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Home / Romance / The Hostile Takeover: Signed, Sealed, and Claimed / Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

All Chapters of The Hostile Takeover: Signed, Sealed, and Claimed: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

62 Chapters

11

"Don't move, Ethan. Not a single muscle."The hand on my arm was a vice. Not Caleb’s. Too clinical. Too steady. I was yanked into a service alcove, the smell of damp concrete and floor wax replacing the expensive perfume of the ballroom."Jonathan?" I squinted. The red emergency lights pulsed. A heartbeat of light, then black."The one and only." Jonathan Hayes didn't let go. He was in full tactical gear, a badge glinting against his chest. "I’ve been trailing this gala for six months. You’re lucky I found you before Caleb’s pet hit squad did.""Caleb doesn't have a hit squad." I tried to wrench my arm back. "He’s working with the feds. He told me.""He told you what you needed to hear to stay in his bed." Jonathan shoved me deeper into the shadows. He reached out, his thumb catching a smear of dust on my jaw. "He’s using you, Ethan. You’re the bait. He’s dangling you to see which of Reed’s associates bites first. He’s not saving you. He’s chumming the water.""You don't know him.""I

12

"Which one of you is lying?"The question scraped out of my throat, dry and tasting of copper. I looked at the two men. Two barrels. Two lives I thought I knew. My head was a mess of white noise."He’s on the payroll, Ethan! Reed bought him years ago!" Caleb’s voice was a jagged saw. He didn't lower his gun. His thumb was white on the hammer. "Why do you think the feds are always ten minutes late? Why do you think your father’s 'accidents' never got a real forensic sweep? Jonathan buried the files.""Don't listen to him! He’s the mastermind, Ethan!" Jonathan’s face was slick with sweat. His tactical vest heaved with every breath. "He’s been playing the long game. The 'informant' act? It’s a cover. He’s clearing out the competition. He’s using you to get to Reed’s secondary servers so he can take over the whole damn operation!""Ethan, look at me." Caleb took a half-step forward. The red emergency light hit his eyes. They were dark. Deep. "I scammed you. I broke you. I did it all. But

13

"Wake up, Ethan."The words barely left my throat. My chest felt like it had been shredded by a jagged rusted blade. Every breath was a war. I watched him. His head was slumped against his chest. He was passed out in that plastic hospital chair, his fingers still curled around the edge of my bed.I wanted to touch him. I couldn't move my arm.The heart monitor was a steady, annoying rhythmic chirp. It reminded me I was still here. Still breathing. Still a problem. I looked at the ceiling tiles. White. Sterile. Nothing like the dark, messy reality I’d spent ten years building.Ten years.I’d watched him through lenses and glass partitions. I’d followed the trajectory of his life like a hunter tracking a deer he didn't want to kill, just own. I’d built the Thorne empire out of spite and gravel. Every merger, every hostile takeover—it was all a ladder. I needed to be high enough to look a Vane in the eye. High enough to burn his world down and be the only one standing with a bucket of wa

14

"Where the hell is he?"I gripped the edge of the empty hospital bed. The sheets were twisted, cold, and stained with a fresh, dark smear. My head throbbed. Every pulse of blood against my skull felt like a hammer on a nail."Mr. Vane, you shouldn't be standing." The nurse's voice came from the doorway. She was holding a clipboard."Where is Caleb Thorne?" I turned. My legs felt like water. My vision blurred, then snapped back into a sharp, painful focus."He was taken for more scans ten minutes ago.""Liar." I pointed at the floor. A single drop of blood sat on the white tile. Then another, leading toward the hall. "He wouldn't leave for a scan without waking me. And he wouldn't be bleeding this much.""Sir, please—"I pushed past her. I didn't wait for her to call security. I followed the trail. It was messy. Uglier than the sterile hallway deserved. Drops turned into smears on the wall where a hand had gripped the molding for support.The trail ended at the heavy steel door of the

15

"Drop the gun, Jonathan!"I didn't wait for him to turn. I swung the steel pipe with everything I had. It whistled through the rain, a heavy, cold weight in my grip. My father’s son was dead. The victim who cried in panic rooms was buried. Only the animal was left.The pipe connected with Jonathan’s shoulder. A sickening crack echoed off the HVAC units. He grunted, the pistol skittering across the wet gravel."Ethan, get back!" Caleb shouted. He was struggling to his feet, peeling the fake entry wound off his forehead. The prosthetic hung like a piece of dead skin. "He’s not alone!""I don't give a fuck who he’s with!" I stepped over a puddle, the water splashing my ruined trousers. I raised the pipe again. "You were my brother, Jonathan. You stayed at our house. You ate our food. And you sold us to a man who enjoyed watching my father bleed."Jonathan rolled onto his side, clutching his shattered collarbone. His face was a mask of spit and rain. "Your father was a weak man, Ethan! He

16

"Is this the part where I thank you for the inheritance?"I didn't turn around. I didn't need to. The scent of Caleb’s expensive leather chair and the sharp, stinging smell of the antiseptic from his shoulder bandages told me exactly where he was. My fingers hovered over the keyboard of his encrypted terminal. The glow of the triple monitors washed my skin in a cold, electric blue."I thought you liked surprises, Ethan." Caleb’s voice was a rough rasp from the shadows of the doorway."I like assets. I don't like suicide notes disguised as trust funds." I hit Enter. A list of Lucas Reed’s shell companies scrolled down the screen. Millions of dollars. Dozens of front addresses. All of them ripe for the kill."It wasn't a note. It was insurance."I shed the high-moral executive persona like a layer of dead skin. It felt heavy. Useless. I stepped into the silence of the room with a chilling, newfound clarity. I wasn't the victim anymore. I wasn't the 'bottom' in this power play. I was the

17

"You’re late, Ethan."Lucas Reed didn't look up from the crystal glass in his hand. He sat behind the mahogany desk like a king presiding over a graveyard. The office smelled of expensive tobacco and the stale, cold scent of air-conditioned power."Traffic was a bitch. Getting away from Caleb was worse." I pulled out the chair opposite him. I didn't wait for an invite. I sat. My movements were jagged. Sharp. I played the part of a man who had finally snapped under the weight of a leash he never asked for."I imagine." Lucas stood. He walked to the sideboard, the ice clinking against glass. A triumphant grin stretched his face, pulling at the skin around his eyes. "Caleb Thorne has a way of making people want to claw their own skin off. I’m just surprised it took you this long to reach your breaking point."He poured two fingers of aged scotch. Amber liquid swirled. He slid the glass across the desk toward me. A toast to my 'liberation.'"I don't need a drink, Lucas. I need this to be

18

"You're late, Ethan."Lucas Reed stepped out from behind a rusted shipping container. The wind tore at his tailored coat, but his eyes were still. Cold. He had six men with him. All armed. All looking at the black sedan idling behind me."Traffic was a bitch. Getting away from a man who thinks he owns you is harder." I stepped toward him. The shipyard was a graveyard of jagged metal and salt-rot. My boots crunched on gravel and broken glass."Did you bring it?" Lucas held out a hand. "The safe key. And the man.""I brought the key." I reached into my pocket. My fingers brushed the cold steel of the encrypted drive. "Caleb stays in the car until I see the transfer go through. My name. My father’s name. Cleared. Every file erased.""You're in no position to negotiate, Walker." Lucas snapped his fingers. Two of his guards moved toward the sedan."Stay back!" I held the drive over the edge of a deep, oil-slicked puddle. "One more step and this goes in the drink. You’ll never crack the enc

19

"Can you breathe?"The water was a crushing weight of ice. It tried to suck the air right out of my lungs. I kicked. Hard. My boots felt like lead weights pulling me into the black muck of the harbor floor. I gripped Caleb’s jacket, hauling him toward the flickering gray light above.We broke the surface under the rotting timber of Pier 19."I'm—fine." Caleb’s voice was a wet rattle. He sucked in air, coughing out salt water. Snot and brine smeared his upper lip. We clung to a slimy, barnacle-encrusted piling. The wood was slick with green algae."Don't move. They're right above us."Boots stomped on the planks three feet over our heads. Shouts muffled by the wind. A searchlight swept the water, cutting through the gaps in the wood like a blade. I pressed my face against the freezing timber. My skin burned."They jumped! Over here!""Flush them out!"The silhouettes of Jonathan’s men paced the edge. I looked at Caleb. His head was lolling back. The water around his right leg was turni

20

"Did you hear that?"Caleb’s voice was a dry rasp. He leaned against the damp brick of the alleyway, his weight shifting off his ruined leg. Above us, the penthouse of the Walker Building glowed like a jagged diamond against the charcoal sky. Rain slicked the pavement, reflecting the gala lights in oily, shimmering distorted rainbows."Helicopters. News crews." I gripped the cold steel of a heavy pipe wrench I’d pulled from a basement sub-pump. My knuckles were white. "Matthew is taking his victory lap. He thinks we're fish food in the harbor.""Let him think it. Pride makes men blind." Caleb spat a glob of blood onto the wet asphalt. He looked like a corpse that had crawled out of a shallow grave. His expensive shirt was a rag. His designer jacket was gone. But his eyes—those dark, predatory eyes—were sharper than I’d ever seen them."Can you make the stairs?" I stepped closer. I didn't ask if he was okay. We were past that lie."I'll make them if I have to crawl on my teeth." Caleb

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