and meet the gaze of a man I'd hoped to
be torturing the next time I saw him.
"His name’s Ace," I rasp, shoving my cellphone in her hands. "You need
to call Dean," I say, pushing away from her. “Now.”
"W-what are you going to do?" she stutters as I take a step towards Ace,
eying him up and down. He’s got a new scar on his neck. Almost like
someone tried to kill him with a piece of wire—the red line disappears
around the side of his neck, but his voice only sounds marginally deeper.
"Bye time," I huff, lifting my arm and taking aim. My gaze is blurry. My
head is pounding. I fucking pray Dean gets here soon because, even as close
as Ace is, I’m not sure I can hit him. As soon as my finger settles over the
trigger, though, Ace lifts up an odd shaped black gun of his own, points it at
me, and pulls the trigger.
Electricity races through my system, fire dancing along my nerve
endings, and sending my already struggling brain into overdrive. The gun in
my grasp falls to the ground. My limbs shake and tremble as I tumble down,
shivering and jerking even though I'm not actively doing anything. A
feminine gasp sounds in my ears and then something hits the ground next to
me. In my peripheral vision, I see Rylie fumbling for something. The gun? I
don’t see her pick it up, though, and the last thing I hear before I pass out is a
gunshot from further away and then Rylie's scream.
43
DEAN
SHE'S NOT FUCKING ANSWERING THE PHONE. I PRESS CALL AGAIN AND THE
damn thing doesn't even ring—just like Abel and Braxton's phones.
Something is definitely fucking wrong and I can feel my panic rising. I don't
know what else to do, so I call the one man I hoped I'd never need, but right
now I'm willing to do whatever it takes even if that means I need to sell my
soul to the Devil, himself.
He picks up on the first ring. "Dean, I'm busy right now—"