“Dominic James. That’s the name he uses for training.”

“Is he even a trainer?”

“He claims he went to UCLA and studied… Oh, hell. I don’t even know. Does it matter? Is he really any better than his half brother? He claims he’s acting on orders to keep me safe, but he still drugged me and took me against my will.”

Jade was still staring at her computer screen. “They can’t be the same person. Justin died, r

ight? He’s dead. Tom Simpson killed him.”

“No,” I said quietly. “Tom Simpson drugged him, and then Tom Simpson bought him.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Bryce

“Now we just have to find the bastard.” Joe shuffled through all the records Jade had printed out.

We were at the main house, outside as usual. Marjorie had grilled burgers, but none of us were particularly hungry. The food sat uneaten on platters in the center of the table.

I swallowed, trying to dislodge the apple-sized lump in my throat. Now we just have to find the bastard.

I couldn’t fault Joe’s words, but if Cade Booker was indeed a bastard, Joe and I had something to do with it.

We’d taken him camping. We’d given my father access to him.

“Don’t do this to yourself.” Marjorie rubbed my forearm. “This isn’t your fault. You’re not the one who sold your son.”

Just the thought made anger rage within me. I was a father, for God’s sake, and I’d do anything—anything—to protect my son. This motherfucker, this Bertram Valente.

Still, if we hadn’t taken Justin camping…

“Please. Stop,” Marjorie said softly.

The others were talking, but the words jumbled in my head. Only the warmth of Marjorie’s hand helped keep me sane.

Because I knew the truth.

This was our fault. Joe’s and mine, and more mine, because my father had taken us camping. We’d had no intention to harm him, but that didn’t negate the fact that, but for us, my father would have never known Justin Valente.

Justin hadn’t died after all, and his father had given him up and been quieted by my father’s money.

Then what had happened? So far, we knew only that he’d “returned” after his mother had remarried Richard Booker and Dominic and Alessandra were in their teens. He changed his name to Cade and took the last name Booker. Had he truly trained with the FBI? That could have been totally fabricated. My father could have taught him to handle weapons as well or better than the FBI. Cade’s law degree could be fabricated, as well.

Where had he been during those lost years? Dominic was twenty-four now and had been sixteen when Cade returned. That was only eight years ago.

We knew absolutely nothing.

“…probably trained as a slave,” Ruby was saying. “That’s what they did to the rest of the kids. Those who were trouble were killed, and some probably died from the training. Whatever happened to Cade, we know he didn’t die.”

I eyed Joe. He shook his head at me slightly.

I suppressed the bit of anger that threatened to emerge. I’d never spill the beans about the leather club. But Cade knew who Joe was. He’d clearly been watching Joe through the club, and the rest of us through… I didn’t know. Dominic had said his brother was obsessed with the Steels and with my father.

My father was now dead, and I was the substitute. Or perhaps I’d never been the substitute. After all, I was the one who’d invited him camping.

Marjorie’s hand never left my arm, though she did join in the conversation.

“Alex was a lot more hotheaded than Dominic,” she said. “She didn’t have a lot of patience with Colin or me, didn’t seem to understand that we didn’t like being taken against our will, and if we didn’t want her protection, we could just leave. She even said she wanted to crush my skull at one point.”

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