I’m not sure why I said that, but the words were out before I could stop them. I’m not having a baby. Not now, not ever, not with anyone.
With a sigh, I turn to get dressed, the tick tock, Little Kitty playing in my mind. I hate that he calls me that.
Tucking the photograph into my pocket, I hurry to see Odin, grateful Santos doesn’t stick around. The guard is there though, hovering along the edges of the room. Ignoring him, I hug my brother. He hugs me back, then holds me at arm’s length and looks me over.
“How are you?” he asks, very aware of the soldier.
“I’m okay,” I answer. “We need to talk though.”
He glances at the soldier, casually signaling it’s probably not a good moment.
“How was the reception?” I ask, wanting to sound natural for the soldier’s sake.
“A wedding reception without the bride present? How do you think?”
“Well, I’m glad I was missed.” I smile, glance at the guard, then look at the buffet. “I’ll make you a plate.”
Odin never eats breakfast. Just coffee. He knows I know that, so he nods and accompanies me to the bar, where I take a plate. “I hope you’re hungry,” I say, sliding a hand into my pocket to slip the folded photo out then switching my grip so the plate hides the it.
I hand it to him, and he looks at me with a questioning expression but subtly slips it into his pocket. We fill our plates and sit down at the table.
“Someone dropped off a last-minute gift. With a surprise inside,” I say as quietly as I can.
His forehead is furrowed.
“Maybe you can look into it.” I’m confusing him even more because he has no idea what I’m talking about, but he will once he sees what it is he has in his pocket. “Anyway, it sounds like we’re going away for a few days, but maybe when I’m back we can discuss it further.”
“How long?” he asks, and we carry on with casual conversation until it’s time for Odin to go. It feels good to be near my brother again. He’s the one person I can trust. The one man I can count on not to hurt me and to have my back no matter what.
Santos and I fly to Miami, where I learn pretty quickly that it’s not a honeymoon at all—not that I expected it to be—but part of his agenda to insert himself into our business. Does his contract with my father go this far? Tonight is the first of three political fund-raisers that De Léon Enterprises has always attended.
More than attended, really. De Léon Enterprises is a generous donor to each of these politicians. Favors are always good things to have. I still remember when I overheard my father and uncle discussing it. My father had always attended these, even before my uncle’s death. His role has just grown since.
I’ve never been, and I wonder what Santos is planning. But if he sticks to the schedule, we’ll be at meetings in Miami, Philadelphia, then back home in Avarice.
Once we’re at the hotel, Santos promptly deposits me in our suite and leaves for some meeting or other. We hardly talked during the flight since he’s been busy on calls, and I’m glad for it.
I don’t want to discuss last night. I’m not ready for that, and my mind is on the birth control pills. I have three weeks’ worth in the current cycle. If he denies me birth control after that, I’m not sure what I’ll do apart from banning him from my bed… although I’m not sure that’s up to me.
I can’t have a baby with him, or with anyone. Because what if I’m capable of doing what my mother did but going a little further? I look exactly like her. Everyone says so. I’m sure I have inherited her traits—definitely more of hers than my father’s. I’m probably sick like her, and it’s just a matter of time before the illness manifests.
Shoving those thoughts aside, I spend the afternoon in the lavish presidential suite overlooking South Beach. It’s hard to believe the waters I see here are part of the same ocean I see in Avarice. Here, it’s turquoise, warmth, and happiness. At home, it’s wild, gray, and cold. Angry even.
I am drawn to the ocean, even though I’m terrified of it and the cliffs in Avarice with their constantly churning waves. I sometimes wonder if Mom intended to drown. She hit rock, though, not water. Maybe that was better. Faster.
Sadly, Santos had the telephone removed from the room upon our arrival, not even bothering to make up an excuse. It’s early evening by the time he’s back and in the meantime, I get dressed, hair and makeup done for the event.
As soon as I hear him, I walk out into the living room but stop when I see he’s not alone. Caius is beside him.
Their conversation pauses when I walk into the room and Santos’s gaze sweeps over me. I’m wearing a form-fitting, floor length deep crimson gown with a black lace overlay. It is a color I love. My hair is twisted elegantly, and I insisted on heavy eye makeup. The woman had accommodated me when I’d threatened to add my own if she wouldn’t. It’s still less liner than I’d do, but it looks good.
My stomach flutters stupidly when I watch Santos look me over. His eyes darken and in them, I see want. I hate that some part of me is satisfied to see it. Maybe I was even waiting for that look, because it’s his stamp of approval.
Caius, on the other hand, looks like he usually does. Sneaky, like a snake.
“Sis,” he says, walking toward me. I stiffen but hold my ground when he kisses my cheeks, the scruff of his jaw scratching my skin. “Don’t you look lovely.”
I don’t bother with him. I don’t trust him, and I don’t like seeing him with Santos.
“Don’t you think so, brother?” Caius asks, pouring himself a whiskey as he watches Santos watch me.
Santos nods.
Caius keeps his gaze on us as he swallows his drink. “I’ll go get dressed. See you downstairs?”
“Yeah.”
Caius sets his empty glass down and leaves.
“Why is your brother here?” I ask.
“Business. He and I are partners, and tonight we’ll not only be meeting some of the advertisers who are used to doing business with your father, but also the candidates for political office who have had relationships with him.”
I consider this, trying to hear what he’s not saying. “I don’t trust Caius.” The words are out before I can think better of it.
“Does that mean you trust me?”
I hope my narrowed eyes give him the answer he seeks. “I don’t have anything to do with the company. I’m not sure why I’m here.”
De Léon Enterprises was formerly Donovan Media, a media giant for more than three generations. It’s the company my uncle was CEO of. My uncle was the last Donovan to run it. My father actually met my mother when he was in talks about a merger between De Léon Enterprises and Donovan Media.
Things had been headed in that direction for years, although it was only in the last six months of Uncle Jax’s life that they’d reached an agreement, but I also know Uncle Jax was under pressure from Dad. I still remember some of the conversations I overheard between him and my father.
Uncle Jax didn’t trust him. My grandfather had thought he was using our mother to make headway into the company. I think ultimately my mother’s family blamed him for what happened to her which, even though I know my father, I don’t think is quite fair. But in the final months of Uncle Jax’s life, Donovan Media and De Léon Enterprises did merge, the name Donovan Media being kept, a concession from my dad that he never appreciated having to make. I overheard those conversations too. It only became De Léon Enterprises a full year after my uncle’s death due to a clause in the bylaws Uncle Jax had added. I never liked that Dad did that, erasing the Donovan name like it had never been.
“What am I doing here?” I ask instead of answering. “Neither Odin nor I have anything to do with the business. That’s all my father.” My brother is as much a disappointment to my father as I am. In many ways, Odin’s had it worse than me. I think our mother may have been a disappointment to Dad too.
“I want the world to see me with my beautiful wife. Is that wrong?”
“You want my father’s associates to see me on your arm.”
“Your father’s and your uncle’s. He was better liked than your father if I recall.”
“Will my father be there?” I ask, not liking the feeling of my stomach tensing. It’s easier to tell myself he doesn’t scare me when he’s not around. But the reality isn’t quite that and I don’t like it. It makes me feel weak.
“No, not tonight or tomorrow night.” I must look relieved because he continues, “You don’t have to be afraid of him anymore, Madelena. He won’t come near you.”
“I know what you did to him,” I say after a long minute.
He studies me but doesn’t add anything.
“Why did you do it?” I ask.
“Because he hurt you and he needed to be punished.”
“Because he touched what’s yours?”
His forehead creases momentarily, but he smiles a small smile. “Because he hurt you. Period.”
I don’t know how to respond.
“I need to get changed,” he says.
I stop him, finally registering what he’d said a minute ago. “How did you know my uncle was better liked than my father?”
He waits a beat. “It’s not hard to be better liked than Marnix De Léon. There’s a difference between being tolerated and liked.”
“But how did you know? You’d have to be involved in their lives to know such a detail.”
I’m not sure if I imagine it or if his jaw tenses. “History between the Augustines and the De Léons goes back many years. I know details about your family you probably never will.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing. Drop it.” He checks his watch.
It takes all I have to keep my face neutral, to not ask him what he was doing at my uncle’s house on the night he died. But I can’t do that. Not yet. Not until I know more.
I wonder again who sent me that photo, who wanted me to know that he was there, at the scene of the crime. Santos has enemies, I know that he must, but this is my family we’re talking about.
“I should warn you that you may know Caius’s date,” he says.
“Why would I care about Caius’s date? Answer my question, Santos.” I assume he’s trying to change the subject.
“It’s Ana Hollis,” he says, watching my reaction.
“Ana?” Hearing her name catches me completely off guard.
He nods.
“Why? How does he even know Ana?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “Met at the club probably.”
Why would Caius be with Ana? Why would he bring her here? I can imagine the stories she’s told him about me, the things he’ll tell Santos.
And just like that, it’s like I’m back in high school again.
“I’ll change and we’ll go. Just wanted you to be prepared,” Santos says. He’s already told me he knows everything about me, and I’m starting to believe him.
Santos changes into a more formal dark suit than the one he wore during the day, and we ride down on the elevator with two men. Once we get to the banquet hall, the soldiers enter and stand near the double doors. I can pick them out around the room, too. They’re dressed like guests, but they look off. No one would notice at a quick glance, but once you see that subtle difference, it’s hard to unsee it.
“Why do you always have soldiers around?” I ask Santos as we enter, his hand warm and possessive on my lower back.
“When you’re in the business we’re in, you need bodyguards.” He nods a greeting to someone across the room as he says it.
“When you’re a criminal, you mean?” I ask with a smile painted on my face, recognizing one of my uncle’s business associates, Joseph Lowe. I get the feeling he was waiting for me, as he disentangles himself and his wife from the couple he’s talking to and makes his way toward us.
“Exactly,” Santos says, trailing his hand up my bare back, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Just like your father.” He turns to me. “When you’re as powerful as we are, your hands are never all that clean.” He leans in to kiss my cheek. “Be good,” he warns.
“Madelena,” Mrs. Lowe says, the couple coming to stand before us. I vaguely remember them from parties my uncle held at the house, a few of which took place when Odin and I were spending weekends with him, especially those at Christmas. “How are you, dear? It’s been so long,” she says, leaning to touch her cheeks to mine.
“Since the funeral,” I say, making her immediately uncomfortable even though that’s not my intent. It’s just the truth. We had no reason to see each other. I’d been fifteen when my uncle died.
“Congratulations to you both, Mr. Augustine,” Mr. Lowe says quickly, smiling to Santos. He extends his hand.
Santos takes it. This is why we’re here, after all. From conversations I’ve overheard, Mr. and Mrs. Lowe’s money funds a chunk of the company. “Thank you,” Santos says. “And call me Santos, please.”
“Santos. I hear you’ll be joining the board of De Léon Enterprises.”
I glance at Santos. I’m not surprised, am I?
“News travels fast,” he says as I watch him. He’s relaxed and casual. “I’ll be offering my guidance and direction.”
“Is it true the De Léon name will be erased altogether to become Augustine Media?” he asks, with a pointed look in my direction.
I turn to Santos. This is the first I’ve heard of it.
“Nothing is set in stone just yet. As an investor, you’ll be among the first to know. If you’ll excuse us,” Santos says as Caius approaches with a woman. I do a double take. If I didn’t already know it was Ana, I wouldn’t have guessed it from a casual glance because she’s changed. A lot.
“You’re removing my family’s name?” I ask Santos.
He scans the room with a keen eye before meeting my gaze. “Your name is now Augustine, remember?”
“But—” I start, but before I can finish, Caius and Ana reach us. I hate that my heart races when I see her.
Caius’s expression is set in stone, different from the usual casual asshole vibe he gives off, but I don’t dwell. I need to process Ana’s presence, and it’s going to take all my energy.
Ana takes Santos in with big doe eyes, and I find myself leaning a little closer to him. Has Caius noticed? Has Santos? She is pretty, always has been, although now it’s with hair dyed almost as dark as mine. Naturally it’s a light brown. I wonder why she dyed it. She was prettier with her natural color. She must have extensions in too because it was never that thick or that long. Her makeup is heavier than I remember her wearing, and her lipstick is a familiar red. It’s applied so thickly it’s already cracking. My gaze falls to her chest because her boobs are out there for all the world to see. She’s had some work done.
I’m glad to see Santos only spares her a glance, barely acknowledging her presence while she’s staring up at him like a puppy. I remember his comment about being celibate. Is he oblivious to her adoring gaze? Is Caius? Isn’t he pissed?
“Caius, Ana,” Santos says in greeting.
“Santos, it’s so nice to see you again,” she says demurely, smiling.
Caius remains stoic and turns his brother away to say something too quietly for me to hear. I’m wondering what it is when both brothers’ gazes follow a family of four who have just entered the reception hall, two men and two women. One of the men looks to be a little older than Santos. The other must be in his mid-twenties, similar to the younger of the two women. I wonder if maybe the older woman is their mother because she’s much older. There is a clear resemblance between them all, especially the younger man and woman.
But it’s not those things that stand out. It’s that they also seem to travel with soldiers who are less subtle than the Augustine bunch. As I watch their progress, the younger woman turns her attention in our direction, her gaze passing completely over Ana, pausing on me, then turning fully to Santos. That’s when she smiles a wide, gleaming smile, one that sets my teeth on edge.
The younger man sets his hand on her arm. He leans close to her as she speaks and he, too, turns toward us. They look so much alike I wonder if they’re twins. But it’s not that that makes my mouth go dry and the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. It’s when his gaze lands squarely on me—and he isn’t smiling.
Santos’s entire body goes rigid. His hands fist at his sides. Caius’s eyes narrow as he takes in the family, who stop to pick up drinks from a waiter’s tray. Only then does the younger woman look away from Santos; only then do his hands unclench. I think that’s when he realizes the man with her is still staring at me, and I feel like a deer caught in the crosshairs.
Santos wraps his hand around the nape of my neck and draws me close. My heart races. We stand like that for a moment, not saying anything. Not a word. But the act itself denotes possession and weirdly, I’m grateful for it. I feel safer for it, although I have questions. They clearly know Santos and they may know me, but I don’t know anything about them at all.
“Madelena,” Ana says as the family moves away.
Santos’s grip relaxes and, exhaling, I turn to her. At least she doesn’t use the Mad Elena they used to call me at school. The nickname she started. She had a way of saying it subtly enough that at first, I wasn’t quite sure she did it on purpose, but she had. Every single time.
“Ana.” I don’t bother to smile. If she thinks I’ve forgotten or forgiven, she’s wrong. I’m not so generous.
Santos signals to Val, who must have arrived after us. He comes over. “Take my wife and my brother’s date to our table.”
“Yes, sir,” Val says, and I see Ana smile like she feels so very important. I want to scream at her that Val is a fucking soldier.
Santos sweeps his fingertips along my spine, sending a shiver through me. He leans in like he’s kissing my cheek. “Don’t stray,” he whispers, the lips brushing my ear sending a thrill through me. He lingers, and I wonder if he feels it too, the strange connection between us.
“Who are they?” I ask in a whisper, knowing this is important.
His gaze darkens. “No one who matters,” he says, calm tone forced, and I know without a doubt that they do matter. They matter very much because I’ve never seen Santos Augustine have such a visceral reaction to anyone. I’ve never seen his hate personified in every cell, tensed in every muscle of his body.
“Santos?” I ask, reaching out for his hand when he steps away, catching the tips of his fingers.
He looks back at me, at the brief contact of our hands before I draw back. What am I doing?
Caius finishes doing whatever he’s doing on his phone and tucks it into his pocket. He all but ignores Ana when he nods in silent communication to Santos, and the two walk purposefully away.
“I wonder what that’s about,” Ana says, taking a flute of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray. I notice the family is leaving the room through a different door.
I cut my gaze to her. Does she think we’re going to be friends?
“Ladies,” Val says, gesturing for us to walk ahead of him toward the room where dinner will be served and speeches will be given. The tables are filling up, and Val finds ours at the front. If I recall, this is a ten-thousand-dollar-a-plate event.
Once we’re seated and Val retreats, Ana turns to me. “They’re cute, the brothers. I always thought you’d land him after what he did to Jason Cole.” She looks me over, then sips her drink. “He’s really into you for some reason, isn’t he?”
Was she always so good at the barely veiled insults? She pushes dark hair over her shoulder, and I realize what’s off with the new look. The hair, the makeup. She looks like me. No, that can’t be right. I still remember the Morticia Addams joke from years ago. “Watch yourself with Caius. You’re out of his league.”
She snorts.
I mean it as a warning to her, but of course she takes it the wrong way. “He’s dangerous, Ana.”
“Are you jealous?” she asks, arching a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “You always were jealous.”
I open my mouth to respond but decide it’s not worth it. She’s not worth it. So I close it again.
“Who’s that family?” she asks after a minute. I follow her gaze to find the family from earlier being led to a table at the very front, to the tables that are reserved for the most generous donors. I’m grateful we’re at opposite ends of the room. Once they reach the table, the younger two of the four are seated while the older man and woman excuse themselves. The two left at the table turn their attention directly to me.
“Do you know them? They seem to know you.” Ana is still talking.
“Excuse me,” I say, standing, turning to find a bathroom to disappear into. But Val is at my side in an instant.
“Mrs. Augustine?” he asks, so respectfully. I should remind him how he handled me last night when he deposited me in my bedroom and locked the door.
“I need to use the ladies’ room,” I tell him, trying to shoulder past him. I don’t manage to, of course. But Ana stands and takes my wrist in a too tight grip.
“I’ll go with you. I know where it is,” she says, and Val follows us as she hurries toward an exit I hadn’t noticed. We reach a door marked Ladies, and she turns to Val. “Sorry, women only,” she tells him as she pushes the door open, and we slip inside.
She makes a motion like she’s wiping sweat off her forehead, her smile revealing the dimples on her cheeks. I wonder if she needed to throw me under the bus to get in with the it crowd in school. She always had the looks but lacked the confidence, always had an inferiority complex.
“He really does keep you under lock and key, doesn’t he? There’s something so sexy about such a possessive man.”
“Not really,” I start, but she shrugs.
“I need to wee,” she says, using the term we used when we were kids. She walks down the corridor toward another door. There are several. It’s not just a bathroom but a full lounge with separate rooms with sofas, private stalls, and a nursing mother’s room.
Hiding out in a toilet stall takes me back to high school prom, and I promised myself a long time ago I wasn’t doing that anymore. I walk into the next room, where there’s an empty attendant’s table with a sign on top that says she’ll return shortly. On the counter are various perfumes and other toiletries. I walk to the farthest end, setting my clutch down and taking my lipstick out just to have something to do. I wonder where Santos and Caius went, if their departure had to do with that family.
I need to talk to Santos about his plans to remove the De Léon name from the company. How is he able to do that? What does he have on my father that he has so much power?
I dab on lipstick then tuck the tube into my purse and choose one of the bottles of perfume. I spray it into the air and sniff and am about to test another when the clicking of shoes signals someone walking in behind me. I assume it’s Ana, so I don’t bother turning or even looking at the reflection in the mirror, so I’m startled a moment later when the woman steps up to the counter beside me.
“This one’s my favorite,” she says, picking up one of the bottles and holding it out to me.
I look up to find the younger woman from that family standing closer than necessary. I’m caught off guard and find myself staring for a long, awkward minute. I could see from across the room that she was beautiful, but close up, she’s stunning.
“He’ll like this one.” She smiles, although it’s not a real one. She’s studying me, taking in every detail of my face. She’s about an inch taller than me with palest blond hair pulled into a chignon at the nape of her neck. She’s so close I can see the pins that are holding it in place, and I wonder if it hurts.
I register what she just said but don’t really know how to respond. She puts the bottle down and takes a lip gloss out of her clutch. I watch her in profile as she turns her attention to her reflection to reapply. I get the feeling she’s giving me time to look at her, to see her.
Each of her features is perfect independent of each other, and it makes for an almost unreal, inhuman beauty, the kind that hurts to look at. Once she’s satisfied with the gloss, she drops the tube back into her clutch and turns her cornflower blue eyes to me. I’m still staring. Her skin is the palest, smoothest ivory. Her eyelashes are thick and dark with mascara and it makes the pale of her skin and the blue of her eyes that much more striking.
Her pink glossed lips stretch into a wide smile. She’s used to people staring. I can tell, and it somehow takes away from her power. I clear my throat as she steps slightly back to look me over fully, taking her time. I don’t know if she doesn’t realize how awkward it is or if she just doesn’t care.
“So, you’re the girl Santos married. Madelena, right?” she asks, tone soft and sweet like you’d expect someone who looks like her to sound. But I know there’s nothing soft or sweet about her. She’s dangerous.
I nod. I’m not easily flustered. I know how to deal with women who don’t like me. But this is different than that. “And you are?”
“Camilla,” she says, extending her hand toward me—not to shake it, but the way a royal might hold out her hand to be kissed. I don’t. “Camilla Avery. Maybe you’ve heard the name?”
I don’t like her. I wouldn’t trust her with a kitten. “Can’t say I have.”
“Oh, that’s surprising.” She makes a face like she truly is surprised, but I already know that everything this woman does is calculated. “Santos and I go way back. I thought for sure he’d have mentioned me.” I shake my head again. Her face falls. “Well, my father did have a greater influence in his life, of course. Commander Avery? Alistair Avery. Ring any bells in there?” I almost expect her to tap the side of my head.
“No, sorry to disappoint you,” I say, irritated and not sure what she wants with me. I just want to leave.
“Well, Santos knew him as the Commander, of course, so maybe…” she trails off, shrugging.
Ana enters the room, halting when she sees Camilla. It takes her a moment to recover. “There you are,” she says cheerily, again acting as if we are friends, except that this time I’m glad to see her.
Camilla spares her the briefest of glances as if Ana isn’t quite worth the trouble, before returning her attention to me.
“You should ask him about the Commander. I’m sure he’ll want to tell you all about him. My father was a sort of mentor to Santos for a good five years. The defining years, he used to say. He was only eighteen when he came to live with us, you know.” She says it almost wistfully.
“I’ll be sure to do that. Excuse me,” I say, wanting to get away from her. I manage to take a step, but just as I do, another door opens near the empty attendant’s table. A man enters. My heart races and adrenaline rushes through me, the warning to flee blaring like a siren in my head. But I remain still, rooted to the spot because I’m not sure I’ll be able to get past these two.
“Sister,” the man says. She smiles at him but keeps her eyes locked on me, just like she had earlier. His looks match hers except they’re masculine. Harder. The false veneer of soft sweetness is too thin to hide the cruelty beneath.
Ana giggles nervously. She always used to do that. “We’d better get back. I don’t think Caius likes me gone too long.” I don’t look at her. No one does.
“I wondered where you’d gone off to,” he says, coming to stand beside Camilla. He smiles down at her. “Mother would have had me sending a search party soon.”
Camilla slips her hand into his and they turn matching eyes to me. The force of it, of them, has me taking an unconscious step back right into a stool I didn’t know was there. I gasp, falling backward, until the man lunges forward to catch me.
“Careful, Madelena,” he says, voice low, his hands big and hard on my arms as he steadies me. How does he know my name? How did she?
“Let me go,” I say, trying to wriggle free. He only squeezes harder, and the way he tilts his head just a little and grins is almost inhuman.
“Santos didn’t tell her about us, brother,” Camilla says, stepping closer. The two of them have me trapped, and I’m not sure it’s their physical proximity or just their presence that makes it feel like they’re standing too close. “You’d think he would have, considering. I’m a little hurt, to be honest.”
“Don’t be hurt. You know Santos isn’t very open about that part of his life. Understandably.” The man looks me over, his gaze searching my face, my mouth, hovering over the exposed swell of my breasts above the necklines of the dress. “I’m Liam, by the way.”
“Madelena, but you knew that.”
“I did. We all do. Madelena De Léon. Augustine now.” He looks me over again, that smile vanishing. “Promised to Santos at the tender age of fifteen.”
I gasp, surprised when he takes my hand and turns it over. It’s the one with the scar. He traces it. I shudder, unable to pull free as he meets my eyes.
“Blood oath,” he says, sending an icy chill down my spine. How does he know this? “Brutality comes naturally to the Augustines, doesn’t it?”
My mouth goes dry, or maybe it was already dry and I’m just noticing as I stare up into his eyes. They may be that pretty blue, but there’s nothing pretty in the way he’s looking at me. It’s not quite hate I see in them, though, and although I’m struggling to put words to the emotion, the animosity they convey is unmistakable.
He leans close to me, and I swear he inhales like he’s taking in my scent. It’s the most unsettling thing. “You take good care with that husband of yours, little Madelena De Léon,” he whispers. “He’s been known to crush bigger creatures than you.”
“Get your fucking hands off my wife!”
I startle at the roar of the command, my breath a tremble, and a wash of relief flooding my system. Ana actually yelps and jumps backward as Santos’s big hand closes over Liam’s shoulder. Caius is behind his brother, with Val behind him, and soldiers stand at the entrance of both doors. Two are ours.
Ours. When did they become ours, not his?
But those questions don’t matter now. Not when those soldiers reach into their jackets to draw their weapons.