Too still.
A prickle of unease crawled up his spine.
He turned, suddenly alert. Something was wrong.
Bryson’s gaze locked on his bedroom door.
The frame was cracked—splintered.
A beat passed before instinct kicked in and he broke into a sprint.
The locking mechanism had been ripped straight from the wall, metal shards and splinters of plaster scattered across the floor. The chaos stretched out before him. Shattered chairs, overturned tables, broken glass, and books strewn like confetti. A tall bookshelf had been toppled, its contents lying in ruined piles.
Then he saw it.
Blood.
A spray of it marked the far wall, small, but vivid against the cream paint.
Bryson’s heart seized. The walls seemed to close in, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. He staggered forward, one hand clutching the leg of an overturned table just to stay upright.
Numb, barely feeling his limbs, Bryson turned and ran.
Adrenaline tearing through him as he burst through the doors of his father’s office?—
And froze.
Time fractured.
Seth knelt on the floor, face bruised and bloodied. Hisright eye was nearly swollen shut. A gun pressed against the back of his head, held steady by one of the branded guards.
On the opposite side of the room, Kaydon lay hogtied and gagged, his face an unrecognizable mess of bruises and dried blood. His eyes locked with Bryson’s.
And behind them all, at his polished mahogany desk, sat Callen Winters.
Calm. Unbothered.
Writing.
“What the fuck!” Bryson shouted.
“Have a seat,” his father replied, not looking up from his paperwork.
“No, I’m not gonna have a seat. What the hell is going on?”
A flick of his father’s hand, and the click of a gun cocking froze Bryson’s blood.
The haze from the brandy thinned as adrenaline surged. His focus sharpened, landing on the man behind Seth—plump-faced Rolland, with a pistol aimed at the back of Seth’s head.
“Okay!” Bryson raised his hands slowly. “I’m sitting.”
He lowered himself into the chair, gaze never leaving Rolland. Maybe not now, but Bryson promised himself one thing—no matter how this ended, Rolland would die for pointing a gun at his brother. Orders or not.
Take a good look, asshole. These are the last eyes you’ll ever see.
“We need to discuss your duty to this family,” his father said, setting his pen aside.
Bryson didn’t respond, waiting until Rolland uncocked the gun. Seth’s body relaxed, just slightly.
