Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 71949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“But wait… Grandma only died a little over a year ago.”
“I know. Dad kept it all from her.”
None of this makes sense to me. Eight years ago, Falcon went to Grandma to get the money we needed to pay for the drugs we destroyed to get Eagle out of trouble. She had it in cash. Her butler got it for Falcon. How is any of this true?
Then again, that was cash…
Eagle is talking about assets. Really big assets.
“So Dad controlled Grandma’s money?” I ask.
He nods. “Apparently. Or he controlled her.”
The room tilts. “Dad always had cash flow,” I say. “I mean, we had everything. The money had to come from somewhere. The ranch always made money.”
“Not that kind of money,” Eagle says.
“It had to come from somewhere.”
“From somewhere,” Eagle says quietly. “That’s the point.”
My heart sinks. Not because Eagle found out my father might be a criminal. I already knew that. But because this could take all of us down.
“So what else did you find?” I ask.
“That night, I went home and did some searching. On the dark web.”
My jaw tightens. “You told me you haven’t—”
He rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t buying. I was reading. The dark web isn’t just a drug market. It’s forums, message boards. Places where people talk about things polite people pretend don’t exist. I found a corner where people were discussing Austin Bellamy. Rumors. Debt. And one name kept popping up.”
My mouth goes dry. “Say his name.”
“Diego Vega,” he says, and the monitor jumps.
The nurse’s shoes squeak in the hall like a warning.
I pitch my voice low and even. “Breathe. Slow in. Slow out.”
Eagle obeys, eyes closed, nostrils flaring.
“Evidence?” I ask when the beeping recedes to something like normal.
“As much evidence as you get in shadow markets,” he says. “The same usernames popping up across threads. Receipts with numbers blacked out, dates that line up with what I found in Dad’s false bottom. All paths led to the same place.”
“Vega.” My tongue hates the taste of it.
“Saved us,” Eagle whispers. “Saved the ranch. Saved the family. We all owe our lives to the devil.”
“The devil who threatened to kill you,” I say. “The devil who you killed, and we buried.”
The heart monitor again.
Fuck! I didn’t need to bring that up. Not now, anyway.
“Easy,” I say. “It’s okay, E. I’m not sure it was actually Vega that day anyway.”
Eagle breathes in, out, in again. The monitors return to normal.
Why? Why would Vega rescue Dad and then flood our lives with poison later? Why play banker here and butcher there?
Why would a man with the resources to save a billion-dollar ranch lower himself to hawking drugs?
None of this makes any sense at all.
Eagle swallows. “Maybe he didn’t die that night. Maybe it was theater. Maybe it was the kind of show a man puts on when he needs the world to believe he’s gone.”
“Falcon and I buried him,” I whisper.
I squeeze the armrest until my knuckles ache. In my mind, Vega falls in slow motion.
Vega.
Or someone pretending to be Vega.
“What were you doing at my house the other night?” I ask, even though I know. Even though it hurts to hear it.
“Coming to you,” Eagle says simply. “Like always. You’re the compass. I called. You didn’t answer. Your truck was there, so I figured you were inside the house. I knocked.” He frowns. “Three times, I think. Then a pinch. Like a wasp sting on the back of my neck. Lights out. Next thing I know—nurses and fluorescent halos.”
I force my hands to unclench. “You asked for me.”
“Of course I did.” He looks at me like I’m an idiot. “You’ve always been there.”
“And you didn’t use the coke in the truck,” I say. It isn’t a question, but it is an offering. An I-choose-you over the part of my brain that catalogs every relapse like a mug shot.
“Of course not,” he says. “I’ve screwed up enough to write a book, but I was done with that poison. Am done. I know I have to go back to rehab, so save your lecture. I’ll go. But I didn’t use.”
“I believe you,” I say, and mean it. “And I’m sorry I didn’t answer when you called.”
His mouth quirks. “You were busy.”
Busy fucking Daniela. Busy having one night just for me.
And I’ve paid for it.
“What else did you see?” I ask. “In Dad’s office. On the forums.”
“Mentions,” he says. “Hushed ones. A line about leverage, like that man never moved a single muscle without it. About Bellamys who preach right and wrong until someone tilts the table. About turning backs when the bill comes due.”
Reyes’s voice muscles into my skull. Funny how easy it is to get Bellamys to turn their backs on their morals with just a little leverage.
I stand too fast and the room lists. I pace once, twice, to burn off the electricity crawling under my skin.