by Shandi Boyes
Realizing I’m two seconds away from stopping a conversation I’ve waited months to have, I get back to the task at hand instead of kissing Isaac like I really want to. “Then why did Brandon say it was Alex? And are you sure it wasn’t someone else? Maybe Theresa changed the form, and Brandon only unearthed her switch-up instead of the original?”
I’m seeking a gold nugget in an over-drilled mine, but it’s got to be better than clutching at straws. I trust my intuition. It has guided me through turbulent storms many times the past eighteen months, so I really don’t want it to be proven faulty. Brandon is a good guy. I’m certain of it.
“You know how obsessed Theresa is, Isaac? Not even the threat of adding three years onto her five-year sentence has weakened the intensity of her badgering. She demanded another paternity test just last month.” My voice sounds pained. It’s understandable. My heart pains for Jeremiah.
Even after Isaac was proven not to be his father, Jeremiah’s mother continues to lie to him. He’s so convinced Isaac is his father, he wrote to him the week before Easter, begging for him to visit. I wish the people in charge of his care would take him out of that volatile situation before Theresa harms him so much, he’ll lose the ability to become an upstanding member of society.
Isaac returns to his seat. Even with tension high, the hairs on my arms bristle from his closeness. “Theresa’s obsession is why I knew I had to tread lightly with Brandon’s obsession with you.”
“Brandon isn’t obsessed with me.” I almost choke on my words, repelled by the idea. Brandon is a great guy, but there’s never been anything more than friendship between us—not even during our kiss.
“He hid your information—”
“Because he knew how corrupt my father was.”
I hate the look Isaac is giving me now. I’m more than willing to hand him my power in the bedroom, but that doesn’t extend to everyday life. Here, right now, he’s supposed to be my equal, yet I’m feeling more like a member of his staff. He’s talking down at me all because I’m working on half-truths.
“I wouldn’t seem so daft if you’d give me accurate information to assess. You’re always mollycoddling me, Isaac.”
The anger radiating off Isaac could be felt in China. “I do so to protect you.”
“Or perhaps it’s because you don’t trust me as much as you say you do.”
He scoffs as the fury swirling in his stomach works its way up to his face. “I trust you.”
“Prove it.” I drop my eyes to the tablet in my hand. “Show me what you think I’m not brave enough to see, then give me a chance to prove I am.”
I don’t expect him to fall for my ruse since Isaac hates being strong-armed. There’s no way he’d let me goad him into doing something he doesn’t want to do, so you can imagine my surprise when he merely says, “Fine,” before snatching the tablet out of my hand and logging into a secure set of files that require both a fingerprint and retina scan. “But don’t think you won’t pay your penance later. I don’t like being strong-armed, Isabelle, even when it’s happening by my equal.”
I shouldn’t be excited by the threat in his tone, but I am.
The shocks keep coming when he hands his tablet back to me. It’s not open on a dossier of Brandon as I was anticipating. It’s Hugo’s file, and it’s a lot more comprehensive than the one I unearthed when I dug into his personal life after Isaac took me home when I was severely inebriated.
The longer I read Hugo’s file, the slicker my skin becomes. “These charges can’t be true. Hugo would never hurt anyone… except perhaps Brandon.”
I only express my last three words after taking in an image attached to a police report of the night Hugo was charged with the battery of a fellow marine. The man pictured isn’t an oddly compelling match to Brandon as Grayson is for Alex, but they have remarkably similar features—features I took in extensively when Mrs. James primed me to within an inch of recognition.
“The initial suspect in the crime Hugo was convicted of was Brandon’s brother?” When Isaac nods, I dig deeper into Madden’s case files. “The accuser originally documented Madden McGee as the main accomplice, so why was Hugo charged months later?”
Although I appear to be asking questions, I’m not. This is how I sort through facts. I talk out loud. It’s better than my previous outlet of babbling which got me nowhere fast.
After a few more minutes of silent reading, I discover Brandon’s real name is Brandon James McGee, he’s the youngest child of Vincent and Barbara James, who now goes by her maiden name of Raven.
My brows furrow when I stumble upon a damning piece of evidence. “How could they let Madden’s father preside over his son’s case? It’s highly unethical.”
“But not illegal. An accused has the right to pick any counsel they see fit. If they believe it to be a person related to them by blood, the court will allow it.” Isaac’s face doesn’t give anything away, but the sneer in his tone sure does. He’s as suspicious of Vincent’s motives as I am.
“Still, it’s in poor taste.”
Isaac flicks his finger across the screen four times. “Not as ill-mannered as pinning the charges onto the man who saved the victim from her attackers.”
Attackers. That hurt as much to hear as it did reading it.
As I read a report stating Hugo’s DNA was found under the victim’s nails during the processing of evidence, Isaac says, “Hugo’s DNA was only found because Gemma clutched to him when her attackers fled.”
My eyes float up to Isaac’s “So why did Hugo plead guilty? Gemma would have backed him up. He saved her.”
“He pled guilty after the victim, his friend, tried to kill herself.”
My stomach gurgles when Isaac taps the screen two times to bring up a hotel room bathroom that looks like it underwent a massacre. There’s blood and medical gauze everywhere. Gemma didn’t do a half-assed attempt to end her life, she went the full gung-ho.
“Did Gemma survive?”
The tightness lassoed around my chest slackens when Isaac nods. “I doubt she would have if she were forced to endure the witness stand again, though. Vincent tore her apart.”
I’m not surprised. He has beady, unscrupulous eyes. “So Hugo pled guilty, so Gemma wouldn’t have to take the witness stand again?”
Isaac nods again. “Since this was a military case, it was handled differently than a standard citizen case. Hugo was given probation and dishonorably discharged while Gemma’s real attackers roamed free.” He clicks into a secondary subsidiary file. “It also means Gemma’s accusation wasn’t mentioned during a recent court proceeding.”
I assume he’s referencing Hugo’s attempt to be resurrected from the dead the past six months, but I am proven wrong when I take in the name of the accused on the court transcript in front of me. Madden McGee.
He was indicted on a second-degree rape charge from years ago. He was twenty-one at the time, and his victim was only almost nineteen. Her name is recognizable. It’s Brandon’s high-school sweetheart, Melody Gregg. Although the incident occurred years ago, charges were only raised earlier this year. Even with the evidence being stale, it was credible. Regrettably, the person accused of rape went unpunished for a second time.
“Madden was exonerated twice? How? The evidence against him couldn’t be more damning.”
I find the answers I’m seeking when I click on the link at the bottom of the article. Vincent McGee is no longer a defense attorney. He’s the governor of a very powerful state, and his eldest son, Madden McGee, is hoping to follow in his footsteps. He just entered the dodgy world of politics at the tender age of thirty-one.
“Melody’s claims were swept under the rug, so they wouldn’t taint the upcoming elections?”
When Isaac nods, I scrape my fingers through my hair, frustrated. I’ve always trusted the law—it’s the reason I was adamant my bloodline wouldn’t stop me from pursuing my dreams, but things like this annoy the living hell out of me. Gemma and Melody did the right
thing. They sought assistance from people sworn to protect them, and look what happened? They were left without justice and branded liars.
After a big exhale to free the annoyance in my stomach, I lock my eyes with Isaac. “This sucks, and it’s unjust, but it doesn’t sway my opinion on Brandon. We know as well as anyone you can’t judge someone based on their relations.”
I want Isaac to agree with me, to prove my intuition wasn’t wrong when I befriended Brandon, but for the second time today, I’m left disappointed. “Brandon was the key witness in Melody’s case. He gave evidence on behalf of the defense.”
9
Isaac
Being truthful is a loving act.
* * *
Isabelle peers up at me with her big chocolate eyes out in full force. She hates being proven wrong just as much as I dislike being strong-armed. I would have preferred to be wrong than have her intuition proven as faulty. Isabelle is a spiritual person. She trusts her gut. She often says it was what guided her relationship with me, so this is a bitter pill for her to swallow.
There are still many secrets Hunter has yet to unearth about Brandon, but with each week that passes, he’s slowly discovering Brandon isn’t quite as shiny as his boy-next-door appearance conveys. People are always wary of the smaller guy in the group. He might not pack the hardest punch, but they’re usually the most conniving.
Isabelle’s hands dart out to clutch my arm when the jet hits a pocket of turbulence just as it reaches its desired ascent. She’s as scared now as she was when we flew to Mummon Koti months ago, but she’s putting on a brave front for Callie, who stirred due to the unexpected shudders. It only takes handing her back her precious bunny for her breathing to settle and her eyes to taper.
Isabelle’s panic is more perverse.
I’d love to soothe her how I usually do—in the bedroom at the back of the jet—but she lied the last time we were in this very plane. She said she wasn’t a screamer. I proved her wrong time and time again.
When the shakes of turbulence decline, Isabelle’s nails stop piercing through the material of my suit. She’s still a diamond in the rough who doesn’t need polished nails, weekly hair appointments, and designer clothing costing more than a standard police officer’s salary, so my arm is minus the scratches she drags down my back in the middle of ecstasy.
Regrettably, clipped nails can’t save the disaster that’s about to unfold. When Isabelle’s hands lunged out, she bumped the tablet, sending it back to the original file I showed her. Except now, it isn’t open on Hugo’s details. It’s open at the section revealing why I kept Hugo hidden for five years.
“Isaac… why do you have this?” Isabelle’s wide eyes stray to Hawke for the quickest second before they return to me. They’re glistening with tears. “Why do you have a file on his wife’s murderer?”
When she hands me the tablet, I’m tempted to shut down the interrogation in her voice with the edge of authority I regularly utilize on my staff. The only reason I don’t is because of what she said earlier. We’re a unit, one joined team. There is meant to be no secrets between us, and even though this is one I had long before I knew of her existence, she is my soon-to-be wife, my other half, so she deserves to know the truth.
The scent of Isabelle’s arousal filters through my nose when I unlatch her seat belt and pluck her from her seat. Her assumption that I’m about to settle our conversation as I always do has my blood turning black. I have a reputation fierce enough no man has had the gall to go against me, yet it’s the struggle of my life to keep my mind focused right now. It’s my job to fulfill Isabelle’s every whim. Right now, I’m not doing that.
After a quick glance at Catherine to ensure she’s watching Callie, I lift Isabelle into my arms and walk the short steps needed to reach the bedroom at the back of the jet. Memories of our first time together trickle into my mind as I kick the door closed before securing the lock into place. I could use Isabelle’s natural submissiveness to my advantage. I could keep it from her to save face, but the quickest glance into her eyes when I place her onto the bed reminds me I have nothing to be ashamed of. She and Callie have exposed me as a mere man instead of an enigma, but I’m fiercer and more impenetrable because of that. They reminded me strength does not come from winning, but from the challenges you face to get to the top.
On a day five and a half years ago, I felt weak, lost, and was seeking vengeance on the wrong person.
The familiar scent of soot and sweat streamed through my nose when I pushed open an unoiled basement door of a house in the middle of Rochdale, New York. It was the smell of a man on the brink, one hell-bent on seeking justice no matter what the cost.
I didn’t think Ava would point me in the right direction. She eventually did. I found Hugo in a place I never anticipated, but undertaking in an event I foresaw long before he did. He was angry and grieving and about to make a mistake he could never take back.
The world is full of hurters and healers. Hugo is a healer, so he shouldn’t have been torturing a man in the basement any more than his criminal record shouldn’t have been sullied by a rape charge. I couldn’t change the outcome of an event occurring before my time, but I could fix this.
Hugo’s gun swung my way when I took the final step down the creaky stairwell. “You need to leave.” His words were as low and desolate as the monster in his eyes when he redirected his gun back to the man chained to the boiler in the basement of his sister’s home. “This is between Roberto and me, not you.”
“You're my family, Hugo. What happens to you affects me.”
His nostrils flared as he glared into the eyes of the man who snuffed not just the life in his sister’s eyes, but his entire family as well. “He killed my family. He tore them apart.”
“No.” I kept my tone stern and unwavering, assuring he knew I was not leaving until I got the outcome I came there to achieve. “He didn’t kill your family, but you will if you don’t leave now.”
His head cranked my way faster than the bullet he was hoping to pop between Roberto’s eyes. He stared at me. He was impassive and hard for me to read, barely half the man I knew only weeks ago, but I also knew what he was thinking. He thought this would ease his family’s pain, that by killing Roberto, he’d somehow shorten the unimaginable grief they were enduring.
He was wrong.
Grudges make it impossible to move on. However, forgiveness with substance is wondrous.
“The instant you took Roberto, you signed your family’s death certificates. Trust me, Col will not stop hunting you until you have suffered the same loss as him.”
Hugo’s face paled, but nothing eased the torment in his eyes. “He deserves to die. He killed my sister. My nephew! I want him to suffer!”
“He will suffer,” I promised, stepping even closer. “I’ll make sure of it. I'll take care of this.” I locked my eyes with his to ensure he could see the honesty relayed in them when I said, “He won’t get away with it. You have my word.” I stepped even closer, placing myself in the firing line. “There are two types of people in the world, Hugo, healers and hurters.”
Before he could react, I disarmed him as swiftly as I wish I could have erased the pain in his eyes. With the barrel of his Glock facing the ground and my heart in my throat, I said, “You're a healer. I’m a hurter.”
With my eyes locked on Hugo, and the gun I recently purchased on the black market facing the direction Hugo once stood, I nudged my head to the stairs I just walked. “Go say your goodbyes, because your life is about to change in a way you never anticipated.”
He looked as devastated then as he did when he was informed his sister wasn’t going to make it. “No. I can’t do that. This is my home. This is my life—”
“This is a signed guarantee every member of your family will be dead by the end of the week. All I did was love Col’s daughter, but that didn’t leash his desire for revenge. If you truly care about your family, Hugo, and you want to save them from this, you need to walk
away.”
Panicked and confused, his eyes darted between Roberto and me. “If that’s true, why aren’t you dead? Why hasn’t he come after you?”
“Because there are rules in our industry Col can’t deny! Rules you broke when you took Roberto from his compound with your face exposed!” Frustration highlighted my tone. “Fuck, Hugo. I thought you were smart.”
He was shocked by me admitting I was on par with a man as ruthless as Col Petretti. I didn’t know why. I became as corrupt and colluded as him the instant his daughter chose his son over me.
Col thought I was a snitch. I wasn’t. It was just easier for him to blame the likes of the FBI for his demise instead of a man half his age but with a heart just as brittle. He claimed the life of the woman I loved, so I was now claiming everything he’d ever wanted.
Col was a king, so there were rules I was forced to abide by. They didn’t mention an inability to strategically remove the pawns that covered a majority of his board. That’s what I did the previous eight months. I started at the bottom rung, aware even a well-placed pawn can become a king.
Within months, I had Col’s board as bleak and as miserable as the man I was endeavoring to take down, but not even the most strategized game plan could have had me summarizing this mix-up. Hugo’s loss could be my gain if I allowed the hate eating me inside out to win.
People often say life is like a game of chess. If you lose the queen, you’ll most likely lose the game. Col’s infidelities already lost him the woman who vowed to stand by his side through thick and thin, so the loss of the final knight on his board could have possibly granted me permission to whisper the words I had practiced in silence the previous eight months, “Checkmate.”
“This is your last chance, Hugo. Walk away now and extend your family’s grief with another loss, or have them lose the ability to grieve altogether.”
Panic almost choked his words. “It doesn’t have to be this way.”
