by Mari Carr
In truth, the delay was cowardice. He didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to accept what she’d suffered because someone was trying to turn her into his perfect spouse. Luckily she was on the West Coast, so it wasn’t as late for her as it was for him.
“Shouldn’t you wait for Juliette?” Franco leaned over the back of the couch and massaged Devon’s shoulders.
“Probably. But I…” Devon hung his head as Franco’s fingers dug into the tense muscle at the base of his neck.
“She should be back tonight.”
Juliette had gone to talk to another lost legacy. With everything that was going on here, she’d left Franco and Devon in charge—though they’d objected heavily—and taken a bodyguard supplied by Price. They were doing their best to avoid talking on cell phones, so they hadn’t heard from her except for a brief email letting them know she was on her way back.
“Wait for me to do what?” Juliette smiled as she walked into the living room, dropping her bag and coat on a chair. She reached out one hand to each of them, but Devon grabbed it first, pulling her onto his lap and burying his face in her shoulder.
“Devon? Devon?” She ran frantic fingers through his hair. “What happened?”
Franco sank down beside them with a sigh. “It’s about Caden Anderson. And Rose.”
Juliette’s spine stiffened. “What did they do?”
Devon looked up. “It’s not what they did. It’s what was done to them.”
Christian jerked awake several hours later. He wasn’t sure what had startled him, but he realized Charlotte was looking at him.
“Sorry,” he whispered, not wanting to disturb Vincent’s sleep as well. “Bad dream. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
Charlotte leaned closer to him and spoke very softly, fear rife in her tone. “I think there’s someone in the apartment.”
Christian paused for a moment to listen. He heard it too. Footsteps in the living room.
Slowly, he sat up, reaching for the gun on the nightstand.
“I’m in,” Caden breathed. “No dead bolt. Easy to pick.”
“Be careful. Please.”
“No lights. Nice place. Hold on.”
There was a pause. Rose held her breath.
“Found a bookcase. Looking now.”
“If it’s an heirloom, it might not be in a bookcase. Wait for me. We’ll go in during the day. Pretend we’re pest inspectors. That’s worked before.”
“Rose, enough.” His voice was harsh.
“Yes. Master.” She gritted her teeth. The flight attendant mimed for her to hang up her phone. She stared at him until he gave up and left.
Charlotte placed her hand on his forearm. “Wait,” she whispered, her fear now full-blown panic. “Maybe we should call 9-1-1.”
Christian knew that wasn’t a possibility. It was their duty to protect the Trinity Masters, to make sure the secret society stayed off the radar. He wasn’t sure who was out there, but if it was who he suspected, calling the cops would be a big mistake.
“I have the gun.” They both kept their voices low, but the medicine Charlotte had given Vincent had done the trick. Their lover was sleeping soundly, oblivious to the danger lurking outside the bedroom door.
“Please, Christian—” Charlotte started.
“It’s going to be okay. Trust me.”
“This isn’t exactly a matter of trust. Anything could happen and you know it. This isn’t something you can control.”
She was right, of course. That didn’t make him any less determined to take care of what was his. This man had hurt Vincent. He clearly knew Charlotte’s name. Where she lived. The threat to their safety ended tonight.
Christian rose from the bed and pulled on a pair of sweatpants. “Stay here.”
She shook her head, and for the first time since he awoke, Christian felt the same panic reflected in Charlotte’s eyes. He wasn’t afraid for himself, but he was terrified for her.
“I mean it, Charlotte. You step one foot outside this bedroom door and Vincent won’t be the only one to punish you for it. I will too.”
“This isn’t a game, Christian.”
“You’re right. It’s not. Stay here,” he repeated.
While he’d done his best Vincent imitation, lowering his tone and throwing every ounce of Dom he had into it, he wasn’t convinced she’d obey him. Charlotte would never be submissive.
Another noise from the living room distracted him. Whoever was out there was obviously searching for something and not concerned about who heard him. Which meant the intruder was either a complete and utter idiot or he thought the apartment was empty.
If the latter was true, Christian would have the element of surprise on his side.
He walked toward the door, turning back to face the bed when he reached it.
He was relieved to see Charlotte was still sitting on the edge of the mattress. He hoped that meant she intended to heed his warning.
Quietly, slowly, he turned the doorknob and opened the door, stepping out into the dark hallway.
Caden chuckled softly. “I found it.”
“Really?” Rose breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. Get out of there.”
“I need to be certain.” There was some rustling. “It’s hard to read in the dark, but this looks right. It’s a book of poems. They’re numbered.”
“You mean the poems are numbered?”
“The titles are numbers. Non-sequentially.”
“A code.” It wasn’t a question. Rose had been unraveling mysteries and puzzles for years. There was always another code. Another mystery.
“The first one reads ‘Loss and darkness await me. Night, like death—’”
He stopped abruptly.
“Caden?”
“I heard something,” he whispered.
Rose dug her fingers into her knee. “Caden, get out of there. Run.” Her heart was slapping against the inside of her ribs. “Run!”
Christian crept down the hall, his heart racing. In the bedroom, he’d felt brave, ready to face whatever threat came. Now…he felt alone. His heart thudded so loudly in his ears, he was certain the man in the living room must be able to hear it. That and his rapid breathing. No matter how hard he tried, his breath was coming out too harshly.
There appeared to be two people. He could hear talking. Christian paused to listen. While he couldn’t make out exactly what the man was saying, he soon realized there was only one voice.
Who was he talking to?
Christian took a few more steps down the hallway. He was halfway to the living room when he recognized the glow of light. A phone. The man was speaking on the phone.
He took another step and the floorboard squeaked. He stopped mid-step. The man went quiet.
Fuck. He’d heard. He knew Christian was here.
Christian had a split second to decide what to do next. Run back to the room or confront the villain.
He recalled Charlotte’s frightened eyes as he left the room, and Vincent slept peacefully, recovering from his own confrontation with this asshole.
It ended now.
Resolute, he raised the gun and walked toward the living room without hesitation.
A man, in shadow, came into view.
“Stop,” Christian said, shocked by the strength in his voice. “Don’t move.” That was his last cognizant thought as things slowed down, the edges of his vision going fuzzy, the entire apartment feeling as if it had suddenly been submerged in water.
The man raised his hand.
Christian saw the dark object clutched in his fingers, Devon’s words coming back to him.
He’ll have a gun.
He has a gun.
No words were exchanged. What was there to say? Only one of them was leaving here alive tonight. Christian had heard that old adage about life passing before your eyes in situations like this. He didn’t have enough time for that shit.
He saw one thing. Himself. Dead. On the floor.
Okay. Three things.
Charlotte and Vincent were dead, too.
They weren’t dying tonight. Not when there was so much to live for.
But this guy? He needed to be gone.
Christian pulled the trigger.
The gun had a silencer on it, but that didn’t mean it was quiet. Christian heard—or did he feel?—the bullet fly from the barrel.
The man flew back, the motion almost comically exaggerated, before he slumped to the floor.
Pop.
Rose stopped breathing.
The popping noise shouldn’t have scared her the way it did. It sounded like a champagne cork coming free from the bottle. That was a happy sound.
But she knew. She knew.
Rose held her breath, and a lifetime passed.
Thump.
Something heavy had hit the wall or the floor.
Something like Caden’s body.
“Oh my God!”
Christian stood still as a statue, the gun pointing forward. Where there had been a man just a second ago, now there was nothing. Even so, he didn’t lower the weapon. He couldn’t.
Not even when Charlotte flew past him, dropping to the floor by the body.
Jesus. A body.
“Is he dead? God! Is he dead, Christian? Did you kill him? Please turn on the light. I can’t see!”
Christian didn’t move. He couldn’t. He’d been frozen in concrete. Had he killed him? What did that make him? A savior? A murderer? Was there a difference?
“What the fuck?” Vincent’s deep voice was unnaturally loud, cutting through the white noise deafening him. “What the fuck is going on?”
“So much blood,” Charlotte said, crying. “I don’t know what to do.”
Christian jerked as Vincent’s hand wrapped around his wrist, forcing it and the gun downward.
“We’re going to call Seb,” Vincent said. “Now.”
“Oh my God!”
“Is he dead? God! Is he dead, Christian?”
Rose couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe. The voices came from far away, just barely audible through the cell connection.
“…turn on the light. I can’t see!”
That pop was a shot. A gun with a silencer. Caden had just been shot. Killed?
No. Caden couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t.
“So much blood. I don’t know what to do.” It was a woman speaking. She was crying.
Blood. Caden’s blood, leaking from his body while she sat in this plane, thousands of miles away and helpless.
“Ma’am, we’re about to take off. You must end your call and put your phone on airplane mode. Ma’am?”
Rose’s hand dropped to her lap. Her phone sliding off her leg.
She was numb. Her fingers weren’t there. Neither were her lips. There was no feeling in her body or her heart.
“Ma’am? Are you alright?” The flight attendant plucked her phone from the floor, tapped the screen, then tucked it into the pocket on her armrest. “I’ll bring you some water as soon as I can.”
Rose blinked, touched her cheek with numb fingers. Her face was dry. She wasn’t crying.
Caden.
Caden.
Chapter Eight
Vincent wrapped his arm around Christian’s shoulders. He hadn’t spoken more than a few one-word responses to Sebastian’s and Devon’s questions over the phone, still numb and maybe in a state of shock after shooting a man. Meanwhile, Charlotte had remained on the floor, keeping pressure on the wound. Vincent felt certain her efforts were in vain, but he’d been more concerned about Christian.
Sebastian had arrived at Charlotte’s apartment in record time with Devon, Franco and their third, a woman named Juliette, in tow.
Devon had taken one look at the body and demanded they all get out of the apartment while he took care of things. Vincent didn’t have a clue what that meant. He didn’t want to know.
He’d simply been grateful to get Christian and Charlotte out of the apartment, away from the man. The blood.
“How long have we been here?” Charlotte asked as she paced. They’d been ushered into a secret entrance to the library by the Director of Operations, some man named Lee, who appeared to be very fond of Charlotte. Then they were brought down to the Grand Master’s office by Franco and Sebastian. Juliette had opted to remain behind with Devon.
They’d taken some time to clean up as best they could—Charlotte had been covered in blood—in one of the restrooms before claiming chairs and sitting down to wait.
Franco had been studying the book of poetry they’d found next to the body silently for nearly an hour, flipping through the pages and muttering to himself. “I don’t get it. I don’t understand…”
“Can I look at it?” Christian asked.
Franco handed him the book, then began pacing back and forth, his mind clearly racing over everything that had happened.
The silence was starting to grate on Vincent’s nerves. “That man was Caden Anderson.”
Sebastian nodded.
“I knew him.”
“What?” Charlotte asked. “I thought—”
“I mean I didn’t know who he was, but I recognized his face. I’d seen him in clubs, watched him…” Vincent hesitated. BDSM was a part of who he was and he hoped, with every fiber of his being, that Charlotte and Christian would let him bring that aspect of his life into their marriage.
But so much of what they’d seen about the lifestyle so far had been…twisted, frightening. Wrong.
“Watched him what?” Charlotte prodded.
Vincent forced himself to finish. “He was amazingly talented with the whip.”
She winced. Just as he’d expected. Feared.
“He wasn’t hurting his subs, wasn’t doing anything to them that they didn’t want.”
Charlotte raised her hand to stop him. “How can you say that? How can you know that? It doesn’t sound to me like Darling, like Rose, had any choice in whether she enjoyed the beatings she suffered.”
Devon and Juliette entered the office as she spoke and the room fell silent again. Vincent noticed Devon wasn’t the only one who appeared to be quite shattered by Rose’s history. Juliette was equally upset, evident by the small sound of distress she made after hearing Charlotte’s argument.
“Jules,” Sebastian said. “Don’t. Don’t blame yourself.”
“Then who should I blame?” she snapped back.
Sebastian shrugged one shoulder. “You’re right. It’s totally your fault.”
“You know what? Go suck a dick.” The words were aggressive, but her tone was defeated. Tired.
“Been there, done that. At this point, I’m probably better at it than you.”
That startled a laugh out of her, and the tension between Juliette, Devon and Sebastian eased.
Vincent was tired of walking twenty paces behind these people. They were hiding too many details, holding back pertinent information. He stood up, facing them angrily.
“I’m done with this,” Vincent said. “Who are you people?”
Sebastian leaned against a bookcase. “We’re the Grand Master’s counselors. An advisory board, if you will. And we’re on the front lines in this war.”
“War,” Vincent repeated. “Yeah, that’s a good description. By the way, it was pretty shitty of you to recruit us to go to battle armed with nothing. Either you give us answers, tonight, or we’re walking out of here and you can fight your own damn war.” Vincent stressed Sebastian’s word. “Christian could have been…” Vincent swallowed heavily, unable to speak the fear that had turned his body to ice ever since he’d woken up and found Christian standing over Caden.
Christian stirred, looking up from the book of poems. He stood slowly and placed his hand on Vincent’s shoulder. “I’m okay, Vincent.”
“Good. But I’m not.”
Christian looked at his brother. “Seb, please. I need…”
Vincent frowned. Perhaps his trinity wasn’t as in the dark as he’d thought. Maybe it was just him. Then
he caught Charlotte’s confused scowl and felt a little less alone.
“Please what?” Vincent said. “You need what?”
Sebastian didn’t reply for a few minutes, his gaze traveling around to all of the other counselors. “I’m not sure we’re at liberty…”
Juliette slammed her hand down on the desk. “Dammit. The Grand Master can kick my ass for this if she wants, but she can be a real bitch, and he’s right. They need to know.”
She didn’t glance at Charlotte or Christian. Instead, she looked straight at Vincent. He realized, almost abruptly, that Juliette was a beautiful young woman, but there was something in her eyes, something weary that made her seem older.
He looked at the counselors. Wasn’t it interesting that he’d never heard of these counselors. They were a rag-tag team—with the exception of Devon, who screamed military or government intel. The others were an eclectic group and they were young. Very young.
“We believe there’s a faction operating within the Trinity Masters with ideals that are in direct opposition to ours.” Devon’s voice was monotone, as if he’d repeated the words so many times there was no longer emotion in them.
“How?” Vincent asked, holding her gaze.
“The forties were a rocky time for our country.” Juliette took up the story. “The Great Depression had ended, the Second World War had begun. Nazi sympathizers were everywhere, not just in Europe.”
“There are members of the Trinity Masters who were Nazis?”
Juliette shook her head. “Not exactly. There was a group that shared similar beliefs with the Nazis, who believed the Trinity Masters had become too inclusive of other races and cultures.”
Vincent clenched his teeth tightly. He was a black man living in America. He was all too familiar with that particular mindset.
If Juliette recognized his anger, she didn’t acknowledge it. Probably because Vincent could sense the same fury in her.
“Jules,” Devon muttered, as if to stop her from telling them more.
She ignored the warning. “We discovered there were some lost legacies, members who were kept out of the organization in an attempt to,” she paused, then said the last with disgust, “cleanse it.”
