Chapter 4

4

Samir had warned Gideon that shit would get crazy. He should have listened. Every day since the public found out he'd returned from the dead (thanks to Gideon himself), there were no less than fifty reporters following him whenever he made a public appearance.

And he'd had to make a lot of public appearances, something that irked him.

He blew out a loud breath as he sank into a chair—his father's chair, in his father's office—yanking on his tie. Samir stood just inside the doorway, watching him but not saying anything. They'd just battled their way through the thickest throng of reporters yet on their way into the Winters's building, and damn it, Gideon missed anonymity.

They had a private—secret—entrance and exit from the building, but the public needed to see him coming and going from the company. For now at least. He was ready for all the pretend shit to be over.

"How much longer do we have to keep this up?" he asked Samir as if he didn't know.

"Not much longer." His friend's lips quirked.

Gideon rolled his eyes, then glanced at his watch. "Where are they?" He was about to give his one and only sit-down interview, and it hadn't even started yet, but already he hated it. Again, this was part of the plan he and his father had constructed, so he'd follow it to the letter. They'd chosen an unknown reporter from a small online publication, instead of going with the usual high profile TV people. Every decision he made, every action he took, from the moment his father took his last breath, was for a specific reason.

"They're bringing her up now," Samir told him, touching a finger to his ear. "In the elevator."

That was Gideon's cue. He got to his feet and strode past Samir out to the elevator, where he stood with his hands clasped behind his back, waiting. The top floor of the Winters's building housed his father's private offices, his assistant and receptionist offices, as well as two conference rooms—one large and the other much smaller. The floor itself could only be accessed via a private elevator. There was another, separate elevator that went directly to and from the office by way of that secret entrance and could only be used with a code, one only Gideon and his team possessed.

The elevator dinged, its doors sliding open. Inside, Will and Kaleb hung back as the reporter stepped out first. Ree Spencer's height barely came up to Gideon's chest. Half Korean, half Irish, she was a stunner with chin-length dark hair and a heart-shaped face. She stood in front of him with a small smile, head cocked. She'd been twelve the last time he'd seen her, with big brown eyes, skinny, awkward limbs, and glasses that kept sliding down her button nose. She wasn't wearing glasses now, and the innocence she'd had back then was long gone. He understood all too well that life had a way of stripping you down, leaving you with only what was absolutely necessary.

Innocence wasn't one of those things that made the cut.

Ree was chosen because her father was in prison, sentenced to seventy-five years for embezzlement, corporate espionage, intimidation, lying, fraud, and a whole host of other shit that Ree worked hard to distance herself from.

"How did you find me?"

His lips twitched. They hadn't seen each other in so long and those were her first words to him. Typical Ree, always asking questions. "Hello, Ree."

"How did you find me?" she demanded, ignoring Samir.

"I never lost you, Ree." She'd legally changed her full name, Rebecca, to the childhood nickname he'd given her and adopted her maternal grandmother's maiden name. But she couldn't hide, not from him.

"I thought Gideon Winters was dead."

He shrugged. "I'm not."

She snorted, clutching the strap of the gray messenger bag slung across her body "And you decided I should be the one to write your coming out story?"

"I mean, you're the only reporter I know."

Her eyes flashed. "You don't know me. Hell, I don't even know if you are who you say you are."

"You were my first kiss," he reminded her. "Next to the duck pond in my backyard. Your glasses fell off and I stepped on them, then had to lead you home by the hand because you couldn't see for shit." And that was as far as he wanted to go down memory lane. He ignored Ree's gaping and turned around, heading back into the office. He didn't check to see if she followed, but she would. She was a reporter, after all, but more than that, Ree had always been the curious type.

He'd found that very annoying back then.

In the office, he perched on the edge of the desk and waited for her to join him. When she did reluctantly, he asked, "Are we doing this, or do I have to find someone else?" It was rhetorical. They both knew she couldn't buy the amount of exposure he was about to give her. When her father was revealed as the corrupt crook he was, their family had lost everything. Ree's mother took her own life, unable to deal with the shame and guilt. Ree and her sister were all that was left of a family that used to be almost as powerful as Gideon's own.

Ree needed money. Her business was failing.

She needed him. And he needed her.

He watched as she sank into the chair Samir pulled out for her, daintily crossing her jeans-covered legs and nibbling on her bottom lip. "I have a million questions," she warned him.

Gideon nodded. "Ask them." When they were done, he'd ask her one of his own.

The interview lasted almost three hours, and Gideon barely noticed when Samir brought in food for him and Ree at some point. She was good at what she did, and though they'd started off a bit stiff and formal, in no time at all they'd settled into a rhythm borne of familiarity. At least, the familiarity of the innocent children they'd once been.

"Thank you." Ree got to her feet, shoving her laptop into her bag. When she straightened, she held out a hand. "It was lovely to see you, Gideon. I'm glad you're back."

He took her hand, holding it in his as he asked, "When was the last time your father called you?"

She blinked, clearly thrown. "My— What?" When she tried to tug out of his hold, he refused to release her.

"Please answer the question, Ree. When was the last time Warren called you?"

"That man is not my father," she spat. "He calls me every Friday and I never answer, but he won't stop calling." Her facade was beginning to crack, so Gideon released her and she stepped away from him, eyes shooting daggers.

It was Thursday, so the next phone call would be coming tomorrow. "Answer the next time he calls."

"What the fuck, Gideon? Don't tell me what to do. This has nothing to do with you."

He glanced at Samir, who stepped forward and took Ree's bag from her, the one containing her laptop with the audio and video files, as well as her backup drives.

"Hey. What?—"

"Ree." She jerked her angry gaze to him. "We'll hold on to that until you answer your father's call."

Her eyes bulged. "You can't do that! Are you serious?"

He nodded once. "Deadly so, I'm afraid." Will and Kaleb entered the room then, likely summoned by Samir. "Will and Kaleb will escort you out."

"But I—I need my laptop." Her tone turned pleading. "Gideon, please. You don't understand."

"I do. And tomorrow after you've spoken to your father, you'll contact Samir…" His friend held out a card that Ree snatched from him. "Everything will be fine."

She pressed her lips together.

"Ree, do this and I'll make it worth your while. Trust me."

"I don't trust you," she said softly. "And I never will, not after this." She turned away, marching past the others on her way to the door. "I was happy to learn you weren't dead, Gideon, but now…" She shook her head. "You're just like him," she tossed over her shoulder without looking at him. "Just like my father."

Not the best comparison, but he'd been called worse, so he didn't care. He and Ree weren't friends. They'd known each other as kids and that was it.

Will and Kaleb hurried after her, leaving Gideon and Samir all alone in the office. Gideon dropped into the chair Ree vacated, heaving a sigh.

"It was necessary," Samir said above his head.

"Of course." Everything was necessary. Ree wasn't a kid anymore. She, more than anyone, knew that sometimes you had to do whatever you had to in order to get what you wanted. He wouldn't apologize for it.

"Marco has an update," Samir told him, and Gideon shot to his feet.

"I could use some good news."

"We've found Ennis Canto's secret son."

"You wouldn't be so tired if you'd gone to bed like I told you to," André scolded Juliette, who rolled her eyes at him as they made their way home from the basketball court.

"I'm not tired," she protested, but the words were weak, as were her playing skills back there. "I just wasn't feeling it." She shrugged.

He scoffed. "Yeah, okay. But when you get in, don't let me hear you on the phone. It's dinner, homework, and then bed. No excuses." He sounded so much like his mother at that moment that he stopped walking, staring down at Jules with wide eyes.

She'd also stopped on the sidewalk, meeting his gaze with big eyes. "You sound like Mom."

A pang went through him and he rubbed the back of his neck. "I know." He glanced around, blowing out a breath. "Sorry." And he didn't even know why he was apologizing. Shit. "Come on, let's go."

But Jules didn't move. "Can we have pizza?"

"Jules, we already had pizza twice this week." And it was only Wednesday.

"I know, but the food you cooked last night wasn't— I mean…" She glanced away, probably trying to spare his feelings, but he already knew the new recipe he'd tried to cook last night had been a major fail.

"You can say it," he told her with a chuckle. "It sucked." He could cook, but his knowledge wasn't extensive, and trying new things usually included lots of trial and error. Mostly error.

"Well, you did stop making pasta every single day, so you get points for that."

"Hey." He gave her a mock stern look as they continued on their way. "Pasta is delicious."

"Yeah, but every single day?"

"Why not? Look what happened last night when I tried something new."

She nodded. "Yeah, that's true."

"If we have pizza tonight—" Her eyes brightened but he held up a hand. "If we have pizza tonight, then I'm making pasta tomorrow." Best he put her on notice now.

"Okay. Fine. Let's go!" She rolled on ahead of him to the pizza shop and he chuckled, quickening his strides to catch up.

They'd stayed later than they normally did at the basketball courts, but a group of neighborhood kids had joined them and Jules had clearly been having fun despite her obvious tiredness. So they'd stayed. Now, the sun had long gone down as they made their way back. He caught up with her just as she reached the entrance to the pizza place, pulling the door open and keeping his gaze on her to ensure she didn't have any issues entering. One time, one of the wheels in her chair had gotten stuck in a deep crack near the entrance.

Once she'd entered, he followed behind her. The door slammed shut at his back and he took a step forward, only to almost crash into Jules. He opened his mouth to chastise her for stopping abruptly and damn near swallowed his tongue.

The owner of the place, Tony, was on his knees not even two feet away with someone clad in all black, a mask covering their face, standing over him, pointing a gun at Tony's forehead.

They'd walked into a robbery.

"Dré?"

He didn't respond to his sister's shaking voice—he was too busy eyeing the second gunman behind the counter holding Tony's wife, Vanessa, as she sobbed quietly, tears running down her face.

Get out. Get out.

He grabbed Juliette's wheelchair handles with both hands, taking a step back. Then another. And anoth?—

"Ah. Ah."

Something touched his nape and he froze.

"Leaving so soon?"

There was a third one. His heart dropped and he quickly threw up both hands, swallowing the panic as he held his body still. "I'm sorry. We don't—we don't want any trouble. We're leaving."

Jules made a sound and he bit down on his tongue, hating that he couldn't even comfort her.

"Why? Was it something we said?" The person behind him, a man judging by the slurred tone, prodded André in the neck with what could only be a gun. "Go on in, you and the little lady in the chair."

"Please. We haven't seen your faces, let us go."

"Not how it works," the person muttered in his ear. "And I'm not gonna tell you again."

"Dré?"

"Shh. It's okay," he told Jules. Even though he was shaking. Even though he didn't know how they'd get out of this.

Tony's wife's sobs got louder as André did what he'd been ordered to do, rolling Juliette farther into the shop and closer to where Tony knelt, face red, his body still. It was as if the big, jovial guy André had always known didn't want to even blink. Fear for his sister, for himself, iced André's insides as he touched the back of Juliette's neck, trying to impart comfort. He didn't think he succeeded, not with her whimpers that tore at him.

"Kneel." The guy behind André stepped into his line of sight. He was stocky and dressed in head-to-toe black, gloved hand steady on the gun he pointed in André's face. "Next to Tony over here," he said, indicating where with a jerk of his head.

André inched away from Juliette, making sure to keep his hands raised as he moved closer to Tony.

"You too," the guy said, addressing Juliette. "On your knees."

"She can't." André turned to him. "Can't you see—" A blow to the face sent him staggering. Felt as if his brain rattled around in his skull from that one hit. His ears rang, but even over that loudness he heard Juliette's screams and Vanessa's sobs. Something warm trickled down the side of his face and he touched it with a shaking hand. His vision jumped around, but he was still able to make out red.

"Dré! Dré! Don't hurt him!"

"Jul—" His knees gave out and he crashed to the floor. "Jules." He had to get to her. But his vision kept winking in and out. How fucking hard had he been hit? And with what? He got onto all fours, trying to crawl in the direction of his sister's screams, but someone grabbed him by the neck and yanked him back into a kneeling position.

"If the little lady isn't out of that chair by the time I count to ten, I'm shooting her."

"No. Please." Blood poured down his face, obscuring his vision. Or was it tears? "She can't. Don't do this."

The grip on him disappeared and he rocked, blinking as the guy stepped toward Jules.

"One."

"No. No!" André reached for him, but the guy wasn't close enough. His head hurt like a motherfucker, but he struggled to his feet.

"Two."

"Three."

André launched himself in front of Jules, giving her his back as he faced the gunman. "Shoot me. Let her go." He opened his arms wide. "Let her go and you can have me. Take m-my wallet. My car keys. I have—" The money from his monster of a father. He could give them that. "I have money. You can t-take that."

"Just shut him up." The one holding the gun on Tony spoke for the first time. "He talks too fucking much. Shut him up and let's get out of here."

What did that?—

A bang sounded and André flinched. Juliette screamed. Had he been shot? He didn't feel the bullet. But that had to be the adrenaline numbing him, right? The gunman in front of him jerked, body flying backward before he crumpled to the floor.

What the fuck?

André's knees gave up on him then and he crashed to the floor as chaos rained around him. Bodies dropped. Another of the masked men—the one on Tony—slumped to the floor, this time with a spray of blood that hit Tony in the face. What was happening? He scrambled for cover, reaching out for Juliette. The excruciating pain in his head was making it difficult for him to keep his eyes open—everything around him was spinning—but he held on to his sister, yanking her out of the chair and down onto the floor with him, covering her violently shaking body with his own.

He murmured to her, words meant to offer comfort. Telling her they would be all right, but he didn't know for sure. In the blink of an eye, their night had gone from mundane to this waking nightmare. Spine-bending chills raced from his head down his back, and he squeezed his eyes shut as gunshots rang out around him. He didn't know who was shooting or where they'd come from, and he didn't want to know; he just wanted to keep Juliette safe the way he'd promised their mother he would.

He wanted?—

A hand on his shoulder made him stiffen, but he didn't move. He refused to move.

"You're safe now," a low, deep voice said above him. It wasn't a voice he recognized. He didn't trust the speaker.

"André."

Without slackening his grip on Juliette, he jerked his head up. The room spun with the sudden movement, and he sucked in a breath as his vision blinked in and out.

"You're hurt." Blue eyes. That was all he saw, bright blue eyes staring down at him. "Let me help."

"No, leave…" He felt his body giving out, his hold on Jules sliding away. Panic rode him, but he couldn't make himself form the proper words. "Jules. Protect—" He passed out before he could complete the sentence.