Page 11 of Mine
She might not live with us anymore, but she was still a part of the family. My father made sure of it. And it might make me an asshole, but a part of me was glad he’d essentially tricked or trapped her into the crew. I wanted her close.
Late-afternoon light softened the rooftop, taking away the usual grit. Sunlight slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting everything it touched gold. The city drifted up from below, car horns and distant sirens muted by thick glass. This wasn’t a space for casual conversations. It had never been. Deals were made up here. Bloodlines were tested. Lines got crossed, then redrawn in ways that made everyone involved complicit.
Raine perched on the arm of one of the leather chairs, scrolling through his phone with his free hand, thumb moving in quick, precise swipes. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone, the sleeves rolled up. He looked like he’d had a long day and probably had. As the eldest, Raine shouldered the bulk of my father’s legacy.
Nash stood near the windows with his arms crossed, backlit by the golden afternoon sun. It picked up hints of copper in his chestnut hair.
Kreed sat at the end of the couch, pulling Kaylor down in his lap. It was still so strange seeing her here, included in crew business. I know how much it bothered Kreed. He wanted out of this life, and he sure as hell didn’t want his girl mixed up in my father’s dealings, yet here we all were.
But this wasn’t crew business. Not officially.
This was personal.
Rusty was dead, but the damage he’d done didn’t get buried with him. The network he’d built. The people who’d helped him, the men who’d paid him…they were still out there…still breathing.
“Any sign of Silvia?” Nash asked, getting straight to it.
Raine shook his head, setting his phone down on the chair’s cushion. “Nothing solid. If she made it out of the fire alive, and I think she did, she vanished clean. No digital footprint. No bank activity. No ID hits at borders or airports. Nothing.”
Frustration lined Kreed’s expression, and rightly so. This woman was responsible for holding Kaylor captive, prepping her to be sold on the black market. None of us wanted to consider what might have happened to Kaylor if we hadn’t gotten to her in time, least of all Kreed. “Silvia’s probably not even her name. She most likely has a new identity by now. If she were smart, she would.”
“She’s the key,” Kaylor said quietly, leaning against Kreed. “She knows the girls. She can give us names.”
“And buyers,” I added, leaning forward slightly, elbows on my knees.
The cards in Mason’s hands stopped shuffling, silence filling the space. “There’s no way she disappeared without someone helping her. If we can find them, we can track her.”
“Or unless she planned for it,” Raine countered, picking up his phone again. “Had an exit strategy ready. Offshore accounts. New identity. The whole escape package.”
We all knew the truth probably sat somewhere between those two options.
“Rusty might be dead,” Kreed said, his hand resting on Kaylor’s leg. “But the rest of them don’t get to walk free just because he took the fall.”
My father didn’t see it that way. Or maybe he did and just didn’t want us involved, didn’t want his sons digging deeper into a network that went beyond Elmwood. Either way, he’d been keeping us busy lately with crew shit.
He still underestimated us.
Always had.
“Did you get the list of names who were at the auction from Brock?” Kreed asked, looking at Raine.
Raine nodded. “Yeah. Fynn forwarded it to me this morning.”
Mason snorted, flipping a card on the table in front of his feet. “What? Are you guys, like, besties now? Sending each other good-morning texts? Planning brunch?”
Raine didn’t even look up from his screen. “Shut the fuck up.”
Kaylor’s mouth twitched. She had the most enticing damn lips, which I definitely shouldn’t be looking at.
Raine stood, crossing to the table and setting his phone down in the center. The screen glowed in the afternoon light, displaying what looked like a spreadsheet. He slid it toward the middle so we could all see. “There are buyers on here we already knew about,” he said, tapping the screen. “But there are others.”
A thicker silence fell, heavy with implications.
Nash pushed off from the window; his expression didn’t change, but the center of his eyes went colder. “This list doesn’t leave this room.”
“No,” Kreed agreed, his gray eyes fixed on the phone as if he were memorizing every name. “We keep our circle tight. I don’t want to risk anyone getting word we’re looking for them.”
Looking wasn’t a strong enough word. We were fucking hunting them. One by one.
