I'm clenching my thigh so hard it's certain to leave a bruise when Corbin's mansion comes into view. Just seeing the wrought iron gate makes me tenser than I've been the whole trip, my left hand wandering to the metal lump on my side, hooked to my belt in its holster.

“Don't tempt me to take that thing away, brother,” Hayds says, noticing what I'm doing. “Not what we came here to do. Only as a last resort.”

There's a good chance that's how it'll stay. The police escort supporting us alone should be more than adequate in the event Corbin decides to go down like a mafia don. But we've also paid them a princely sum to stay parked down the road for thirty minutes, or until we have no choice but to call them in.

“Listen to the man,” Luke says, giving me a dirty look from the other side of our limo seat. “I didn't fly my ass out to New England fifty times over the last year to stop you from being stupid, only to see you blow your life to kingdom come in front of me. You can't kill him, Grant.”

He's bludgeoning me with the truth. I hate it.

Hate that I need to hear it even more.

A dark, crazy part of me wants this to go bad. Craves vengeance like my mouth waters at an aged New York strip.

All I can picture is Corbin's foot on my neck months ago. Then Rebekah in tears when she heard whatever evil lie he told her, making her believe I'm the bad guy.

I've decided I'll let him live long enough to tell me what he's done. I need to know what I'm dealing with to undo it, and damn it, I will.

There's no answer at the gate when my driver calls, and the security booth is empty. But someone inside the house throws the switch to let us through. Our car snakes up his long drive, straight up the hill, heading for Ragnarok.

It's the kind of old, dark, luxury chateau our father loved. I remember growing up in its cold spaces, every wall and ceiling decked with glamor, bleeding gold and redwood instead of life.

When our caravan rolls up next to the door and stops, I'm out in a split second, pounding my fist on his huge double door. “Let us the fuck in! Game is up, Corbin. It's over.”

I'm surprised my brothers don't throw me on the ground. I'm breaking every pre-conceived security protocol we agreed to, and I can't say I care. It's impossible holding in the raw, vengeful emotion. It erupts like bile.

I'm so caught in my frenzy, I'd forgotten to check the door. It opens when my hand tries it. Unlocked.

I straighten my tie, giving Luke and Hayds a dirty look before the three of us step inside. The lawyers and private security guys we've brought along more spooked than us. We've told them to be ready for anything.

I head for Corbin's office first, a long, winding walk through the mansion. It's empty.

I'm clenching my fist when we head downstairs again, wondering if the whole damned thing is a ruse.

What if he's escaped? Left his home wide open to waste our time?

If he has, then I've probably lost. Strike three, or is it strike ten?

The very thought of being outsmarted yet again by this old wolf wearing a human skin makes my temples throb lethal rage.

No, goddamn it. Someone's here. Somebody threw the switch for the gate, letting us in.

“Shit, hold up!” Luke does a quick turn, several paces ahead of us, both his arms stretched. I run up to him and see a huge library with its doors open. There's someone in a high brown leather chair at a desk behind the biggest stained glass windows I've ever seen outside a cathedral.

“Took you long enough, gentlemen. I thought you'd never get here, tip-toeing through my place like traumatized pussies. Shaw, come forward.”

I recognize the top of the bastard's head. And I'd know his wicked voice anywhere.

Corbin never turns around. I plow past everyone, walking to the edge of his desk, clutching the side arm I've brought in its holster.

“Look at me, bastard. We came to talk surrender. We're not wasting time on anything else.”

“Oh, yes. That. I suppose I overreached, didn't I? Just never thought it would be that two bit jeweler who'd bring the whole damned operation down.” He lets out a long, deep sigh before he turns, holding out his hands, pressed together by their wrists. His eyes are bloodshot and there's salt and pepper stubble going around his chin, accompanying his mustache, like he's spent the last twenty-four hours as wide awake as us. “Go ahead. Arrest me.”

Too easy. What fucking gives? I turn my nose up, studying the old devil, wondering what's gotten into him to give up this easy.

“What, no lawyer? You really expect me to believe you're not challenging the documents from Syria, or gearing up to plead the Fifth?” I leer down at him. Wish like hell he'd make one wrong move, give me one excuse to pull my magnum, and splatter his brains all over that beautiful glass behind him. “Who the fuck are you, old man? This isn't the Jeremiah Corbin I know.”

“Then you never paid attention, Shaw,” he snaps, pulling his hands back, sitting up straighter in his chair. “I deal in realism. Never fantasy. What defense do I have left? You've found your smoking gun. You'll notice I've dismissed my staff, given them ample opportunity to flee the country. If you'd like, you and your brothers can do me a slice of vigilante justice right now, without involving a judge or an orange jumpsuit.”

Don't tempt me, you fuck. It's the hardest thing in the world taking my finger off the trigger at my side. But I need answers, before I do anything else to this prick.

Hayden and Luke also give me a warning look. Stop. This isn't our way. Remember what we agreed, their eyes say.

I do, as much as it pains me. They're right. I'm better than this worm. Even an animal like him deserves a clean trial and sober justice.

“Stand up and come over. Hands over your head,” I say, cautious as ever. I'm more weirded out than before when the jackal stands, hands glued to his head, just like I ordered.

He idles, gritting his teeth while our security guys pat him down. I still don't trust a damned thing.

“What's the trick, Corbin? Come clean. You're not taking me for a fucking fool.” Rather, I won't let him make me one. Not again.

I walk over, getting in his face as soon as the pat down is done. He smiles, showing defeat and sadness I didn't think was possible in his stress-lined face. “I'm sorry I had to get so dirty to bring you down, Shaw. Nothing personal. You left yourself so damned open for it. If only I'd known I was going after the wrong man...”

“Wrong man?” I growl, grabbing him by the lapels, and lifting him off his polished shoes.

“Grant!” Hayden tries to grab me from behind, but I carry the old bastard in my arms across the room, slamming him against a bookshelf. Several heavy volumes shake loose, crashing down around us.

“Back off!” I roar behind me, warning my brothers not to come any closer.

I'm done with neat and clean. I agreed not to kill him. Never said jack about not roughing him up, especially when he hasn't told me anything that makes sense.

“What the hell are you talking about? What man?” I'm practically spitting in his face. My thumbs dig hard into his neck, an easy push away from cutting off the blood flow to his brain.

The bastard laughs in my face.

“Such a temper. At least it's honest. Should've known the quiet, stuffy ones would screw me in the end...”

“Can you stop being so fucking cryptic?” I snarl, giving him a fierce shake, ramming his spine into the wooden shelf a little harder, listening for his groan.

“Okay, okay. You want the truth?” Duh. I want it so bad I ease up, giving this jackass enough space to speak without fracturing his vertebra. “I know I'm done. Knew it as soon as I got the panicked call from Fabius about the developments in Syria. I'll be doing hard time for the arms that French prick got me into. It's amazing how much I let him get away with. Thought he'd send us to heaven with the money he made, knowing he could turn it into my hell anytime. I got greedy. The billions we made on black market guns weren't enough. I decided to do priceless jewels, and artifacts, too. You'd be amazed how much rich men like us will pay for Phoenician busts from old Damascus, or a ceremonial dagger from Antioch. Too much to launder off my company's accounts. That's why I merged with Neolithic. That's why we worked well for a time. Like taking candy from a very big, stupid, bearded baby.”

Guess he wants me to break his jaw, I tell myself. My intestines twist like sausages because I can't give in. Can't let him bait me into busting him up.

“You knew. You profited.” I say the obvious. It still guts me, hearing the truth from his mouth. I squeeze him again, remembering why I'm really here. “Where's Rebekah? You're not leaving this room alive if I don't have an answer.”

It's not an idle threat. I'll break my promises, do my own time, sell my soul up the river Styx if he doesn't tell me the most important thing of all.

“She's the reason I'm doing this.” He stares through me, his voice going numb. “Fabius screwed me. Took off with her. I never should've let him get as close as he did, when I saw she wasn't interested. He twisted my balls too hard, and now I'm afraid I've damned her.”

Every single word he says enrages me a little more. I envision about a dozen painful things I could do right now to end his miserable life, but I still don't have answers. Making this asshole pay doesn't mean anything if I never get her back.

And if what he's telling me is true, if she's fallen into Ethan's hands, then I've got bigger worries. She's in danger.

“Where?” I bare my teeth, shaking him, waiting for this jackass to lift his head and look at me.

He doesn't say anything. He's...oh, Christ. He's sobbing.

It's such a strange shock I'm losing my grip. Allowing his feet to touch the ground again, I step back, giving him breathing space. Not because there's any sympathy, but because I need a goddamned answer, and I won't get it while he's blubbering away.

“Hurry, bro. Cops are pinging us again. They're getting impatient,” Luke says behind me. “We've got five minutes. They really want their sting.”

“Where is she?” I repeat the question, boxing him into the corner again, my shadow swallowing him up. “Tell me, Corbin.”

“Sent her to upstate Maine. Presque Isle. Couldn't trust you not to come after her if I let her stay here, or anywhere else in this city. She was at a retreat when he grabbed her, from what I understand. Cora tells me they never saw him coming. He'll head for Europe, first chance he gets.”

Europe? Shit!

I stumble backwards, knowing full well there's a high probability I'm fucked. If for no other reason than Presque Isle is a couple hours away by plane, and we're still stuck in New York wrangling the lying, soulless idiot who caused this mess.

“We'll take it from here,” Hayds says, pulling me away with a hand on my shoulder.

He walks me to a leather bench near the entrance. That's where I sit with my brothers while everybody else scatters. Just in time for the two dozen cops and Federal agents who start pouring through the door, their weapons drawn, surrounding Corbin.

Their sergeant throws him to the ground, digging his knee into the bastard's back while they lock him in handcuffs. It's complete overkill, and more than a little satisfying.

So delicious it's made me forget the last burning question in my brain until he's on his feet again, being led out, two gruff men with badges holding both his arms.

“Wait, wait, wait!” I'm on my feet, blocking their path. “I forgot to ask –“

“Grant, what the hell do you think you're doing?” Hayds thunders in my ear, Luke on the other side, both my brothers grabbing me like they've lost their mind. “This isn't the time to interfere with a police investigation!”

They're right, but they're also flat out wrong. They don't understand. I'd get between God himself and this thief who's chewed away everything I had if it means bringing her home.

“What'd you tell her, Corbin? What was on those tapes you forced Mack to hand over? Why does she hate me?” I have to scream the last question after them.

The police don't have time for my antics. They shove past us, carrying him through the house. I follow as quickly as I can, struggling the whole time, two brotherly weights yanking at my arms like an unruly dog on his leash.

“Because you didn't watch your back,” he snarls, twisting his head over his shoulder, looking me dead in the eye. “I made you what I always wanted you to be: a faithless, lying, weak little scoundrel who won't be fit for my daughter. Ever.”

It's my only clue before there's too much space between us to scream obscenities, much less more questions. Hayden's chokehold on my neck has bogged me down too much, and I think Luke pulling on my back is about to pull me over.

I go down, swinging at both my brothers, my entire vision red. It takes them ten minutes to calm me down.

* * *

“You have to keep your wits,” Hayden says, sitting across from me on the jet. Luke is in the cockpit, flying the thing as fast as he can, probably breaking a few FAA rules in the process.

It's the least of my worries if it means we get to Presque Isle before Fabius flies my woman across an ocean.

“Grant?” my brother says again, leaning in closer, his hands folded in front of him.

“I'm listening, but I'm done with your damned advice,” I say, feeding him the hate in my eyes. “I need her back, Hayds. You remember how you felt when that lying bitch almost lied Penny away? Or how it was for Luke when he went to prison, thinking he'd never see Robbi again?”

Hayden's eyes sink to the floor. Before he can say anything, our little brother's voice booms from the cockpit. “I'll never forget! Also remember you two were there to talk sense. No telling where I would've wound up without you guys.”

Apparently, these luxury jets don't have the sound proof, titanium reinforced doors on normal passenger jets. I fold my arms, tapping my shoe angrily, while Hayds pours himself another scotch. He offers me a glass, but I refuse.

He's right about the wits. I'll need them firing on every cylinder when we touch down, assuming Mr. Asshole Kidnapper hasn't taken off yet. We'll have a short window to deal with this ourselves before the Feds get involved, or he panics and takes flight ahead of them.

“I'll hunt him to the ends of the Earth if I have to, brother,” I tell Hayds. “He won't get away. But if we don't find him in Maine, I want you to get back on this plane, turn west, and go home. You and Luke both. You've done more than I can ever repay. Chasing Ethan down isn't your fight. It's mine.”

“No way in hell.” Hayds smiles, shaking his head. “We're not leaving until she's home. Our older brother isn't getting killed in Paris by some Euro-mobster half-wit.”

I open my mouth to protest, but Luke hears us, yelling from the cockpit again. “Tell him twice if you need to! We're not going anywhere. We Shaws share the same curse. Life gets fucking crazy. Makes us work like demons for our women. It's not taking us down this time. And if it does, it's claiming the whole ship. Not just the oldest and wisest.”

“You guys have families now,” I say, wondering how they can be so blind.

Yeah, maybe there's a code between us, binding us closer than I'd like, closer than they need to be when my problems are heaped on their heads. We haven't always been the closest, but we've never backed down when one of us is in trouble. God willing, we never will.

“Yeah, Grant, families. Plural. You think you're not included?” Hayds tips his glass in a small salute. Like I could forget. “Sure, I'll put my woman and little Abby first, second, and third. But you can stop right there, and think long and hard if you don't think I won't put it all on the line for my brother. You did the same for both of us, and you'd have never walked if Luke or I asked. If this Ethan you're looking for isn't down there, we're taking a trip to Europe. We'll crawl through every damned castle and catacomb if that's what it takes to find them.”

Well, shit. Deep down, maybe I'm a little touched. What more can I say?

“Don't know what the hell I'd do without you guys.” My confession sticks in my throat, but I force it.

Across from me, Hayden smiles, knocking back his shot.

It's enough. Don't need him to throw his arms around me and start with that touchy-feely crap. Sometimes, silence says enough, and the bond between us three musketeers is too strong for words.

* * *

Our contact at the airport didn't lie.

The plane is still on the runway when we roll to a stop. Ivory white, gold trim along the sides, bigger than ours. The Fabius corporate logo painted across it in a purple and gold French script. All I ever need to see to know I'm dealing with an entitled psychopath who thinks he can take what's mine, without paying heavy in hell.

Corbin went down without a serious fight. With Ethan, I doubt I'll get lucky twice, and I regret throwing this together without packing a bigger gun in my pocket.

“Ten minutes according to our man,” Luke says, turning the lock to undo his door as the service crew connects the stairs to his jet.”That's about how long we've got before security rolls up to deal with the commotion, or the asshole makes a break for France and has the US Air Force hot on his tail. Ten minutes, and that's being generous.”

“I hear you,” I say, preparing to take the steps two at a time.

Speed and clarity, don't fail me now. I'll need them to make a clean run for the French jet as soon I'm on the ground.

“We'll be right behind you,” Hayds says, backhanding my shoulder with a brotherly slap. “Wish we'd come better prepared.”

“No time. Our guys are trained, at least, and we've got guns.” Six of them, between the handguns we're holding, plus the heat being carried by our three security agents. “We've got plenty. This nut can't have a whole army hidden in his jet.”

Honestly, there's no telling what Ethan has in store for us. We have next to no intel on his plane. The investigators I hired to tail him, making sure he kept away from Bekah, never saw it once. They just mentioned a small crew for concierge and personal protection, like most men in his class.

Of course, if the fuck planned to kidnap my girl for awhile, then he's probably brought backup.

Too bad. I can't get bogged down in hypotheticals. I have to move.

I'm risking at least ten ways this could go bad with a quick strike, charging the eye of the storm, but there's no other choice. If the lunatic has his guards waiting to gun me down, or he sees us and tells his pilot to floor it, we'll all be in a world of hurt anyway.

This is our only chance. It's dangerous, it's improvised, and it's risky as hell, but all my chips have been in since the second we left NYC. Hell, screw poker chips, I'm talking about the other half of my soul, as long as he's holding Bekah.

I take a quick look through my binoculars. No signs of activity across the runway. Ethan's lights are on, and it takes me a few seconds to spy three figures through the circular windows. They move like small, dark insects in the distance, one of them throwing his arms around angrily.

I don't need a face to recognize his mannerisms. It's Monsieur Fuckface himself.

“I'm off on three,” I say, closing my eyes. “One...”

Will two seconds give me time to say a silent prayer? I can't do it with words, obviously, so instead I just picture her. I think in pictures.

See my girl as I remember her almost a year ago. Bekah, with her soft green eyes, honey skin, and moscato lips.

“Two...”

Bekah, with her voice like an angel. Every moan, every curse, every word of love as loud and true as it was the night I first carried her to bed. True as the last night we shared in my condo, when we lit a fire in the sheets I won't forget in this, or a hundred lifetimes.

Bekah alone. In pain. Not even calling out to me for help because her rat bastard father fed her too many lies. I can't fucking stand it.

“Three!”

My shoes hit the steel steps, clamoring like bullets. I fly down it, thankful for the storm brewing overhead. The rain beating down my face and shoulders in thick rivulets helps obscure our approach.

The killer angel wings and the axe tattooed to my chest have never burned this hard, or meant so much.

I've said my prayers, but I need to move, move, move to get her back.

The only way I'll have those delectable lips on mine again is if I'm able to hold her, set her mind straight, and convince her I'd never, ever betray her.

Not for a trillion dollars.

Not to heal the deep, ugly bruises on my ego.

Not even to see her wearing the ring burning a hole in my pocket even now. Not unless she's serious, wearing a smile on her face, showing me the love in her eyes that used to say forever.

“Just a little while longer, moscato,” I whisper to myself, crossing the long expanse between the two runways, moving at a speed sending equal fire to my lungs and knees. I don't slow down to check who's behind me, or how close. I'm too frantic. “Hold on, love. Forever's coming.”