Chapter Twenty-One

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

M elancholic notes float through the sweet-scented air.

The music room in North Security headquarters is probably worth a few million dollars, judging from the pedigree of some of these instruments. A grand piano dominates the space, its polished surface reflecting the soft light filtering through the filigree curtains. The saxophone was once played by Charlie Parker.

Then there’s the Stradivarius that Samantha plays now, her fingers dancing over the strings with masterful ease, coaxing out a haunting melody that seems to wrap itself around my heart and squeeze.

I lean back in the armchair, closing my eyes to better absorb the music. Each note resonates deep within me, stirring emotions I thought I’d buried. The room is filled with a sense of timelessness, as if there’s no beginning or end to the song. The melody weaves through my mind, pulling me back to memories of nights under the circus tent, the thrill of Logan’s touch, and the raw hope that drives me forward.

I open my eyes and watch Samantha play, her concentration evident in the way she bites her lower lip. She’s led such a different life from me, one of opulence instead of small-town poverty, one of isolation instead of gossip. Her father ignored her rather than beat her. That doesn’t make me think she had it easier. Fathers have plenty of ways to fuck up their little girls. The love of a good man isn’t required to overcome that, but it sure does help.

Her music speaks to my soul, pooling around the highs and lows of my life.

A sense of clarity settles over me. The notes are like a map guiding me through my tangled thoughts, reminding me why I started this journey in the first place—for love, for freedom, for a chance to build something beautiful out of chaos.

I glance around the room at the framed photographs on the walls—images of Samantha performing in grand concert halls, her face lit with passion and determination. The final notes linger in the air as Samantha’s hands still on the keys. She turns to look at me, her expression softening from intense concentration to gentle curiosity.

“You were miles away,” she says.

“Just listening.”

“Liar,” she accuses. “You were thinking of how to incorporate the song into one of your shows, weren’t you?”

“So rude of you to be that observant.”

She grins. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“Right? There’s something in it that makes you think of love. Not someone searching. Someone who’s already found it and lost it. And they know they’ll never have it again.”

She shudders. “It’s sad.”

“You were the one who composed it.”

“Yeah, I’m basically Eeyore.”

I have to laugh, because it’s true. It’s also very much not true. She always has a smile on her face and a kind word. It would almost be too Pollyanna, if she didn’t also have that deep well of sadness. You can feel it even if you can’t see it. And you can definitely hear it in the music she composes.

Samantha begins another piece, lighter and more hopeful this time.

As Samantha’s fingers dance over the violin strings, my phone buzzes on the table beside me. I glance down, seeing Logan’s name flash across the screen. Uh. Why is he calling me? He was just here like an hour ago. I swipe to open the message.

Come join me in the basement.

That’s all it says. No explanation, no details. Just those few words that send a ripple of unease through me. What basement? I stand and walk out as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb Samantha’s practice.

A thought occurs to me. What if he’s terse because something is happening with the charges? Is he in trouble again? Shit shit shit.

I descend the stairs, sucking in a breath to see someone who looks scary as hell. He’s built like a freaking Mack truck. I knew this place had mercenaries. I’ve seen them working through the massive obstacle courses across these hills. Then he looks up, and I realize why he’s here, in the main residence. His eyes are the same as Liam’s. They must be related.

“Hi,” I say, hoping they don’t go full commando on strangers.

“You must be Sienna,” he says.

“Oh shit. Does my reputation precede me? You don’t go to the Forrester Library do you?”

“No reputation. And… also no. What did you do wrong at the library?”

“It’s a long story involving a bully and a popcorn machine.”

“That only makes me want to know more.”

“How did you know my name?”

“I read the HQDRs. The headquarters daily reports.”

“Holy shit. Security around here is no joke.”

He cracks a small smile. “Absolutely not.”

“You must be related to Liam.”

“His brother. Elijah.”

“Nice to meet you. Now, do you happen to know where the basement is?”

“I’ll walk you over, but I expect to hear the popcorn machine story.”

I follow him out of the house and around the side, walking through lush green lawns. “Some other time. It takes like a full ten minutes without pauses.”

“Then you can tell us at dinner. My wife is coming. Holly got to see the debut of Star-Crossed. She’s been dying to meet the person who wrote it.”

Oh man, the way his eyes got all dreamy at the mention of his wife. This guy is seriously in love. “Well, I hate to break it to her, but it was kind of a Shakespeare thing.”

“She’s an author, so I think she values the work of a retelling.”

He pauses at a set of metal stairs that descend into the earth.

It looks kind of… scary.

“Is it weird that I’ve never actually been in a basement before?”

“Nah, they aren’t usual in Texas being at sea level and all that. This house was built on a hill, so they could dig into it a little deeper.”

“Okay, well, if I die there, I’m coming back to haunt you.”

He gives me a salute, only the faintest trace of amusement on his very serious face. Tough crowd. The dim lighting casts long, twisted shadows that seem to reach out from the corners. Each step I take sends a shiver down my spine, the air thick with an unspoken tension. The basement is a different world entirely, removed from the warmth and familiarity of upstairs—a place where secrets lie buried and confrontations come to a head.

My footsteps echo in the cavernous space, bouncing off the cold stone walls and amplifying the sense of isolation. Please be something fun, I think to myself. Like a fondue bar. Or a giant ball pit. Nope, it’s exactly as horrifying as you’d expect a basement to be. I spot Logan first—his tall, imposing figure framed by the flickering light of a single bulb.

And then I see Kyle.

He’s restrained, his hands bound behind his back with thick rope. His usual smug demeanor is replaced by a mix of fear and defiance. His eyes dart around the room before settling on me, narrowing with urgency.

Logan’s jaw clenches as he turns his gaze toward me. “Sunset.”

I step closer, my heart pounding in my chest. The tension between them is palpable, a live wire crackling with energy. It’s in the way Logan’s muscles tense, the way Kyle’s eyes flicker with panic.

“Um. Hi. What’s going on?”

Kyle scoffs, trying to muster some semblance of bravado despite his predicament. “Your boyfriend here thinks he can scare me,” he says, a tremor in his voice that’s betraying his words. “He’s going to be cut into pieces by the time I’m done with him.”

Logan takes a step forward, his eyes locked on to Kyle with an intensity that sends a chill down my spine. “You don’t know what real fear is,” he says quietly, but every word is laced with menace.

I move closer to Logan, placing a hand on his arm in an attempt to ground him—to remind him that we’re in this together. “Hey, big guy,” I say softly, trying to break through the red haze of his anger. “Did they not tell you about the local laws? It’s a funny custom we have here in Forrester that we try not to torture the neighbors.”

Kyle sneers at me from his restrained position. “You’re all dead.”

I follow his line of sight to see Liam sitting in the corner. He’s leaned back, focused but clearly letting his friend take the lead right now.

I turn my attention back to Logan. His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see the man I fell in love with—the man who built a home for so many lost souls under that circus tent. “We’re outside of Forrester city and county limits,” he says. “And more importantly, I got him for you. As a present.”

“Like a threesome kind of thing? Because in that case, I have my period.”

His lips quirk. “Like a threesome if one of them has their dreams destroyed.”

Kyle watches us with narrowed eyes. “You have nothing on me.”

He steps back. It’s a silent offering, a transfer of power.

The freedom to face my enemy and come out on the other side.

My gaze locks with Kyle’s. His sneer falters.

Fear flickers in his eyes, but it’s quickly masked by his usual arrogance.

“Do you remember how we first met?” I ask him. “You were sitting all alone because you kept trying to make everyone eat glue. So I went and sat with you. You threatened to make me eat glue, but I told you I’d break your fingers.”

Kyle shifts against his restraints but keeps his chin up. “What’s your point?”

“We became friends. Best friends, along with Travis. Honestly, I don’t know what would have happened if we’d stayed that way. Maybe Travis and I could have actually been accepted. Or maybe the town wasn’t ready for an Asian American and a gay guy, even if you’d stood by our side. It would have been nice to find out.”

His bravado wavers, and I see a bead of sweat trickle down his temple. He knows he’s cornered, but he still tries to maintain his defiance. “We grew apart. It didn’t mean anything.”

“You didn’t grow at all. You just kept making people eat glue, except instead of glue, it was the assholes’ fists.” I glance at Logan. “Where are they, by the way?”

“In jail. I only managed to get them to hold off on arresting Kyle for the night.”

His eyes widen. “Arrest? For what? Wait until my uncle finds out.”

“Your uncle is about to get disbarred,” Logan says, sounding bored.

I grin at him. “You know, some guys just get their girls flowers.”

“Boring. Trite. And dead in a few days.”

“Aww. Instead you got me revenge. That’s so sweet.”

Kyle’s eyes widen. “You guys are fucking insane.”

Logan grabs the front of Kyle’s shirt, yanking him forward. The metal feet of the chair scrape as his body rocks. The movement catches him off guard, and fear flashes in his eyes. “Your scholarship?” Logan says. “Gone.”

Kyle’s bravado crumbles, replaced by a look of shock and disbelief. “You’re lying,” he whispers, but there’s no conviction in his voice.

Logan releases him, stepping back.

Kyle’s shoulders slump, his cocky fa?ade giving way to vulnerability. “This… this isn’t fair,” he says, as if anyone cares.

I roll my eyes. “Was it fair when you tormented others?”

Kyle’s emotions war across his face—anger, frustration, and finally, a glimmer of despair. He looks up at me, and for the first time, I see him not as the untouchable bully, but as a scared, horrible, small person. One who’s finally facing the consequences.

I watch as Kyle grapples with this new reality.

The basement falls silent, save for his ragged breathing.

“Go on,” Logan says to me.

I look around the dimly lit space. “Go on and what?”

“Go on and punch him.”

“Okay, I just feel like this should have had stage directions. Like you planned a whole thing, and I’m trying to keep up.”

Logan grins. “Thumb on the outside of your fingers. Aim for the soft part of the eye. Do not, under any circumstances, break your fingers. It really kills the high.”

“Oh, please. I know how to punch a guy.”

“Excellent.”

I turn to face Kyle, who might be trying to act brave? It’s hard to tell when his lower lip is quivering like that. Possibly I should care about that, but he’s hurt enough people that I don’t. Travis. Then Logan.

Along with, you know, me. If I were to value myself.

Which I found hard to do before. A lot of abuse victims struggle with that, I’ve learned, but I’m getting better at it with practice.

Having Logan value me sets a good example.

Anticipation pulses through my veins. I have actually punched Kyle before, but it’s always been in an imminent-danger, self-defense way. Winding up feels new.

I pause. “Is it cheating if he’s tied up?”

“Were you tied up in the trunk of his car?”

“Good point.”

Kyle snorts. “You’re not going to do it.”

Which is just the motivation I needed.

I make a fist, pull back, and pop him right in the eye.

He lets out a yelp that’s surprisingly high-pitched.

“Okay, that did hurt,” I say, shaking out my hand. “But it also felt good. Is that weird? I could do that entire freaking obstacle course right now.”

“It’s the adrenaline.”

“No, I think it’s finally having some justice.”

His lips quirk. “Project Justice?”

“That’s what I’ve named your contact in my phone.”

He shakes his head. Only a short shake, one that shows he’s still a little bemused by me. He looks at me as if I hung the moon. As if I’m some kind of goddess instead of just a rebel from nowhere. That means more to me than a million punches to Kyle’s face.

Though that was fun, too.

“Head upstairs,” Logan says gently.

“Aren’t you coming with me?”

“Soon. I have a few more things to discuss with Kyle.”

“I already hit him in the face. Are you saying that my punch was too weak?”

“Your punch was beautiful, Sunset. Let’s just call these a few footnotes.”

“I’m weirdly okay with that. I met your brother,” I call out to Liam, who’s been sitting back and watching this the entire time. “He said we’re having dinner with his wife.”

“I think you’ll like her. She’s a bestselling author.”

“Oh my God. So you’re with a world-class musician, and he’s with a famous author?”

“My other brother, Josh, is married to a prima ballerina.”

“I see what you’re doing there. Big, tough, military man with artsy girl.”

Liam gives me a small smile of acknowledgment.

On the floor, Kyle groans.

I give Logan a quick kiss before turning to climb the metal stairs.

The air grows lighter, less oppressive, with each step.

Maybe it should be strange to trust someone who can be violent. Especially after my father. To me it makes perfect sense.

Oh, people like to think they’re above it, but anyone can be violent.

A mother protecting her child, for example.

A man taking out his frustrations on his wife.

It’s a certain kind of man who saves his violence for the people who truly deserve it, who protects not only his lover but even strangers. Who builds a large, welcoming family out of nothing but a few red flags.