Chapter 5

5

André came to with a jerk, heart hammering in his chest. He lurched upright and glanced around. There was nothing about his surroundings he recognized, nothing about the soft mattress under his ass and the stark white of the walls. The bedroom was almost clinical in its cleanliness, so different from his own bedroom with all its color and clutter.

What the— Where was he?

"Jules?" Where was his sister? He pushed to the edge of the bed, wincing at the pain in his head. He touched a hand to his forehead and felt a bandage there. At least the pain wasn't as bad as it'd been before, but where was— "Jules!" How had they gotten to wherever they were? Who'd taken them? The last thing he remembered was blue eyes telling him he was safe, but that couldn't be true because he didn't know where he was and he couldn't find his sister. Panic burned the back of his throat, turning it bitter, and he rose on shaky legs only to sink back onto the bed.

Fuck. Maybe he stood too soon, but he had to get to Jules. Wherever she was. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to ease the fear and panic. Since their mom's death, it'd been him and Jules. She'd never been out of his sight. He was supposed to take care of her, protect her. But now?

A sound near the door caught his attention and he swung his gaze in that direction, then blinked.

A man stood there. Dark blond, taller than André's 5'11" height and way more fit. He stared with frost-blue eyes framed by dark brows. Familiar eyes. This was who he'd seen back at the pizza place before he passed out. Sharp nose, strong jawline, a hint of scruff, and full lips. This guy was beautiful, but something about him put André on alert and had words dying on his tongue. Something about him, about the way he stood there with his hands in the pockets of his dark slacks, crisp white shirt straining over taut muscles, multiple buttons undone giving more than a peek at a hairless chest.

"Who are you?" André demanded when he found the courage to speak. "Where is my sister?"

Dude didn't show any kind of reaction. Instead, he simply strode closer, his black leather shoes making no sound on the exposed wood floor. "André, right?"

A voice so deep, André felt its rumble to the soles of his feet. He mentally shook off the thought and stood on unsteady legs. The guy didn't move. "Where is my sister?" His voice rose, and though he knew he should be wary, he didn't care. "I want to see Jules."

"Miss Juliette is sleeping." The guy's tone was steady, without inflection, as he studied André. "She fell asleep watching over you and had to be put to bed. I'm sure you wouldn't have wanted her to overexert herself more after all she'd been through tonight."

André swallowed at the reminder and glanced away before returning his gaze to him. "I want to see her. And what is your name? Why are we here, wherever here is?"

"I'm Gideon." He turned toward the door, giving a confused André his back. "Let's go see your sister."

André rushed to catch up to him as they walked through what appeared to be a penthouse apartment, judging from the views out a bank of windows that made up a wall. There was nobody about and their footsteps—well, his clumsy footsteps—echoed on the gleaming floors as they climbed a flight of winding stairs that took them to a second floor. He had a million questions but swallowed them all. He needed to see Jules first, make sure she was safe before anything else.

She was priority.

The guy—Gideon—stopped abruptly in front of a door and pointed. "She's in there. I'll wait for you out here."

André pushed the door open without a word and entered. Jules was in the middle of the bed, eyes closed. He went to her, touching a hand to her forehead, then her cheek, feeling the warmth of her breath and checking the gentle rise and fall of her chest before releasing a deep breath.

She was safe.

He sat next to her on the edge of the bed and glanced around. This bedroom was way different than the one he'd woken up in. For one thing, this one had color—soft pastels on the walls, the furniture, the rug. Someone who knew what they were doing and actually had taste had decorated this bedroom. Jules's wheelchair was positioned inches away from him, near the bed, within her reach. A plate dotted with only crumbs sat on a nearby small white table along with an empty glass.

She'd been fed.

He shook his head, so filled with questions, and reached out, stroking Jules's arm. She'd witnessed something horrific today. Something he wished he could erase from her memory. After their mother's death, they'd lived a quiet life, one devoid of excitement, just like their mother wanted. Everything about their lives was mundane, but tonight changed that. He needed to make sure Jules was okay and if she wasn't, figure out a way to ensure that she was.

As if she heard his thoughts, his sister opened her eyes with a deep breath.

"Dré!" She reached for him and he went to her, pulling her into his arms, holding her tight.

"Are you okay?" He released her, cupping the back of her head to examine her face, her eyes. While he'd been out cold for how fucking long, she'd been alone with that guy out there. Gideon. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head. "I'm fine." Her gaze tracked his features. "You're the one who was bleeding." Worry shook her words. "You passed out and I couldn't get you to wake up. Thank God Gideon was there."

He frowned at that. "You know him?"

"Everybody knows him, Dré. He's been on the news, like, twenty-four-seven since he came back."

On the news? "Like a reporter?" But no, that didn't fit. He didn't know how he knew but he did.

Jules rolled her eyes at him, so clearly she was okay. "Dré, he's, like, a billionaire ten times over. Everyone thought he died when he was a kid, but it turned out he'd gone into hiding because people were trying to kill him. His dad died and so he came back to run the business. His name is Gideon Winters."

He gaped at her. "How do you know all this?"

"Because I watch the news." Her expression said "duh."

André did his best to avoid the news because there was always something about the man who'd fathered him on there. Some philanthropy he was involved in, a new company he'd acquired, an achievement his kid—the daughter he claimed—a brilliant lawyer, made. He stayed away from it. He didn't want to know, but apparently, while he'd been burying his head in the sand, his sister was keeping up with world events.

"Forget about that for a minute. Are you sure you're okay?" When she nodded, he asked, "What happened when I passed out?" He scooped Jules up in his arms and positioned her into a sitting position against the fluffy pillows, then got onto the bed next to her.

"I didn't know what to do." Her voice trembled and she clung to him. "You were out and I couldn't do anything."

His heart broke for how scared she must've been. "I'm sorry you had to see all of that. That you were so afraid and I wasn't there to help you." He hugged her to him, squeezing her lightly as he fought with the emotions roiling inside him.

"Gideon told me he'd take care of you and I believed him."

Just because she'd seen news reports about him?

"He and his people took us with them, and they brought us here. A doctor was waiting when we arrived, and she looked both of us over and said you'd be okay. Gideon let me watch over you for a while, then he said I should rest because you would want that. And he had his chef make me something to eat, then he brought me here and I fell asleep."

There were still so many questions banging around in André's head, but it looked as if he'd have to get the answers from the man himself. He pressed a kiss to Jules's forehead. "I'm gonna go talk to, uh, Gideon. Thank him for helping us. And then we'll leave, okay?"

She nodded, meeting his gaze hesitantly.

One last kiss on her forehead, then he got off the bed. "Stay here. I'll be right back."

He left the room, closing the door softly behind him. Gideon waited out there for him, but he wasn't alone. There were four other people with him, conversing in hushed tones. Three men, one woman. All with a noticeable bulge in their waistbands. They all had that air around them, warning of danger.

Shit. His steps halted.

Gideon glanced up. "Ah." Those blue eyes. Like high beams, they blinded him. "André, just in time." He stuck his hands back into his pockets and faced André squarely, one eyebrow raised. "Maybe you can tell us why someone wants to kill you?"

Ennis Canto's secret son wasn't anything like Gideon would have expected.

From what he'd learned from Marco, André didn't have any contact with his father. It seemed Ennis wanted nothing to do with André, but he paid him a shit load of money every month.

Curious.

Gideon watched André as he stood with his back against the door he'd just closed, expression startled. After doing a deep dive into André's and his sister's lives, Marco had warned Gideon that André was different, but Gideon hadn't believed it.

He did now.

They lived simply, despite the money Gideon knew André had inherited upon his mother's death and Ennis's monthly deposits.

A payoff to ensure the unwanted son kept his distance and his mouth shut?

More and more, Gideon found himself seriously disliking Ennis.

"Nobody's trying to kill me." André blinked at him. "Why—Why would you say that?"

Gideon shrugged, taking a step toward him. "Maybe because we just rescued you from a sticky situation? One that would have definitely seen you and your precious sister dead?"

André narrowed his eyes, jaw ticking. "Jules told me what you did for her. For us." He swallowed, shuffling from foot to foot. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Jules and I are gonna leave?—"

"Before you go, I'd like to have a word." Gideon turned on his heel, heading toward his office without waiting to see if André followed. The others didn't because they already knew he needed privacy. He didn't want to spook André more than he already had.

In his office, he stood in front of his desk, arms folded, waiting, barely hiding his irritation as it took André an inordinately long time to enter the room. When he did, he did so cautiously, as if expecting something to jump out at him.

As André gazed around the room, Gideon studied him. André was slimmer than him—long torso, long limbs. His hair was cut short, skin medium brown, eyes a few shades lighter. Thick brows, full lips. There were drops of blood on his blue t-shirt, and his black jeans and sneakers were dusty. The single gold cross earring in his left ear intrigued Gideon.

"Jules tells me you're some kind of important person."

Gideon smiled on the inside at André's words. "Your sister is…remarkable."

André pursed his lips. "I can't tell if that's a compliment or not."

"Oh, it's very much a compliment." Gideon grinned. "I think she knows more about me than I do."

André winced. "Sorry about that."

"No." Gideon brushed off the apology. "It's all right."

André stared at him for a beat, then straightened, folding his arms. "What did you want to discuss?"

Right. Gideon took a moment to gather his thoughts before he spoke. "When my people pulled you and Jules from the pizza shop?—"

"Shit!" André jerked. "The cops. I didn't— I need to speak to someone, don't I? They'll want my information and to know what happened. I should—" He turned toward the door.

"That's been taken care of. You're fine."

The other man faced him slowly. "It's been taken care of?" Deep lines creased his forehead. "What does that mean?"

Gideon smiled and walked toward him, stopping just before they were chest to chest. "It means exactly what you think it means."

"I—" André shook his head slightly. "You're gonna have to spell it out for me. What do you mean? " he asked forcefully.

Being questioned and doubted was something new for Gideon. He didn't like it. He swallowed the irritation. "The pizza place has been shut down temporarily."

"Tony and?—"

"They're fine. I'm sure you can appreciate that they'll need some time to recover from their ordeal. They'll be back when they're ready." With their bank accounts a lot heftier.

André studied him, and Gideon swore he saw the other man's brain working to figure out what was really going on.

"The cops aren't looking for me?"

"Why would they? The robbers are dead and Tony and his wife are fine. There was nobody else involved in the robbery."

André blinked when it clicked and he spluttered. "They don't know Jules and I were there?"

"Did you want them to know?" Gideon lifted an eyebrow. "So your sister can be traumatized all over again when she's made to recall the events?"

André rubbed a hand over his mouth, meeting Gideon's gaze with wide eyes. "Why did you do this? What did you do exactly?"

"Money can make any unpleasantness go away, André." Gideon knew before he said it that those were the wrong words. As he watched, André stiffened, his expression turning agonized before he smoothed it out.

"Right. And what do you want in exchange for your help? Because men like you aren't the altruistic type."

Gideon couldn't help the smile that appeared at those words. "Do you know many men like me then?"

"I know enough." André rolled his eyes. "What do you want?"

"Like I started to say earlier, when we rescued you, Jules told us where you lived. I had one of my men go there, with the help of the key Jules gave us?—"

"Why the hell would she do that?" André blurted out. "You're strangers."

"I don't know why she did it, why she trusted us, but you should be grateful she did." Gideon made his way back to his desk and picked up his iPad. He turned it on, tapped the Photos icon, then held out the device to André. "This is what your house looks like."

André's eyes bulged as he studied the images. "What the fuck? Who did this?" His home had been destroyed, torn apart. Furniture overturned, drawers emptied onto the floor, cupboards ripped off. It was as if whoever did it had been searching for something. "Who did this?"

Instead of answering him, Gideon picked up the cracked phone that had been sitting on his desk and offered it to André, who took it hesitantly. "This belonged to one of the dead men from the pizza place. Look at the most recent text messages."

He watched André's eyes go back and forth as he read, his skin turning paler and paler until he was damn near ashen. "It's photos of me and Jules," he whispered.

"Yes." Gideon nodded. "So, I'm gonna ask again, who wants you dead?"

André stood there holding Gideon's iPad and a dead man's phone, and Gideon had never seen anybody look so lost, so confused. This wasn't André's world. He must feel it in the pit of his stomach, the sense of impending doom. Gideon could've told him, as André took a step backward, that he was already in too deep.

In over his head and he didn't even know it.

"I don't—I don't know who would want to hurt us." André's voice rattled as Gideon cocked his head.

"No?" He sat on the edge of his desk. "Tell me about Ennis Canto."

André blanched.

"He is your father, isn't he?"

André gaped at him "How do you?—"

"Could he be trying to get rid of you permanently?"