Damaged (Boys of Winter 2)

Carver nods and moves around the circle, the tension building in the room like never before. “All in favor of appointing Michael Harding.”

Michael raises his hand and none other.

It goes on and on, every single individual voting for himself until it gets to the last three—me, Carver and Tobias King. Carver continues. “All in favor of appointing Tobias King.”

All eyes fall to Tobias and I watch as his gaze subtly flicks between me and Carver. A beat passes and then another when Tobias nods at Carver. “Continue.”

My brow raises and I watch him a second longer. He didn’t vote for himself which could only mean one of two things. In the next thirty seconds, either I will walk out of this as the leader of Dynasty, or Carver will.

I swallow over the lump in my throat as Carver continues. “All in favor of appointing myself, Dante Carver.”

Not a single hand moves, not even his own and I suck in a breath, realizing that not only does he have to vote for me, but when he does, he’s publicly declaring in front of the other heads of Dynasty that he will support me.

“Right,” Carver continues, studiously ignoring the stares and murmurs of the men around him. “All in favor of appointing our current leader, Elodie Ravenwood to continue in her role as leader of Dynasty, raise your hands.”

Just like that, Carver, Tobias, and I raise our hands, proving once and for all that this is where I need to be. Though I have to be honest, I’m surprised that Tobias didn’t vote for himself just as everyone else had. I silently nod and he gives me a tight smile in return.

Not able to meet Carver’s heavy stare, I raise my chin and get back to business as usual. “Then it’s settled,” I say, desperately trying to hide the odd mix of nerves and pride welling within me. “We will rebuild Dynasty in the true vision of Gerald Ravenwood, and we will flourish, but not before I make the fuckers who have done me wrong bleed.”

I instantly refill my glass and as it’s the time for making declarations, King comes and stands behind me with Grayson stepping in on Cruz’s other side. The four of us make a stand with Carver’s intentions known, and just like that, we change the game in one hell of a big way.

“What the hell is this?” Grayson’s father demands, getting to his feet and glaring at his son as Tobias King just raises his chin, making it damn clear that he and his son will be having a private conversation, but not here, and certainly not for every head of Dynasty to witness. Grayson and his father don’t have those same reservations though, especially with the way his father has been drinking tonight.

“My loyalties are to Elodie now,” Grayson tells his father while also making it crystal clear to every other bastard in the room. “You’ve been sitting on the wrong side for far too fucking long, father. I will not be your legacy, not anymore.”

“You are my heir,” he roars. “I have raised you to stand in my place, now quit this foolishness. I will not allow you to throw away everything I’ve worked for on a piece of easy pussy.”

Eyes widen all over the room and as Grayson’s hands curl into fists, I press my hand to his chest, calming him down. “Allow me,” I tell him, walking up to his father with a wicked smirk stretched wide across my face.

In one sharp snap, I curl my fingers into a tight fist, rejoicing in the way my brass knuckles tighten over my skin. I bring my fist back, and calling on every ounce of anger, hatred, and pain swarming deep inside me, I let my fist fly and smack him right in the fucking nose.

He roars, his arms flailing as he falls back, and I watch it happen, almost in slow motion. His ass crashes down into the couch and it rocks back, nearly threatening to tip right over as I turn and look back at Grayson, shaking out my hand. “How was that?”

“Fucking beautiful,” he tells me.

“Alright,” Sebastian Whitman groans and rests back in his chair, less than impressed with the halftime show. “Now that we’ve wasted half an hour learning absolutely nothing new, can we please get back to the topic at hand. There are thirty-four men, women, and children currently waiting to be buried, and I demand to know who is responsible.”

“My thoughts exactly,” I tell him. “And my gut tells me that one of the men in this room has a death sentence. I guess the fun will be figuring it out.”

I look back at Carver, watching as he refills his drink and then refills Tobias’ and shoves it down in front of him. The guys take their glasses and Tobias quickly throws his down his throat before going for another. Carver slowly leans back in his seat, resting his head on the couch, completely exhausted.