I crouch low at the top of the stairs, keeping my body still, my breathing even.
Then I hear Branson:
“It would appear our sons have more balls than we do.”
No shit.
“We’ve been reduced to hiding in plain sight, not living up to our name, doing unimaginable things. All at what cost?”
Desmond’s weak-ass voice cuts in, “We were instructed to wait.”
Branson snaps, voice like a rusted blade, “Fuck waiting. The boys are already taking over. Soon, we’ll be obsolete.”
I tilt my head, just barely peeking through the banister.
That’s when it happens.
From the corner of the room, the shadows move.
And something worse than any of them steps forward.
A masked figure. Drenched in darkness. Silent until he isn’t.
“You dare disobey a direct order from your Prime?”
My stomach knots. Every instinct screams to retreat, but I force myself to stay still. Listen. Watch.
“Don’t get quiet now,” the figure hisses. “Moments ago, you were ready to defy me. Now you cower.”
A chill slides down my spine. His presence is thick, suffocating. That’s not just a man. That’s somethingelse.
And then Vaughn moves.
Fucker’s comingthisway.
I don’t hesitate.
I’m gone before he reaches the stairs, feet flying silent over the landing. I slip back through the window, descend the lattice like the shadows themselves are holding me, and disappear into the trees.
It’s only when I slam the car door shut and peel off down the gravel road that I exhale.
But I don’t waste time breathing.
I hit the Bluetooth on the dash.
One ring. Wyck answers.
“What up?”
I floor it onto the main road, tires screaming beneath me. “We’ve got a fucking problem.”
His voice sharpens. “Go.”
I spill everything, the meeting, the betrayal, the masked Prime, and the weak-ass excuses they’re still hiding behind.
By the time I finish, I’m already thinking ahead. Already planning.
Because this?
