by Layla Reyne
“Minimal,” Nic was quick to answer. “Maybe none, given your cooperation over the past year.”
“The past four years,” Mel said. “I can provide that evidence if needed.”
“Thank you,” Hawes said to her, then to the other two, “If this is what we have to do to get Brax back and be done with Rose, then fine, we accept that risk as long as we get to keep MCS in trust for the next generation’s legacy.”
“I can live with that.” Aidan stood and offered his hand. Hawes shook it, and Helena and Nic exchanged the same.
A shiver raced through Holt and he clasped his hands under the table. He was at bat now, and it was up to him to make sure Scenario A played out and not Scenario B. His family, Brax, his whole heart depended on it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The police escort from San Francisco to the Central California Women’s Facility trimmed the two-and-a-half-hour drive down to two. Chris’s lead foot had also helped, but even at top speed, the trip was utter hell.
Chris had thankfully cut his fidgeting some slack, always asking for an update each time Holt picked up his tablet—either to check on Lily, sleeping soundly under the watchful eyes of Celia and her teens, or to check the status of their operatives moving into position. They’d surrounded the compound with the FBI and SFPD teams forming a secondary perimeter. No one had eyes on Brax yet, but the compound was bustling with activity in the middle of the night, and on the dusty road leading to its entrance, they’d found tire tracks that matched those of the getaway Jeep.
Chris had thanked Holt for each update but otherwise left him alone in miserable peace. Not that Holt would have rather engaged in idle chitchat. His mind was already too full, rehearsing what he wanted to say to Rose, mentally reviewing Helena and Avery’s flawless raid tactical, imagining his life with Brax in the future, and replaying the one they’d already shared together in the past.
Stepping off the plane in Afghanistan, terrified to the point of shaking, until the tall, spindly captain lifted his shades, smiled, and assured Holt’s unit—assured him—that he’d be taking care of them.
Experiencing worse terror the first time the raid sirens had blared, getting lost in his head and under a bed, until Brax had shared a piece of his own tragedy and gently coaxed Holt back from the memories of his.
Playing cards every week, surprising Brax with that first Hanukkah dinner, holding on with everything he had as they fell through the crumbling building’s floor, afraid he was crushing Brax but not willing to risk letting go, doing everything he could to return the favor Brax had done him by getting on that mission and getting them to cover, under a fucking bed of all things.
Dancing close in a crowded club, Brax so uninhibited and sexy, so real, that Holt couldn’t resist the desire churning through him, acting on it later that night.
And again over a decade later, recognizing the trust and desire for what it was, built over countless conversations, messages, and moments in each other’s company.
Love.
Love he couldn’t let slip through his fingers again.
He kept that thought—that goal—in mind as he waited in the visitation room, continuing to periodically check his tablet. After a few minutes, Chris, propped against the wall behind him, shifted, and Holt lifted his gaze. The door swung open and behind the uniformed guards shuffled in his shackled grandmother. CCWF was a maximum-security prison. It wasn’t FCI Dublin where a nod would get Rose’s cuffs removed; not that Holt would give that nod. While he and Chris could easily take Rose, she didn’t deserve the consideration. And she wasn’t giving them any consideration either, her glare cold and imperious, even as the guards secured her cuffs to the floor and table bolts.
She waited until they left before speaking. “Only one of you.” Her icy blues flicked to Chris. “And you brought him.”
Just this side of a sneer, which Chris returned in kind. “Good to see you too, Rose.”
Holt forced himself to remain relaxed, to not hurtle to the end of his chair and demand she end this game. Instead, he focused on the changes—and not—in his grandmother. No makeup, her gray hair cut short, some weight loss, and dressed in the same jumpsuit as the other maximum-security prisoners. But the way Rose still carried herself, she might as well have been wearing Chanel and styled for a meeting with the governor. She thought she had the upper hand, always, despite the fact they’d foiled her previous attempted coup.
Holt’s anger, earlier eclipsed by fear and worry, strained at the reins he was holding tight, bubbling to the surface and rippling beneath his skin. No way she could miss the blush hitting his cheeks. He did nothing to hide it or the leading edge of fury in his voice. “This isn’t a social visit,” he said. “Or a familial one.”
“How’s my great-granddaughter?”
Holt woke his tablet and opened the login page for Royal Bank of the Caribbean. He flipped the tablet around and set it on the metal table in front of Rose. “I’ll tell you when you wire the funds to the criminals holding Brax.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replied without a flinch.
“Of course not.” He reclaimed the tablet, minimized the bank’s page, and opened the index of files he’d shown to Nic and Aidan. He laid the tablet back in front of Rose. “Like you have no idea about the crimes detailed in these files.”
No physical flinch but the whites of her eyes became more visible.
“The FBI and the US Attorney’s Office have been made aware of this evidence,” Holt continued. “If Brax isn’t released by the time Chris and I walk out of here, a copy of these files will be released to them.”
Rose clasped her hands in front of her. “Those are not my operations.”
“The evidence says otherwise.”
“And if I say otherwise?”
“We’re the ones who’ve built a rapport with law enforcement, starting with the man you had kidnapped.”
Chris pushed off the wall and pulled out the chair next to Holt, the metal legs scraping over concrete. “What were you planning to do with Brax?” he asked as he lowered himself into it. He crossed one leg over the other, hands folded in his lap, the motions so eerily similar to Hawes’s that Holt would swear it was his brother sitting next to him. He was willing to bet Chris intended Rose to notice the same, to be knocked unsteady by a proxy of the man who’d beat her once already. “Leverage him to take back control? Or were you foolish enough to think he’d turn on Holt, like you thought I would on Hawes?”
“You did.”
“Not in the end, and I didn’t spend a decade and a half in love with Hawes like Brax has been in love with Holt.”
And there it was. The same grenade Chris had lobbed into an eerily similar situation nine months ago, only more plainly spoken now. Holt was no longer surprised by it. Acknowledged and accepted, celebrated and cherished, he would have thrown that truth bomb himself if he could. As it were, he had another for his grandmother. He finally let himself shift forward on his seat, let Rose see the conviction and fury simmering in his eyes. “There is no way I would have turned on him. I have loved that man for almost half my life, I plan to love him for the rest of it, and I will not let you or anyone else get in the way of that.”
“You turn this over,” Rose said, “I won’t be the only one behind bars.”
“Hawes and Helena are aware,” Chris said. “They’re prepared to make that sacrifice.”
She shook her head, once, hard, the way she used to do when she chided her grandchildren for misbehaving. “Me and your grandfather, your parents, this isn’t what we wanted—”
Holt lurched to the end of his chair. Far past done, it was all he could do not to growl out his response. “One, you do not get to speak for the dead. Two, you wanted a legacy in your image. We want a fucking future in ours.” He rolled up his right sleeve and slapped the outside of his arm, the tattoo a representation of everything he was trying not to become. “One that doesn’t tear at our souls and drag u
s into darkness. One that I’m proud to leave my daughter. The same future Hawes fought for last summer.”
Her eyes hardened, her knuckles whitened, and like Holt’s, her pale skin reddened, no makeup to hide her temper. But she didn’t speak.
“Or maybe this is vengeance?” Chris said, resting his forearms on the table. “More than just severing the loose ends you left dangling? It chafes, doesn’t it? Knowing we’re here because you made a bad deal, because Hawes and your grandchildren outsmarted you.”
When she still didn’t reply, her wrinkled lips pressed mutinously together, Holt stood and braced his hands on the table. He wouldn’t loom over her, but he couldn’t stay seated either. “Is he right?”
Silence.
“Everything you and Papa Cal built, everything Mom and Dad died for, everything we’re trying to leave for Lily and the rest of her generation to come, you’re willing to throw all that away for vengeance? To ruin a good man? To get back at us?”
A sneer splintered her façade. “You’re the one threatening to do the same.”
“For love. For our family. We’re willing to give it all up to protect one of our own.”
“He’s not—”
Holt would have flipped the table if it weren’t bolted down. He settled for bringing his hands down in an ear-splitting slap against the metal, a satisfying release of all the anger and pain he’d bottled up the past nine months. “He is. I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for Brax. He saved me multiple times over, and he offered to give himself up to save your great-granddaughter when pictures of them were posted, so don’t tell me he’s not a part of this family. And this family, my family, is ready and willing to do whatever it takes to save him.” He jabbed a finger her direction. “Including from you. You want to continue to hold out? For vengeance, leverage, or whatever mistaken power trip you’re on? You go ahead and make that mistake.” He swung his finger toward the tablet. “I hit Send and all those files go to the feds. Everything they need to add a dozen more charges against you. Or you can pay the scum who answered your ad what they want and let us live our fucking lives the way we see fit.”
Finally—finally—she flinched, but not out of fear. There was none of that in her cold, blue stare. Only surprise. As if she were really seeing him, really taking him seriously for the first time in his life, and not just seeing him as the designated punching bag who would continue to take her hits and suffer the brunt of her manipulations. “You found your spine,” she said in a self-congratulatory tone. “If there’s anything I’ve done right—”
He let the growl rip. “You had nothing to do with this. This, the me here today, is because of Brax, my daughter, my family, and our friends.” He grabbed the tablet, brought the bank page back up, and shoved it within her reach. “Transfer the fucking money.”
They stared each other down another long few seconds before Rose tilted forward, keying in the codes to make the transfer, as cool and casual as she could be, as if she were wiring funds for an everyday occasion.
The urge to flip the table again was strong, but Holt snatched up the tablet and straightened instead. He made a screenshot of the transfer confirmation, attached it to a different email he had drafted, and hit Send.
“What was that?” Rose asked.
Rather than answer, Holt opened the camera roll and scrolled to a picture from Friday night. Lily on Brax’s shoulders, both of them covered in latke-goop. He flipped the tablet around for Rose to see. “Lily is better than she’s ever been. She’s going to grow up with two dads, a mom, and a family who loves her, and one day she’ll know they were willing to sacrifice everything for her.”
Rose cleared her throat and lifted her shockingly chastened gaze, the wind finally taken out of her imaginary-Chanel sails. “When will I see her?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
Holt handed the tablet to Chris and rolled down his sleeve. “On the terms you negotiate with the federal prosecutor. That sound you heard a second ago? That was me sending proof to the feds of your conspiracy to commit numerous crimes, including the kidnapping of Police Chief Braxton Kane. US Attorney Price will be here later today to discuss the additional charges against you.”
Chris banged on the door to signal their exit, and it was almost loud enough to drown out Rose’s gulp.
Almost.
“I’d suggest you call your lawyer.” He didn’t bother waiting for her reply.
Her gulp was victory enough. Chris’s parting “Checkmate” was the Hawes-flavored icing on the fucking cake.
The sunrise lit his second sprint in as many days up the stairs at SFPD headquarters.
The man he loved striding across the bullpen, flanked by his brother and sister, Jax and Marsh, made his chest expand and his fingers tingle, love rippling all directions and framing the most welcome sight he could imagine.
The same man, the chief of police, meeting him, a digital assassin, in the middle of the bullpen and kissing him like he didn’t give a fuck what his colleagues thought, smiling against his lips as Maya, Fletcher, and dozens of other officers cheered behind them, paved their path forward.
Chapter Twenty-Four
It was noon by the time they all traipsed back into the Pac Heights house, but the aromas of breakfast wafting from the dining room were strong enough to knock Holt’s stomach back a few hours.
Brax’s too, judging by the grumble his belly made.
Following their noses, they found a spread laid out on the dining table—French toast dusted with powdered sugar, crispy bacon, bottles of maple syrup, and two pots of blessed, steaming coffee. And the swear jar sitting in the middle of it all, the strawberry plushie jammed inside it, just like they’d told Elisabeth to do.
Celia appeared out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel and eyeing the jar. “Do I want to know about that?”
Holt shook his head, stifling a laugh.
“Figured not. And figured you might need some food.” Already in mother-hen mode, she took one look at the bruised and bandaged Brax as he appeared beside Holt and shifted into overdrive. “Damn, Chief.” Tossing the towel over her shoulder, she hustled to their side, fingers lightly grasping Brax’s chin so she could inspect his face. “You okay? Need anything? First aid kit’s in the kitchen.”
He gently clasped her wrist and lowered her hand, dropping a kiss on the backs of her knuckles. “Thanks, Cee, but I’m good.”
“We swung by the hospital on the way here,” Helena said before stealing a kiss from her girlfriend. “Nothing’s broken. They x-rayed, bandaged, and sent him home with the good sh—stuff.”
Footsteps thundered down the stairs, and Marco was the first to round the corner. “Can we eat now?”
Behind him, at a much more careful pace, appeared Celia’s daughter, Mia, with Lily in her arms and the cats in her wake. As soon as Lily spied them, she made her intentions clear. “Ba-Ba!”
Holt didn’t begrudge her in the slightest, facilitating the handoff to prevent his daughter from trying to make the impossible leap from Mia’s arms to Brax’s.
“Hey, princess,” Brax murmured as he gathered her close. Eyes fluttering closed, he buried his face in her curls and inhaled deep before letting out a long, slow, contented breath.
Waves of peace rolled off him and lapped at Holt’s heart, drawing him closer. He circled Brax’s back with one arm, Lily with the other, holding his family tight, and looking on with more happiness than he thought possible as the rest of his family descended on the food.
Lily, while excited to see them, was not to be left out of her favorite activity for long. “Yes!” she exclaimed.
Holt pulled out a chair for Brax and Lily and was about to claim the one next to them, when his phone vibrated. He pulled it out of his pocket, surprised to see a call from the warden at CCWF. He schooled his face, hopefully before Brax or his siblings noticed. “Call I need to take,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
Brax glanced ov
er his shoulder. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” he said as Hawes stretched across the table to hand his niece a piece of bacon. She stuffed it in her mouth and hummed her approval. “Save me some bacon.”
“No promises.”
He dropped a kiss on both their heads, then ducked out of the dining room, across the foyer, and into the living room to answer the call. “This is Holt.”
It wasn’t the warden on the other end of the line. “Hey, babe,” Amelia greeted.
He lowered the phone, checked the caller ID, then brought the phone back to his ear. “What are you doing at CCWF?”
“Is Brax okay?” she asked. “Are you and Lily?”
“We’re good. Brax is a little banged up, but he’ll be fine. We’re all just happy to have him home.”
“Good, I’m glad.”
“Thank you for your help.” Holt rested against the side of Lily’s pack and play. “We couldn’t have done it without you.”
“It was the least I could do for my family.”
“Thank you,” he said again, fighting a sudden knot in his throat. Fighting the wisp of dread that ghosted up his spine. “Why are you there, Amelia?”
She was silent a moment longer before answering. “Making sure you get the happily ever after you deserve.”
Stinging eyes joined the knot in his throat. “Amelia, don’t—”
“I’m just keeping an eye on her. She won’t bother any of you again.”
He exhaled the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Okay, thank you.”
“Visitation here is once a month,” she said. “I expect you and Lily and Brax to come see me in May.”
He blinked fast a few times, swallowed hard, and when that didn’t work, inhaled deep. “We’ll be there.”
The line clicked off and he exhaled another long breath, surprised at the call and how much it had affected him. How much he hadn’t realized he’d needed Amelia’s blessing and the peace of mind she was willing to give them all.
