Dominic

I have fucked up royally.

I knew it when I saw Laiken in my doorway. No, even before that. The moment I saw her sister in the center of the ballroom, I was fucked.

I should have told her everything, I think, striding along the hallway. The chance was there. I could have done it, and then she wouldn't have to hear everything from Kara. Because I have no doubt Kara is telling her, right now, what I'd done.

There's no reason for Kara to stay quiet.

Whatever affection she'd had for me has snuffed out. Her heart has closed off.

Just like Laiken's is about to.

Shuddering, I crush my molars together. I pace further into the house, not sure where I'm going. But I have to move or I'll spin on my heel, rush back to my room, and beg Kara not to tell Laiken anything. If it's too late, can I subjugate myself enough to get Laiken to forgive me?

No, of course not.

None of the people who have heard about Bernard's death have forgiven me. She won't be the first.

Maybe that's good, I think, in a flood of black self-loathing. Let Laiken hate me. She should. It's safer if she does. That's what Kara was trying to explain to me. I'd selfishly told her she had no say in what I did with her sister.

I wish I could turn back time. I'd undo so many mistakes.

Taking a corner towards the front of the house, I listen to my shoes on the rug. The sound is deadened thanks to the rich fibers. Most of the lights are still on, keeping the long stretch of halls free of shadows. But as I pass close to a certain hallway, my palms begin to sweat. They always do. Even now, even though it's been years.

Swallowing the lump that refuses to budge, I stare down the hallway. The door set into the wall is the same mahogany brown as the others. The gold handle has a vague gloss to it. It doesn't move, but in my head, I can easily remember it turning as he'd cough and cough and cough while he forced me inside.

“This will make you tougher,” he growls, yanking me through the heavy door. It closes behind me and seals us inside. I know no one will hear me scream. They never have before. This time is no different.

“Please,” I whimper, hanging my head. I pray that if I don't look right at him, maybe he'll ignore me. I'll take being ignored over being harmed.

Then his fingers close on my upper arm, leaving five perfect indents. “Bend over the desk,” he snaps coldly. His belt jingles. I wonder if he'll hit me with the strap, or the metal buckle this time.

Fuck, my skull is splitting. I wipe at my forehead and go back the way I came. At the last second I detour, entering the kitchen. Two maids are loading a dishwasher in the corner. They don't see me; I catch their whispers.

“What room will she stay in?”

“Annie wants them separated for now. She'll probably be in this wing.”

The first maid lowers her voice. “I hate it. I didn't know working for these people would mean turning a blind eye to kidnapping.”

My shoe clicks down hard; they both jump, spinning to gawk at me. “M-M-Master Silas!” the second maid stutters, her short red hair bouncing. “We didn't—I didn't—did you need something?”

I look down my nose at the pair. “What were you saying a bit ago? Who's staying where?”

They share a nervous look. “Sir,” the red head begins to speak. “Your mother wants us to arrange a room for Kara.”

“What, why?”

“She'll be staying here now,” she says, blinking. “Didn't you know?”

I grab at my temples, grimacing. Fuck. What game are they playing with me? If Kara is being moved, without my knowledge, it means . . . what does it mean?

I know someone who can tell me.

Dizzy, I turn away, heading for the exit. I hear the girls chattering frantically behind me. They don't follow, they're probably happy I left. Wandering through the house, I let my legs guide me with muscle memory.

I don't want to talk to my father.

But I have to.

Rapping my knuckles on the wood, I wait. It's late, but I doubt he's sleeping in his bedroom. He's always been a workaholic. If he's not at the office downtown, than he's here in his study.

The door parts open, and my father is squinting at me. “What is it?” he mumbles.

“We need to talk.”

He scans the hallway beyond me then flicks his fingers. “Inside.”

Following him in, I shut the door, launching into what's been bothering me all night. “What's Kara doing here?”

“Ah. So that's what this is about.” He hovers near his desk, resting a hand on a stack of papers. “Vahn has wanted her gone for some time now. When I asked him to spread the word about our little party, and to make an appearance, he agreed on the condition that we take Kara off his hands.” He pushes a pair of glasses onto his nose. They make him look older—I've never seen him use them before. Is his vision going? “It's not like we don't have the space, or the security, to watch them both.”

“Why didn't you warn me?”

He flips the papers, reading something. “Why would you need a warning? You don't have some secret relationship with her, too, do you?”

Shit, can he hear how madly my heart is thudding in my chest? “If you're accusing me of something, do it.”

He peers at me over the rim of the spectacles. “Your mother worries about your attachment to Laiken. What was that game you two pulled tonight, walking into the ballroom, arm and arm? And that dance? Don't tell me you're falling for her.”

Anxiety creates searing hot needles that poke into my neck. I keep my expression wooden. “If I was, why would it matter to you?”

“To me?” he laughs, and it turns into a hacking cough. I tense my muscles, holding my breath, until he's finished. “I don't care if you fuck her or break her heart. But you're a lunatic to give anyone so much ammo against you. Laiken is our leverage, she's not meant to be used as a weapon against us.”

“I'm not that soft.” I shake my head, standing tall and proud like a man who can't be knocked down. It's a good act, but that's all it is. “No one could use her against me.”

“If she matters so little, prove it. Keep your hands off of her, Dominic.”

I lean towards him, blood surging to my face. “Is that an order?”

He covers his mouth with his handkerchief; his whole body balling up with another round of chest rattling coughs. It sounds like there are nails in his lungs. “Yes, it's a fucking order. Eye on the prize.”

Arguing would be pointless. I don't give a shit if he wants me to stay away from Laiken. I know I should, but I also know that I can't. In that moment I realize how right my father is. She's become a liability - an easy way to control me, or harm me.

After all, I was panicking minutes ago about what Kara was saying to her in private. Doesn't that prove how wrapped up I am in her? In us? Trying to focus, I tune into the conversation. “Which prize?” I ask. “Finally running our company without Joseph?”

“Moving forward without him is suicide.”

I freeze. “What? I thought—didn't the party go well?”

“It's a bandage, son. It'll barely keep us from bleeding out. Joseph's escape has left us on the verge of collapse. Besides that, if we don't have him on a leash there's no way to be sure he won't betray us to the fucking FBI.”

“He hid for thirteen years without causing any trouble.”

“That doesn't mean anything.”

“He wouldn't risk his own freedom by turning us in to the authorities. He's too deep in this, he'd go down in the same fire as us.”

“You don't know him, Dominic.”

His statement reminds me of my fight with Laiken in the wet woods. “I worked with him for six months,” I argue.

“Yes, you did,” he spits. “And how did that end? Are you trying to use that damn Faith project as a defense? Joseph tricked you, son. You fell for his every move. You don't know him, and this situation that you caused is evidence enough of that.”

I'm boiling with fury . . . with white-hot shame. I'm out of arguments, so I sit on the stump-shaped chair and just wait for him to talk.

My father glares down at me from his position by the desk. Finally, he shrugs dismissively. “Did you learn nothing in all those years of military school? Did I throw my money down the drain?” He slaps the stack of papers he was reading. One of them slips off, gliding to the floor like a leaf on the wind.

I glance at it, then at my father. “I worked myself to the bone in that place. I promise, nothing was wasted.”

He advances on me, his long legs pumping, arms swinging. It takes all I have not to jump to my feet. My instinct is to retreat from my father.  It’s scarred in my marrow.

Silas looms over me, all of his frailness vanishing. “Listen to this advice,” he whispers around his scowl. “If we want to survive, we've got to be the ones who choose what happens next. Only a dead man bets his life on someone else's decisions.”

His words strike a chord in me. Giving him a sharp incline of my head, I rise. “It's late. Sorry to bother you.”

He crosses his arms, watching me as I leave. “We'll talk tomorrow. There's much to be done, tonight opened new doors—and with that comes more work.”

I let him have the final word. I always have, if he didn't just take it by force.

Exiting his study, there are fresh new concerns inserted into my head. I don't want to agree with him that I should stay away from Laiken, and I question his decision to keep me in the dark about Kara. But he's right about one thing: Only a dead man bets his life on someone else's decisions.

I know all about dead men.