All Chapters of OWNED IN THE DARK: Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

MATHEW The heavy oak doors of the chapel groaned shut behind the wedding guests, but the echoing snap of the security latch was the only sound that truly mattered.I stood at the reception bar, my six-foot-four frame cutting a jagged silhouette against the amber track lighting of the estate’s private pavilion. I slowly rolled my left shoulder, the sting of the stitched flesh down to a dull, manageable thrum. My right hand gripped a glass of neat scotch, the white medical tape hidden beneath the starched cuffs of my tuxedo sleeve tightening as my fingers flexed. My only sister was now officially married to my best friend. When we started out, things were so simple looking until maturity caught up to us and finally we dealt with the reality of our present lives.The perimeter was locked down. Louis and Mary’s men had established a seven-mile clean perimeter around the property, and the internal thermal grid was perfectly green. There were no ghosts in the valley. The old world was buri

MATHEW The squeak of wet sneakers on the freshly waxed floor was what finally set me on edge.I stood by the counter, a half-empty beer warming in my right hand. The kitchen smelled like a strange mix of burnt sugar, vanilla frosting, and the sharp, chemical tang of the industrial cleaner the staff had used to prep the place. Outside the bay windows, the June heat was brutal, but the central AC was humming a steady, freezing vibration that kept the sweat dry on the back of my neck.It was Adam’s fifth birthday.Through the archway leading to the sunroom, I could hear fifteen kids screaming over a folding table. My sister, Carlista, stood near the patio doors holding a tray of juice boxes, her silver-cropped hair catching the light. She looked entirely out of place but fiercely protective. Beside her, Louis leaned against the doorframe in his shirtsleeves, his jacket discarded, eyes constantly tracking the backyard fence.We had tried to make it look normal. A real cake with blue fro

MATHEW Smack…”You will tell me what you know or you won't leave breathing. What do the Germans want?”"Please," the man croaked, his low, raspy New York accent sounding brittle, completely stripped of the bravado he’d used with my son. "Please, Diamond. I told you upstairs. I’m just a guy from Queens. I do gigs. Birthdays, bar mitzvahs, corporate parties. A broker called me. He gave me the address. He gave me the bag. That’s it, I swear to God, that’s all I know—"I didn't let him finish the sentence.Smack.The back of my right hand caught him square across the jaw, the heavy, unyielding force of my bare knuckles cracking against his bone with a sound like a splitting branch. The blow snapped his head sharply to the left, spraying a wet mixture of saliva and white greasepaint against the cold concrete floor. The steel chair skittered an inch against the anchor bolts, the metal groaning under the sudden shift of his weight.I leaned down, my face inches from his ear, my jaw clamped s

MATHEW The heavy oak doors of the study were thrown wide open before the electronic chime could even sound across the foyer.I didn't move from behind the mahogany desk. I sat perfectly still, my bare right hand wrapped around a glass of neat bourbon, the ice long since melted into the amber liquor. On the secondary monitor to my left, the security feed for the front gate showed an unfamiliar, unmarked dark sedan idling under the halogen lamps, its headlights cutting twin beams through the coastal mist.Louis stepped into the room first, his face a hard, unreadable mask. He didn’t say a word; he just stepped to the side, making room for the man following him.Detective Collins walked into the light of the study, his wrinkled trench coat smelling faintly of exhaust fumes and the damp Manhattan rain. He wasn't cuffing anyone. He wasn't holding a notepad but his shoulders were rigid, and his hands were buried deep in his pockets, resting right against his beltline.Behind him came Ciara

MATHEW The gym smelled like iron, sweat, and old concrete.It wasn't one of those luxury fitness clubs with mirrored walls and spa music playing through hidden speakers. This place sat near the docks, tucked away where nobody asked questions. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everything in a pale glow that made the steel plates look colder than they really were.I lay flat on the bench, my hands wrapped around the bar.Three hundred and fifteen pounds.Normally it felt manageable.Today it felt personal.I unracked the weight and lowered it slowly to my chest.Then pushed.The bar rose smoothly."You're rushing the lockout."James's voice echoed through the room.I ignored him.The weight came down again.Up.Two.James stood behind the bench with his arms folded across his chest. He looked completely out of place down here.His workout clothes were spotless.His sneakers looked brand new.Even his hair somehow looked professionally styled.James Vance belonged in confe