by Mari Carr
“I should have come back sooner,” Weston said. “I’m so sorry, little brother.”
“I missed you,” Caden said softly, his voice husky with unshed tears.
Weston pulled away, giving Caden his first good look at his brother’s face. The scar, the false eye. He couldn’t begin to imagine how much pain Weston had suffered.
Weston gave him a lopsided grin that proved he knew he looked like hell.
Caden didn’t share the humor. “I’m glad I killed those bastards.”
Weston’s grin didn’t fade. “I was sorry not to get to do the honors myself.”
Caden tried to force the conversation with Weston to last, tried to find something else to say so that he could push away the inevitable moment when he’d have to look at Rose, who had arrived at their table with her third, a handsome Asian man, at her side.
The decision was taken away from him when Isaiah stood and stepped next to them. “I’m Isaiah Jefferson.”
Weston accepted Isaiah’s hand. “Big fan of your books.”
Tess laughed at Caden’s expression. “You really should read them,” she murmured, looking not at Weston, but at Rose. “And you must be Caden’s foster sister, Rose.”
* * *
The knot of anxiety churning in Rose’s stomach quieted as she blinked in surprise. “Foster sister?”
The pretty redhead looked unsure. “Um…”
Caden looked at her, and the force of his gaze was a familiar weight. “That’s how I described you.”
Rose realized she was staring not at his face, but at the third button on his dress shirt. Like a good submissive, she kept her gaze lowered and her chin up.
She exhaled and forced herself to look up, to meet his gaze.
Caden.
“I mourned you,” she told him.
“You shouldn’t have. I deserved to die.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Then I deserved to die too.”
Weston growled at her. “And you would have. You were killing yourself in slow motion.”
“I only threw one fire bomb,” Rose muttered.
“Fire bomb?” Isaiah glanced upwards, as if he could see the Park Plaza penthouse from the ground floor.
“Holy shit. This is like watching a play. Even better than that thing with Mrs. Hancock outside the library,” Tess murmured to Isaiah.
Everyone turned to look at her.
“Oh no, don’t let me stop you. This is good stuff. What did he mean, you almost killed yourself in slow motion? And I’m going to need all the details on that fire bomb. You should probably take notes, Isaiah. Beginnings of a great book.”
Rose had heard about people like Tess. The sort of people who didn’t wallow in sadness, didn’t go for high drama. The kind who laughed easily and somehow always managed to provide relief in the toughest of situations. She didn’t take herself too seriously and, by extension, she made sure those around her didn’t either.
She was exactly the kind of woman Caden needed. He’d gotten his Marek.
Rose smiled, really smiled, and held out her hand. “I’m Rose Hancock.”
“Tess Hamilton. Really lovely to meet you.”
With the tension broken for the moment, they finished introductions and then everyone sat. Caden still looked tense, and his body language was all over the board. One minute he was resting against the back of the couch, a hand each on Tess and Isaiah, the next he had leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, his body still, his gaze focused and intense—a posture she recognized. One that made her want to double-check her own posture and start mentally preparing herself for whatever her master was going to do to her.
Both Weston and Marek tensed slightly when he leaned forward, clearly able to sense that in those moments, he was a threat to her, both physically and emotionally. Neither Tess nor Isaiah reacted.
He hadn’t told them about her—not the truth, anyway. She wondered why.
Marek rubbed her knuckles with his thumb. She smiled in gratitude and then said to them, “What did you need to ask me?”
* * *
Mercifully, Isaiah took the lead. Ever the writer, he was anxious to find the next clue, but more than that, Caden knew his astute partner was perfectly aware of the undertow. The clever, kindhearted man was throwing Caden a life jacket.
He was also fairly certain Isaiah’s writer’s block had passed, and he was now itching to get back in front of the computer to start tapping out the next mystery. Like Tess, he was intrigued by what had been said…and what hadn’t been said. Caden wondered how long until that fascination turned to disgust.
“I’m not sure how much you’ve been told, but we’ve been following a trail of clues and we’re stumped on the next one. We believe it has something to do with your ancestors, Rose.”
“What’s the clue?” she asked.
Isaiah gave her a rueful grin. “Hancock safe.”
She paused, clearly waiting for him to say more. When he didn’t, she frowned. “That’s it?”
“There was an omega sign at the end of it,” Isaiah said. “Does that mean anything?”
Rose shook her head. “My last name may be Hancock, but I can assure you, I know very little about my family. I spent my childhood with my mother and grandmother and when they died, whenever I wasn’t at boarding school, I lived with the Andersons.”
Her eyes darted to him as she said the last, and Caden tapped his hand on his thigh. Rose flinched and he stopped, swallowing heavily. Tapping his leg was—no, had been—a nonverbal command for her to lay over his lap so he could spank her.
* * *
Rose dug her nails into Marek’s hand and groped for Weston’s. Once she had ahold of both of them, the anxiety in her stomach eased.
Marek jumped in to fill the silence. “Have you checked their residences?” he asked Isaiah.
“That’s what I wanted to do,” Caden said. There was an expression on his face she’d never seen before—apologetic, anxious.
“They have at least three. If we break into one and don’t find the safe, they might beef up security at the other residences,” Isaiah said. “This safe is old and antique. Where would they keep something like that?”
Rose shook her head. “I’m sorry. I really don’t know.”
“Can you think of anything? A place that was important to them?” Tess asked.
That triggered a memory, something Rose hadn’t thought about in a long time. “When I was young, before my mother died, she used to travel all the time. I’d get postcards from all over the world, and every time I got one, my grandma would help me find the place it came from on a map. They were from all over, faraway places…except, more than a few postcards came from a little town near Santa Barbara. Las Cruces, I think. I remember those the best because I got upset that my mom was so close, but didn’t come home. I got postcards from this place a few times a year, and it was always the same postcard, a picture of a mission-style hotel, called Vista something. I had them with me at boarding school, and when I was old enough to put two and two together, I realized that she probably went there to meet the Hancocks—that this little town was where they felt safe to be a trinity.”
“So they didn’t live openly as a trinity?”
Rose shook her head. “His political aspirations would never allow that. They guarded their relationship with my mom fiercely. In truth, I can only recall seeing the three of them together a few times in my life when their social circles overlapped. And even then, the three of them didn’t stand together. My mother was always separate…like me.”
“I don’t understand why they didn’t take you in after she died.”
Rose smiled at Tess’ comment. It simply solidified what Rose had already figured out. Tess had grown up in a safe, loving home with adoring parents. People like that never understood parents who didn’t feel that way about their own children. Tess would be a good mom.
That thought jarred her as s
he glanced at Caden. Try as she may, she couldn’t picture him as a dad.
“They’d never claimed me as their own daughter, so it would have had to look like they’d adopted the child of a close relative. My father has his eyes on the White House, which means somewhere down the road, my true parentage would no doubt be seriously investigated by political opponents digging for dirt. Keeping me completely out of the picture was definitely the easiest way to avoid that.”
“So you think they spent time together as a trinity in Las Cruces?” Isaiah asked.
She nodded. “Yeah. I do.”
“Well then, that might be the best place to start,” Isaiah said. “If it’s not important or a dead end, at least we won’t alert the Hancocks by checking it out.”
“If you have to break into their houses, I’ll help,” Weston said. “We could split into teams, hit all of them at the same time.”
“No,” Caden replied harshly.
Rose’s heart leapt into her throat at the deep-voiced, angry sound. She dropped her gaze back to the third button of his shirt.
* * *
Caden’s chest went tight when he saw Rose’s reaction, so he hastened to add, “No one else is getting hurt because of me.”
“This isn’t about just you,” Weston said.
“I don’t care,” Caden said. “The Hancocks are dangerous. Rose isn’t going anywhere near them.”
Weston’s eyes darkened. “My wife’s safety is no longer your concern.”
Caden began tapping his thigh again, the response driven by anxiety.
Rose whimpered.
“Please stop doing that,” Marek said, his voice even, surprisingly kind.
Caden hadn’t considered what Rose and Weston’s third would be like. In his mind, he’d only pictured the two of them. He thought if the circumstances had been different, Marek would be someone Caden could come to like.
“Doing what?” Tess asked. “Am I missing something?”
Isaiah reached over and placed his hand over Caden’s. “You want to tell us who Rose really is to you, Caden?”
“Really is?” Tess’ forehead crinkled in confusion. “She’s not your foster sister?”
“She is,” Caden said, every single word felt like agony to speak. “But she is…was…Darling.”
The light of understanding dawned on Tess’ face. “But Darling was your…”
“Submissive,” Caden said. “I collared Rose. Claimed her. I took over her training.”
Rose closed her eyes and turned her head away from him. Her slender neck captured his attention, and he had a vivid memory of ordering her to kneel in front of his father and slipping a collar around it.
“I don’t understand,” Isaiah said softly.
“I thought it would protect her from my parents.”
“Well, that’s a good thing, right?” Tess asked.
Caden kept his eyes on his lovers, his gaze darting back and forth between them as he resolutely refused to look across the coffee table.
“No, Tess,” he said quietly. “It wasn’t a good thing.”
Rose’s head jerked back to him, forcing him to look at her. Her expression unreadable.
“It was wrong.” Caden looked directly at Rose. “I was wrong.”
* * *
Rose didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to hear him explain what they’d been to one another to these strangers who were his trinity. She was embarrassed and that made her enraged. He’d reduce what they’d had, what they’d been through, to a few sentences. Maybe he was sparing her.
It made her want to reach out and slap him as she had Juliette.
Instead she sat passively, waiting…
Waiting for permission to leave.
Permission she didn’t need.
Rose held tight to Weston and Marek. They were her anchors, her guiding lights out of the darkness. She stood, and they followed her lead. “We’re leaving. I’ve told you everything I know.”
Caden rose to his feet. “Rose, stop…”
Marek drew Rose away from the seating area. She was grateful that he and Weston had remained silent, grateful that they’d understood she didn’t want to be rescued, but rather supported.
But they seemed to realize she was at her limit, so when Marek drew her away, she followed his lead gratefully. Weston stepped between her and Caden.
“Don’t give her orders, Caden.”
“I wasn’t…it wasn’t an order.”
“It was, because that’s the only way you know how to be. I understand it, and I’m sorry…so sorry, little brother, that I failed you. Both of you.”
* * *
Caden couldn’t reply, couldn’t find the words. Isaiah stood, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. Tess rose as well and took his hand in hers. Even after everything he’d said, they were still there, standing next to him, believing in him.
He didn’t deserve it. Even as he craved it, needed it, he knew that eventually, somewhere down the road, they’d see him for the man he truly was. The one who didn’t know how to love. Didn’t know how to be with someone without causing them pain. Seeing Rose again brought it all back. He’d merely been pretending, fooling himself into thinking he could make a life with Tess and Isaiah work.
“You protected Tabby, saved Rose. You didn’t fail, Wes. I did.”
His chest was constricted, his heart racing as he looked at Rose once more. Images of the years they had spent together crashed in on him. Only this time he saw it all differently. He thought he’d loved her, thought he was giving her what she needed to be happy.
All he’d proven was that he truly was his fathers’ son.
He stepped around Weston, walked right up to Rose before either of her husbands could push him away. He dropped to his knees, his head bent. “I’m so fucking sorry, Rose. For all of it. Sorrier than I can say, than I can ever make up to you.”
Rose let out a small sob, then to his shock, she was kneeling too. “I’m sorry I couldn’t love you.”
Caden didn’t respond, didn’t raise his head to look at her. He didn’t want her apology or her forgiveness. He deserved neither.
He felt the same cold loneliness that had besieged him after waking up in the hospital closing in again.
“Caden,” she whispered.
His eyes lifted, met hers.
Neither of them spoke again. They didn’t need to. They’d had years to perfect a silent language, the skill a necessity, one born of self-preservation when his parents were around.
The fear he’d seen earlier was gone, replaced with something he thought might be pity. So she knew the truth too. Knew he was a broken fool.
She graced him with a sad smile, then she stood, took her husbands’ hands and they left the hotel.
“Caden.” Isaiah held his hand down to him. Caden took it, not because he wanted to, but because it would be rude and hurtful for him not to.
“Are you okay?” Tess asked.
He nodded, even though it was a lie.
“So we’re going to Las Cruces?” Isaiah asked tentatively.
Caden could tell they had a million questions, but neither of them asked a single one. He could only assume he looked as gutted as he felt.
Isaiah, astute as ever, thought changing the subject would help.
It wouldn’t.
“Yeah,” he said, surprised by the strength in his voice. Right now, Caden felt weak as a newborn calf. “We can fly into L.A., catch a cab to my place, pick up my car, and drive to the hotel.”
On the East Coast, he’d been able to pretend he was someone else. It was time for the ruse to end. Time for Caden to accept the truth. Seeing Rose had reminded him of who he was. Who he’d always be.
It was time to go home, back to reality.
Chapter Sixteen
Caden had retired to one of the smaller rooms in the penthouse suite right after the meeting with Rose, Weston, and Marek, claiming he had a headache. He’d stayed there all night.
She
and Isaiah both knew better than to believe the headache line, but they had let him escape. She’d hoped some time on his own and a good night’s sleep would help him. Seeing Rose again had hurt him badly.
And it had torn Tess apart to see him so broken, so uncertain.
She sighed, the sound capturing Isaiah’s attention. The two of them had crawled into the big bed together last night, but it had felt empty without Caden, so they’d simply kissed each other good night, trying—and failing—to sleep.
Isaiah dropped down next to her on the couch. They’d both risen an hour earlier, but Caden had yet to join them. She’d heard the shower in his room start a few minutes ago, so she hoped that meant he would emerge soon.
“How should we play this?” Isaiah asked.
Sometimes Tess thought it was crazy how in synch she felt with Isaiah, considering she hadn’t even known the man a week ago. She longed for that same closeness with Caden as well, but it was proving a much harder task.
“I’m not sure.” She’d spent most of the night tossing and turning, wondering if they’d made the right decision in leaving Caden alone. The distance seemed greater this morning than it had last night, so ignoring the elephant in the room wasn’t going to work for long.
But Caden was clearly shaken up, wounded. Tess didn’t think he’d open up to them easily. Was it right to push him? After all, the relationship was still brand spanking new. And on top of that, they were knee-deep in a mystery that kept them hopping from state to state with no end to the madness in sight.
Her bruises were still dark, but the soreness was basically gone. Unfortunately, the physical healing wasn’t helping any of them combat the fears attached to that attack. She’d jerked awake several times over the past few nights, terrorized by bright lights and screeching tires in her dreams.
Isaiah and Caden were still touching her with kid gloves, acting as if she were made of fragile glass. She missed their rougher, more passionate touches, but all traces of intimacy—apart from scattered platonic touches here and there—had vanished. Caden had started to withdraw from them after the incident in the pub and with each passing day, the distance grew greater, not less.