The Wrong Brother

"How do you know my name?"

Kade didn't answer right away. He looked at her like he was deciding how much to give away, the same careful calculation she remembered from years later, from a man who never said anything without weighing it first.

"Silas Cade," he said finally. "Mentioned you a few days ago."

The ground felt like it tilted under her feet. "Silas talks about me to you?"

"Not exactly a conversation about you specifically." Kade shrugged, like it meant nothing, though his eyes stayed sharp on her face. "He mentioned Marcus had a daughter. Said I might run into her eventually."

"Why would he say that?"

"You'd have to ask him."

Rosalind's mind raced. Silas already knew about Kade. Silas already knew enough to warn Kade she existed, which meant whatever plan he was building, he'd been building it for longer than she wanted to believe.

"When did you meet Silas?" she asked.

"That's a lot of questions for someone who claims not to know anything," Kade said, but there was something almost amused in his voice now, like he found her more interesting than annoying.

"I'm curious."

"Curious enough to accuse a man's own brother of feeding me information about his club?"

Rosalind's stomach dropped. She hadn't said Silas's name. She'd only said someone close to her father, someone he trusted completely.

"I never said Silas," she said carefully.

Kade's expression didn't change, but something behind his eyes sharpened, like he'd caught something he hadn't expected to catch. "No," he said slowly. "You didn't."

Silence stretched between them, heavy and dangerous. Rosalind realized her mistake too late, the same instinct that got her killed once already, speaking before thinking, letting her certainty show through cracks she couldn't afford to have.

"You should be careful who you talk to about club business," Kade said finally, his voice lower now. "People who know things they shouldn't tend to attract the wrong kind of attention."

"Is that a threat?"

"That's advice." He studied her a moment longer. "Free, since you're Marcus's kid."

He turned and walked away before she could respond, leaving her standing there with her heart pounding and her mind racing through everything that had just happened. He knew Silas. Silas knew about her. And somehow, without meaning to, she'd just confirmed to Kade Ashworth that she suspected something was wrong inside her father's club.

***********************

She didn't tell Dahlia what happened until that night, sitting cross-legged on her bedroom floor with her phone pressed to her ear, voice barely above a whisper.

"You did what?" Dahlia's voice came through sharp and fast.

"I didn't mean to say it," Rosalind said. "It just came out."

"Rosalind, listen to me carefully. If Kade Ashworth tells Silas what you said, Silas isn't going to wonder if you're just a suspicious kid anymore. He's going to know you're a threat."

"I know."

"Do you?" Dahlia's voice cracked with frustration. "Because you're acting like someone who thinks she has all the time in the world, and I promise you, you don't."

Rosalind closed her eyes, pressing her forehead against her knees. "I need to know more about him. About Kade. Why is Silas even talking to him?"

"I told you already. Kade's crew has been circling Reapers territory for months. If Silas is talking to him directly, it's not a friendly conversation."

"You think they're planning something together."

"I think," Dahlia said slowly, "that Silas doesn't build relationships without a reason. And I think whatever reason he's got for talking to a rival enforcer, it's not going to end well for your father."

Rosalind's throat tightened. "The bar tomorrow night. The person who might know about the ledger. Can they tell us anything about this too?"

"Maybe. He used to run numbers for the club before Silas pushed him out. If anyone's still got eyes inside, it's him."

"What's his name?"

"Just be there tomorrow," Dahlia said. "Nine o'clock. And Rosalind…"

"What?"

"Don't talk to Kade Ashworth again. Not until we know exactly what he is to Silas."

The call ended before Rosalind could argue. She sat there a long moment, staring at the dark screen, thinking about the way Kade had looked at her, sharp and curious, like he was already trying to figure out exactly what kind of threat she posed.

She thought about the warehouse. About his face right before she died, horrified, too late. She thought about how easy it would be to hate him for what he'd let happen, and how she still couldn't quite manage it, not completely, not when she remembered the way he used to look at her before everything fell apart.

He wasn't that man yet. Whoever he became, whatever he did or didn't do, right now he was just a stranger circling her father's club with a rival crew and a connection to Silas Cade she didn't understand.

---

Her father came home late that night, later than usual, and she heard him on the phone again through the thin walls, voice low, tense in a way that made her chest ache.

"I need to see the real books, Silas. Not the ones you show the rest of the club."

Rosalind froze in the hallway, barely breathing.

A pause. Then her father's voice again, harder this time.

"I'm not accusing you of anything. I just want to see them myself."

Another pause, longer this time.

"Fine," her father said finally. "Tomorrow. But Silas, if there's something you're not telling me…"

The call ended. Rosalind stood frozen in the hallway, heart hammering, waiting to hear her father's next move. Instead, she heard something else. A drawer opening. Metal against metal.

She peered around the corner just enough to see her father standing at his desk, sliding a handgun into the drawer beside him, checking it was loaded before he closed it again.

He never kept a gun in that drawer before. Not in the life she remembered.

"Dad?"

He spun around, startled, then relaxed slightly when he saw it was her. "Rosalind. You should be asleep."

"Why do you have a gun out?"

He hesitated, and for a moment she thought he might actually tell her the truth. Instead, he offered the same tired smile he always gave her when he was hiding something.

"Just being careful, kid. Nothing to worry about."

She wanted to scream that he had every reason to worry, that the man he trusted most in the world was the reason he was going to die, that she'd already lived through the funeral once and couldn't survive doing it again.

Instead, she nodded and turned to head back to her room.

"Rosalind."

She paused in the doorway.

"If anything ever happens to me," her father said quietly, "you go to your mother. You don't go looking for answers. You understand?"

Her chest tightened painfully.

"Dad, nothing's going to happen to you."

He didn't answer right away, and when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than she'd ever heard it.

"I hope you're right."

She lay awake long after she went back to bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every word. Her father was already afraid. Her father was already reaching for a gun he never needed before.

Which meant somewhere, somehow, the timeline was already shifting.

And she had no idea whether that meant she was saving him.

Or speeding up exactly how he was going to die.