Man of Honor (Vendetta Kings Book 1), page 3
My skin prickled with humiliation. “I don’t need your concern, Deputy Brooks.”
His lips quirked at the corner. “Maybe not. But you’re getting it anyway.”
Just that hint of a smile was enough to send a bolt of lust shooting straight to my groin. I shifted uncomfortably, angling for a position that eased the ache. Those dark eyes were drowning me, but now that I'd bit the bullet and looked at him, I refused to be the one who looked away first.
Wyatt’s gaze held mine, searching, and then dropped deliberately to my mouth.
“You keep making things hard on yourself,” he murmured, reaching out to brush the steel bracelet on my wrist. The touch jolted me upright, and his eyes tracked downward, landing at the base of my throat. Right where I could feel my pulse hammering.
“Maybe I like it hard,” I snapped thoughtlessly.
Wyatt’s smile only grew. He leaned in, close enough that his breath skimmed over my cheek, and whispered, “I know.”
Oh, fuck.
The sudden boom of a man’s deep baritone snapped the tension, and both our heads whipped toward the sound. Sheriff Kent Vanderhoff filled the doorway, radiating disapproval like God's own judge. Barrel-chested and stuffed into a spotless uniform, he stared me down with the same superior expression that had always made me want to put my fist through something. Usually his face.
Wyatt slipped in front of me so casually, so naturally, it looked like he was just shifting his weight. But I knew better. He’d positioned himself between me and Vanderhoff like a buffer. But which of us was he protecting?
"Well, look who came crawling back into my town," he drawled, thick and syrupy, like a cartoon version of Colonel Sanders. "Right back to chapping my ass, too. But you're an adult now, boy, and your daddy's not here to protect you anymore. We're not letting you go this time."
"We haven't gotten a full story yet, Kent," Wyatt cautioned stoically.
Vanderhoff's glare shifted to Wyatt, and his lip curled. "You're always a soft touch when it comes to this family, Brooks, but I don't care what kind of sob story he fed you. We've got him on theft and assault. Hell, maybe even a kidnapping charge, depending on the story we get out of the girl once she's awake."
"You mean the story you feed her, you sonofabitch?" I snarled, straining at my cuffs so hard I swore I heard the bed creak.
Boone had shoved me on that bus five years ago to keep me from going after Vanderhoff, and for a while, I thought it worked. My rage hadn't faded, exactly, but all the way in Vegas it began to feel distant and fuzzy. Irrelevant. Not anymore. My skin crawled at the sight of the man, from his full head of perfectly combed blond hair to his slick politician's grin.
The urge to rip his head off pulsed through me with each spike of my blood pressure. I might have done it, too. Might have bent the flimsy rail off the bed and gone for his throat, but my brother’s voice pulled me back at the last second.
“Those are some ambitious claims, Sheriff.” Mason strode into the room, looking cool and calm and every bit the polished attorney in his tailored suit. His black hair was long enough to brush the collar of his jacket, too long for his line of work, and his sharp features carried a roughness that didn’t quite fit with the high-end veneer. I hadn’t seen him since before he'd passed the bar exam, and I was surprised at how easily he’d slipped into his lawyer persona. His blue eyes, blazing with purpose behind his designer glasses, dropped to the handcuffs chaining me to the bed. “Is my client under arrest, Deputy Brooks?”
“No,” Wyatt said firmly, looking directly at his boss. “Just detained for questioning.”
Mason’s expression lit with cool approval. “As his attorney, I suggest you release him. He won’t be answering any questions without me.”
“He can answer the rest down at the station,” Vanderhoff blustered. “He stole a truck. I can’t ignore that, no matter how far back your father and I went. I took it easy on him when he was a juvenile, but he’s a grown man now.”
I barked out a laugh. “Took it easy on me? Like hell.”
That asshole had been waiting years for a chance to throw one of us behind bars. Ben might’ve gotten the brunt of it, but I hadn’t forgotten how much pleasure Vanderhoff took in every chance to screw with me. He lived to make life hell for anyone with the Beaufort name. It never seemed to matter to him that my brothers and I weren't related to Boone by blood. Anything Boone loved, Vanderhoff hated on principal. Including us. Especially us. Sticking it to us was sticking it to him, even from beyond the grave, apparently.
Mason cut me a quelling look and moved to stand beside Wyatt. Between the two of them acting as a bulwark, I was almost completely blocked from view. I could only see a slice of him between their shoulders.
“He acted under exigent circumstances, as outlined in the Louisiana Revised Statutes. You should be familiar with the statute, Sheriff, but in case you’ve forgotten, I’ll refresh your memory.” Mason’s voice was calm, cutting, the way he always was when he had someone dead to rights. “An individual isn’t criminally liable for property crimes when committed in defense of persons or property under immediate threat. Gage took that truck to save a life.”
“He committed a crime,” Vanderhoff snarled, complexion growing darker by the second.
Mason didn’t blink. “But can you prove it in a court of law?”
Vanderhoff squared his shoulders, stepping forward like he thought his size alone was intimidating. Mason didn’t budge; he just looked at him with cool indifference. Physical intimidation didn’t work on any of us, not with our backgrounds, and not when we’d grown up with Gideon and Dominic as older brothers.
“I’m just doing my job,” Vanderhoff growled, practically vibrating with indignation. “If I go easy on him, folks in Devil’s Garden will think I’ve gone soft. Or worse, that I’m playing favorites because of your family's money."
“We wouldn’t want that,” Mason said cynically.
I covered a laugh by coughing into my fist. Wyatt pressed his lips together and glanced up at the ceiling, doing a perfect impression of someone who’d suddenly gone blind and deaf. But Mason didn’t miss a beat, adding, “Louisiana law is quite clear on the subject, however. It recognizes the principle of necessity, and you’d be well advised to do the same before you push for charges that won’t hold up in court.”
“He started a fight in the Dead End’s parking lot. I’ve already spoken to witnesses from inside the bar.” Vanderhoff puffed out his chest, trying to regain the upper hand. But that wasn’t in the cards. Mason Beaufort was the king of control.
“Reluctant witnesses, I’m sure,” Mason replied with a smirk. He tilted his head, eyes flashing behind his lenses, and asked, “What about my brother’s supposed victims? Have you found them yet?”
“We will,” Vanderhoff blustered. His cheeks were flushed, coloring his sunken face with an anger he could barely contain. I’d never seen him any other way.
I could feel the barely concealed amusement leaking off Wyatt. I'd never understood how he had the patience to work for a man like Vanderhoff, but I bet watching the blowhard get taken down a peg was the highlight of his month.
“Besides,” Vanderhoff continued, “I’ve got the girl. I recognized her right off. Street kid who’s been in and out of trouble all year, mixed up with people she shouldn’t be. She’ll sing like a songbird once I get a few minutes alone with her.”
Wyatt’s head snapped up. I shot him a questioning look, but his face was blank as a fresh sheet of paper. He cleared his throat and said, “The kid’s a victim, Kent.”
Vanderhoff shot Wyatt an annoyed look. “We don’t know that, Deputy. We haven’t even questioned her yet.”
“Well, you haven’t,” Mason said, coolly amused. “I spoke with her briefly when she first woke up.”
Vanderhoff’s pale, watery-blue eyes—stupidly bright for someone with his ugly mug—widened with interest. “She’s awake?”
Mason nodded. “Her name is Ivy, and she’s agreed to take me as her legal representative. I’ve already pulled her foster records. She’s run away from three homes in as many months, so we’ll be placing her in emergency care at Eden House. She hasn’t shared much yet. No details on her situation. She’s scared, Sheriff, and as of right now, she’s exercising her right to remain silent. Anything further goes through me.”
“I want to talk to her.” Vanderhoff turned sharply on his perfectly shined boot, storming out of the room without a second glance in my direction. Like I was some small fry next to an unknown waif of a girl.
“Go after him, Mason,” I said softly. “I don’t want her alone with him.”
My brother let out a breath, and for the first time, he relaxed, dropping his military posture by a hair. He glanced at me, and his eyes softened. “I’ve got this,” he said. Then his gaze shifted to Wyatt, and that brief spark of humanity died. “Get him out of those cuffs before I slap your ass with a lawsuit.”
He was out the door in an instant, leaving only the faintest trace of Creed Adventus cologne in the air. A ghost in a three-piece suit.
The tension drained out of me all at once. I sank back against the shapeless hospital pillow and stared at the ceiling. “You called Mason, didn’t you?” I asked without bothering to look at Wyatt.
There was a note of grim satisfaction in his voice when he said, “I figured that if you were involved, Kent wouldn’t let you go easily. Your brother just saved me a mountain of paperwork.”
“Vanderhoff came out of the womb with a hard-on for my family,” I muttered, giving a weary tug on my cuffs. My wrist was sore, but I couldn’t stop myself. There was nothing I hated more than being restrained.
Wyatt chuckled. “You’re not wrong.”
His eyes lingered on my face a beat too long. He’d been doing that all night, and it was putting me on edge. He’d made his feelings crystal clear the night he rejected me. The horror on his face, the coldness in his eyes, the way he’d shoved me off him like I was something…disgusting. I’d never forget it. Sure, a small, cheap part of me felt vindicated that I’d changed enough for him to look at me with interest now. But the biggest part of me? It wanted revenge. I wanted him to feel the kind of hurt he’d put me through.
“You gonna let me out of here?” I asked, tugging on the cuff again.
Wyatt’s smile faded. “That depends,” he said solemnly. “Are you going to behave yourself while Vanderhoff's in the same building?”
It was a fair question. The bastard had railroaded Ben into murder charges. The last time Wyatt had seen me, I'd been half-crazed in my need for revenge. But I couldn't let him see how much I still wanted that, so I laughed. “What do you think I’m going to do? Go after him in front of you while he’s surrounded by hospital security? You think I’m looking for trouble?”
I gave him my most innocent look, but Wyatt wasn’t buying what I was selling.
“I think trouble’s got your name written on it in neon,” he said dryly, but he pulled out the handcuff keys anyway. He took my hand almost gently, turning it to access the lock. The cuff opened with a quiet click, but he didn’t let go right away. My fingers twitched in his grip. He held on for a second longer than he needed to, leaving a trail of warmth behind when he finally released me.
I grimaced and flexed my wrist, ignoring the way my pulse was racing. He was standing too close. Close enough for me to hear the hitch in his breath. Whatever was coming next, I knew it was something I didn’t want to talk about.
“Gage,” Wyatt said, his voice low and strained. “I know you don’t trust me. I guess you’ve got every reason—”
I snorted. “You think?”
“—but I’m trying to help you,” he went on, ignoring my interruption.
That pissed me off. "Yeah? Well, you're a day late and a dollar short. You had your chance to help the night you arrested Ben."
“Ben killed someone, Gage.” Frustration edged into his tone. “What was I supposed to do?”
“You were supposed to fight for him!” Fight for me.
“My hands were tied, and you damn well know it. Besides, this isn’t about Ben. You’re just using him as an excuse to be pissed at me.”
I let out a harsh bark of laughter. “I don’t need an excuse.”
“Yeah, you never did.” He stepped back, finally putting some distance between us, breaking the coil of tension that had me wound tight as a spring. When he turned toward the door, I told myself I'd won. But it didn't feel like it. “I’ll check on the girl and make sure everything’s squared away with Mason,” he tossed over his shoulder. “Get some rest—and stay out of trouble.”
“Bite me,” I shot back, but he acted like he hadn’t even heard, robbing me of all satisfaction.
Just like that, he was gone, leaving me alone in this sterile room with only my own resentment echoing off the walls. I let out a frustrated growl and slammed my head back against the pillow, but that only sent a shaft of pain blazing through my bruised skull. My chest was tight, and not just because of the busted ribs.
Wyatt had a way of stripping me down, leaving me raw and exposed every time. I could never get a handle on what was happening between us. I’d thought I put the past behind me. I knew who I was in Vegas, but less than a day back in Devil’s Garden and everything came rushing back.
And I hadn’t even faced my older brothers yet.
Chapter Four
GAGE
The fresh upholstery scent of Mason’s car freshener was making my stomach churn.
“Your car stinks,” I grouched, slumping down in the buttery leather of the Porsche's bucket seat.
“Then get out and walk,” Mason replied without taking his eyes from the road, completely unfazed.
I rolled my eyes and leaned my head against the window, taking small sips of air through my mouth to filter out the chemical stench.
On the other side of the glass, Devil’s Garden was rolling by in all its messy glory. The town had been on a slow slide toward trashy for a long time, but it was worse than I remembered. Big city problems with small town charm. Boarded up storefronts lined the streets, replacing the family diners and hardware shops with hand-painted signs that used to be there. Now, the only signs I saw were for payday loans and strip clubs. There were still traces of old-timey charm in the faded American flags and cobblestone streets, but it was a losing battle.
I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew, we were pulling to a stop in front of the house. Mansion. Whatever. Eden House, we called it. A forgotten relic tucked away on an estate bigger than a city park. The place was a strange mix of old and older, a property that didn’t fit into any one era or style. It dripped with all the southern charm of white columns and wrap-around porches that looked straight out of a movie set, but it pre-dated the antebellum facade. The stone archways, crumbling statues, and overgrown courtyards held a deeper history. A monastery had once stood here, built by Jesuit priests during the French Colonial Period. During the war, they'd used it to run their own kind of underground business. Not the shady kind, though. The righteous kind. After that, it became an orphanage. There were plenty of orphans after the war—and then all the wars that followed.
The bones of such a complicated history were all over Eden, though most people didn't know where to look. They'd have to know where to dig. When we were kids, my brothers and I would spend hours tearing through the place from attic to cellar, and I still wasn’t convinced we’d found all the hidden tunnels and trap doors.
The Beaufort family picked up the property for dirt cheap during the Great Depression, back when even the church was flat broke. By the time Boone inherited it, the shine was long gone. The place felt strangely hollow. For every sweeping staircase and stained-glass window, there were rotting lawns, furniture nobody had touched in years, and rooms that felt like tombs.
As a bachelor, Boone couldn’t make use of such a big house on his own, so he turned it back into what it had once been: a place for wayward boys and lost causes. Kids came and went, but me and my brothers—we stuck around. Maybe Boone saw something in us he recognized, something wild and broken that reminded him of himself. He never said it, but I knew. Boone didn’t keep just anyone.
Mason parked, but he didn’t kill the engine or make any move to get out. He folded a stick of mint gum into his mouth and gave me a look, part warning, part pity. “I’ve got to get back to the hospital and finish the paperwork for Ivy’s emergency care. They’re keeping her overnight, then she’ll be placed with us until the state can figure out what to do with her.”
“She’s really gonna be okay?” I asked. I’d tried talking with her before we left the hospital, but she’d been doped up on meds and barely said two words. She couldn’t seem to look me in the eye. She talked more openly around Mason, so I hadn’t stayed long.
Mason’s face softened for a second. “Physically? She’ll be fine. She’s banged up, but that’s the easy part. The rest…that’s gonna take a while. You know how it is.”
I nodded.
Mason's gaze was unfocused as he stared through the windshield. He just kept working his jaw, chewing his gum, a habit that usually meant he was thinking something over. The sharp scent of mint filled the car, strangely soothing compared to the artificial air freshener. Finally, he said, “You’re not walking into the same place you left. You know that, right?”
I raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He took his time, folding the gum wrapper between his fingers. When he spoke, he did it slowly, like he was breaking bad news to a client. “Things didn’t get easier on any of us after Ben went to prison. It's like he was the glue that held this place together. With him gone, Boone's health going to shit, and you jerking off in Vegas, guess who was left holding the bag?"
"It wasn't my choice to leave," I muttered, but the knot that had been forming in my stomach all morning tightened. Because the truth was, I'd chosen to stay gone.
