The first in a spin-off series, The Ravenhood Legacy, continuing the international bestselling Ravenhood series—a modern-day Robin Hood retelling that is steamy, intensely emotional, and utterly original.
“We love rainy days, don’t we, baby?”
Dominic King doesn’t want or need anything . . . except his freedom.
The key to his cage is tucked in the suit pocket of his overbearing, overprotective, older brother, Tobias—the leader of a secret vigilante group Dominic helps govern.
Their mission? Destroy Roman Horner. And what better way to start than with their target’s daughter?
The problem is, the moment Cecelia Horner arrives in Triple Falls, plans and motivations change. For Dominic, she’s a potent reminder that there’s still good in the world. With Tobias away for the summer, things start to quickly heat up until she’s not just a want, she’s a need. With the Ravenhood’s fate on his shoulders, Cecelia becomes Dom’s only solace, and a light for his tortured soul. Because he knows, better than anyone, that a choice is coming. And once the decision is made, there’ll be no coming back . . .
Release date:
September 19, 2024
Publisher:
Kensington Books
Print pages:
416
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The purr of Sean’s motor sounds as I tighten the last bolt. The heavy repeat of his engine and crunch of gravel help detract from the noise that’s been echoing in my head for the last twelve fucking hours.
It shouldn’t surprise me anymore—laying witness to acts of disgusting, power-drunk men in a position of so much authority that they become bored. Once that happens, they start testing the limits to see just how much they can get away with. And they do, drumming up and living out the sickest of fantasies—most involving preying on the weak and defenseless.
So, no, while it shouldn’t surprise me—no matter how hard I try—I can’t ever find a place inside myself to fully numb to it. I’m not a praying man, but as of late, I find myself begging for that numb every fucking day.
Relieved Sean’s here to distract me, I peer at him around the hood of the Mazda I’ve been working on since I gave up the possibility of sleep. He saunters toward the bay with a relaxed posture to envy and a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Get that piece running?”
Stupid question.
“Not a stupid question,” he quips, tossing his cigarette down before grinding it out with the heel of his boot. “If you managed the unmanageable, I would go so far as to call it miraculous.”
Unlocking the hood prop, I drop it down as he situates himself behind the wheel to get his answer. Rounding the car, I move to the other side of the driver’s door where he sits in the shredded pleather seat, one boot planted on the garage floor. Plucking my shop towel from my jeans, I wipe my fingers clean as he turns the key, and the ancient car instantly sparks to life. Grinning, he lifts his chin toward me. “You’d be a half-decent mechanic if you were a little less scary and more conversational.”
I roll my eyes as he continues.
“That’s what, three or four sentences and no reply?” he jests, killing the engine before climbing out and snapping the door shut. “I rest my case.” He scrutinizes me. “Where did you go last night?”
I shrug. “A drive.”
“Yeah? See anyone?”
I jerk my chin.
“Isolation isn’t always good in your case. My door is only feet away from yours.”
“Wasn’t in the mood to talk.”
“Yeah, toddlers behave the same way when they get upset.” He reads my posture and sighs. “Going to be that kind of day, huh?” He shakes his head in irritation.
The truth behind this rare friction between us is that Sean believes he wants to know what’s circulating in my head. For me to air my shit out so he can pick it apart because he thinks he might be able to help. But because I know him just as well, letting him in on the secrets I’m guarding would only tear his insides to a near irreparable state and leave him in the same predicament I’m currently in. For now—until I can unleash on those responsible for how I’m feeling—I’m stuck in the most hellacious type of prison.
For now.
But soon . . .
“What, man? What?” Sean asks, sensing my struggle against the leash that continues to tighten as I fight against it by the day. He fishes out another cigarette. “Come on, man. Give me something.”
The flick of his Zippo calms me a little. The familiar sound reminds me that I am not alone in this and never have been.
“You may think you’re locked up tight enough, Dom, but it’s starting to leak everywhere. You are making this,” he gestures between us, “hard already. If you keep a lid on what’s important now, you’ll make what’s coming impossible.”
I don’t bother defending myself because the situation is what’s impossible.
Rarely do I ever sit on secrets with Sean, but I can’t utter a single word because, if I do, curiosity will get the best of him. He’ll demand to lay witness to what I have. Once that happens, no one will be able to stop things from going into motion.
Sean doesn’t have the kind of control needed to keep himself in check—not when it comes to this. It’s getting more unbearable for me as every second ticks by. Something I’ve repeatedly failed to make my brother understand. Every time Tobias dismisses me, he fails us . . . them—all of us.
At one point, I prided myself on being the one capable of gaining access to anything I desired. Now it feels like a fucking curse—with a weight I’ll never be able to lift.
I just have to hold on a little longer. Just a little longer, and then I can serve up what I’ve been bottling up for the last few months since I started my task list.
A list that—for all intents and purposes—pivoted in a major fucking way as soon as I figured out how to tap into what’s been hidden beneath a veil of dentist-whitened smiles and fake patriotic lifestyles. Lives masterfully manufactured to resemble the increasingly elusive American dream. When in reality, I’m laying witness to the hobbies and favorite pastimes of fucking monsters.
The evidence I’m gathering against the powers that be would take down our fragile ecosystem in less than a day. What’s whirring around in my psyche is equivalent to the magnitude of ten atom bombs, and I can’t utter a fucking word.
Not yet.
“Hungry?” Sean asks, knowing he’s not getting anywhere.
Have I eaten? Am I hungry?
“Fuck, man. Two words. Give me two more words, or I can’t leave you like this.” He exhales a stream of smoke. “The hostility is rolling off you.”
Swallowing my response, I step away from his unwavering intrusion. As it stands, I can’t make a move without the support of my brother.
Sean breaks up my struggle with a hint of hope as he glances at the plastic clock hanging past my shoulder. “Shit, rain check. I’m going to be late if I don’t get going.”
The plan. We have a plan.
The last leg of it starts today with his return to Horner Tech. As soon as said plan is executed, nothing and no one will stop me from flipping the overly polished table to expose the filth beneath. As if privy to that thought, Sean flips his keys into his palm and pushes off the car. As he readies to leave, I find myself wishing he would stay for no other reason than to distract me. Needing company is not me. Never been me. But right now, I need . . . something. “Orientation?”
“That’s one word,” he quips, his eyes calculating. He doesn’t trust me alone with my thoughts. I’m not sure I can trust my own much longer. “Give me one more, Dom.”
“Ready?”
“Does it matter?” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Time to play my part. See you at the house in a few.”
Bass thrums through the speaker on my windowsill, filtering down into the backyard of our new townhouse, where twenty or so of our most trusted loiter below. Entering my password, I hope to buy another hour from joining them before I’m summoned. I’m nowhere near the type of headspace needed to entertain, and I quickly dive in to avoid it when my burner rattles with a response to a text I sent from the garage hours ago. His replies are becoming more delayed with each passing day.
You good?
B: Define Good.
His response has me grinning, which feels foreign and has it dissolving as quickly as it came.
When I figure it out, Big B, I’ll let you know. Making a list.
B: Checking it twice?
Yeah, call me Santa, and everyone on it has been naughty. When can we talk?
B: Don’t move.
Translation—my leash remains.
Like I said, we need to fucking talk. A conversation. It’s important.
B: Patience.
That I don’t have. Not anymore.
B: You never did. Can’t get away now.
Can’t or won’t?
B: Wait for me.
You don’t know what you’re asking.
B: Not asking.
“Motherfucker,” I grit out, tossing the burner on my desk. Screen blinking for a command, I decide to forgo the rabbit hole I’ve been deep diving in. Just as I find a little reprieve in milder, more mindless work, Tyler barks my name before opening my bedroom door.
“By all means, come in,” I snap, regretting the fact that, although we’re grown men, our ambitious plans for the next few months made it a no-brainer to room together temporarily. A decision I’m regretting with the traffic downstairs thanks to Sean and the constant interruptions by both since we moved in.
“Pretty sure you want to hear this,” Tyler supplies. “We have company.”
“Pretty sure I gathered that.” I jerk my chin toward the speaker streaming my playlist more in an effort to drown said company out.
“Not that kind of company,” he counters, leaning against my door frame.
Rolling back in my desk chair, I grab my stash box and unload a few supplies. “Yeah? Enlighten me.”
Tyler stalks further into the room, coming close to hovering above where I sit, his hesitance speaking volumes as he starts to preface his news with caution. “Look, man, whatever shit you have going on—”
“Already had this speech today,” I interject, plucking out a blunt paper.
“I don’t think you’re in the headspace to handle it.”
“Then why bother knocking?” Summoning some patience, I start to unroll the wrap. “Out with it. I’m good.”
“You’re not fucking good, and until you come clean with what’s going on, we can’t help you.”
“I already reached out to France,” I relay to kill the interrogation. He knows if I went to my brother, it’s nothing he can help me with, and with that understanding, he switches gears.
“Sean brought back a new employee from the plant.”
“Good on him.” I sprinkle shredded bud into the prepped paper. “Blonde or—”
“Cecelia,” he interjects, weighing my reaction through the few tense seconds that follow. I school my expression through the adrenaline spike, and he continues as I hit my keyboard. “So, we can handle this one of two ways: I can go feel her out, or you can. But either way, this greatly complicates shit.”
Already logged into her email, I scan the last one sent from Roman yesterday morning. It’s filled with everything from his gate code to his house staff schedule, giving her full access.
Though his mansion sits off a private road, and only the front is gated, it was erected like a fortress—especially in the way that the trees surrounding the property were cut back far enough that anyone who attempted to get in would be spotted by his meticulously placed security cameras. Through a strange fucking twist of fate, we own adjoining land, which grants us backyard access, but the house itself is too far away from any decent cover to get in and out without tipping him off. Any attempt to mic that house would raise flags we don’t want raised.
I have zero doubt that Roman designed it that way.
Though we had every intention of tapping the house, we abandoned those plans after the dust settled on construction. The reason being Roman rarely, if ever, sleeps there. His permanent home is his condo in Charlotte, which we’ve successfully tapped along with Horner Tech’s corporate office. Those taps have since proved useless aside from the ability to keep tabs on his schedule and whereabouts, making it easier for the birds on his permanent watch. One of which is a current headquarters employee.
“Thought we had birds on her?” Tyler prompts.
“I took over her surveillance the day after I got home because we were moving in on Roman. Which is why the old watch didn’t alert us when she packed up yesterday and drove here. Fuck.”
“Did France know?”
“That I took over?” I cut my eyes up at him. “Why . . . do you think he would have fucking objected?”
“Only if you fucked up and dropped the ball, which you clearly did,” he draws out as he crosses his arms. “Even so, you miss nothing, Dom, so what or who distracted you?”
The monsters. The noise. The rabbit hole I sought out, dove headfirst into, and that followed me out, only to haunt my every waking minute.
“She hasn’t been here in eight fucking years, and he doesn’t even live there,” I excuse in shit defense. “Didn’t think that would change anytime soon. Besides, when’s the last time you had eyes on her, jarhead almighty?”
“Fine, let’s quash the blame game and worry about the eighteen-year-old time bomb standing in our yard.” He gives me a thorough once-over. “Or should I worry about the one sitting in front of me?”
Ignoring him, I X-ray Roman’s proposition to his estranged daughter, sifting through the details. Kicking back, I resume rolling my blunt as my mind races and Tyler’s questions start. “Why is she here?”
“He’s going to pay her college tuition and top it off with an inheritance for working at the plant . . . for a fucking year.”
“Jesus Christ, Dom. You need to place another call to France.”
Fuming about my fuck-up, I jerk my chin. “He’s not receptive to anything right now.”
“I think, on this, he’ll want to be privy. It changes things.”
“It changes nothing,” I snap. “Everything will go to plan.” Because if it doesn’t, I won’t be able to control the shit festering inside me much longer. “Nothing changes,” I reiterate, hearing the difference in my tone, which sounds every bit like an order—something Tyler doesn’t take kindly to after following so many militantly over the years. There’s a warning in his posture even as he summons the patience to press in on me for what’s behind my resignation.
“Dom—”
“Remember when you came back from your only overseas trip,” I twist my blunt tight, “and you didn’t want to talk about it?” I don’t bother looking up as I seal it closed. “Same scenario.”
“That bad?”
“Worse,” I swallow, wiping my desk free from debris. “These aren’t acts of war.”
“Jesus, man, I get it. But on this, we can’t—”
“We fucking have to. Not a word, Tyler, to either of them. Sean can’t handle the mind fuck, and my brother’s too far gone in the game he’s playing overseas. If we tell him, his mind will be here, and it can’t be. Not right now.” I let my statement linger for emphasis, and he doesn’t miss it. “It’s up to us. Trust me on this.”
Tyler takes a full minute to mull it over but finally agrees. “All right. For now.”
My answering glare echoes my request.
“Don’t—” he jerks his chin. “Don’t question me.”
“Then don’t make me.”
“Have I ever?” he barks, letting his arms fall to his sides. “Let’s concentrate on the situation at hand. I don’t think you should meet her, but I’m betting you’ll go against my advice.”
“What’s she like?”
“From what I’ve gathered in my two-second assessment, curious, innocent, observant, and to keep it one hundred, way too fucking beautiful.”
A low-lying fury starts to prickle in my veins as I run through a list of scenarios, namely Sean’s current agenda to mix our business with his pleasure.
“I’m not the one you need to warn on the last part.”
“Goddamnit, Sean,” Tyler groans, “I get that this came out of left field, but we have no contingency plan for this . . . Jesus. All right,” he exhales audibly, “I’ll do some additional recon on Roman to see what his motive might be for bribing his daughter back into his life. It doesn’t make sense other than a last attempt at a relationship with her, right?”
“She just graduated,” I relay thoughtfully. “Roman was there.”
“At her graduation?”
“I didn’t read into it. Maybe I should have,” I admit.
“Well, it wasn’t in my fucking newsletter,” he snaps, exasperated. “Dom, you should have—”
“I don’t need to be reminded of what my job entails,” I grit out. “I’m aware of the cost of fucking any part of this up, but we’re covered. I’ll make sure of it.”
“And this situation?”
“I’ll think on it.”
“Sure you don’t want to put in another call to France?”
And risk my brother’s life as he plays a dangerous round of roulette with a French thug sporting a God complex?
Fuck no. I earned and deserve the position I’m in. It’s my call, and we both know it. He reads my decision.
“Choice is yours. I’ll go feel her out.” I give him a slow nod before he disappears, the promise of a future argument apparent in the tight snap of my door behind him.
Standing, I light my blunt before walking over to the blinds. Lifting one, I spot her lingering at our fence, her back to me, outlined and illuminated by the sinking sun. Pulling from my blunt, I watch her take in her surroundings, scanning the mountain ridge just as Tyler approaches her. When she turns to him, I drop the blinds in lieu of getting my first real look at her.
There’s no point. I can’t and won’t appreciate the beauty of any complication that threatens our agenda. We’ve worked too hard and waited too long for the days, weeks, and months to come. Our plans aren’t changing for any reason or anyone, especially Roman Horner’s teenage daughter.
Despite what some say, not all birds are attracted to shiny, spinning things.
After smoking the whole blunt to calm my shit to the point I can face my fuck-up, I mimic a progress report under the bird who’s been on Cecelia’s detail for years on the off-chance Tobias checks in. Reasoning with myself that it’s the only way to keep my brother’s focus where it needs to be, I shake off the accompanying unease as I hit send. Pushing away from my desk, I stalk downstairs and am caught halfway by Jeremy making his way up with one of his regular girls in tow.
“Sean’s room, motherfucker,” I warn as he flashes a buzzed smile while sweeping his conquest past me. Spotting me as they brush by, I ignore her drawn-out stare and any others I attract as I cross the living room toward the sliding glass door.
In the next instant, I’m surrounded by bass and mixed smells of smoke wafting through a once-familiar crowd—people I grew up with, who now feel more like strangers to me. Mixed greetings die on their collective tongues with one glance in my direction, and I’m thankful for it. It should bother me that I instill that hesitance, but I prefer it.
When I first arrived home from MIT, I found myself in the position to defend my place amongst some of the inked due to my four-year absence, despite my summers spent at home. That lasted a matter of days because I made it so. It had nothing to do with flexing but an obstacle in the way of getting to what’s important, which brings me back to the matter at hand—my current hindrance. Scanning the yard, with a few twists of heads and moving bodies, I catch sight of the interloper standing next to Sean, their posture intimate.
As if she feels my summons, she turns her head, and our eyes collide. The second it happens, an odd premonition runs through me as a whisper snakes its way into my psyche. Shaking it off, I stalk toward her and enter her personal space, refusing to mince intent with useless words. Sean’s attempt at interception does shit to dissuade me from making my point, and before uttering a word, she already knows her place with me.
Our sparring begins and ends with a brief back and forth in which I make it a point to embarrass her. It’s only when I make it crystal that she’s not only uninvited but unwanted that she drunkenly acquiesces. “Whatever, I’ll go.”
Turning to head back inside, she grips my forearm to stop me. Her invasive touch feels like a burn as I resist the urge to rip my arm away while whipping my head in her direction. Defiant dark-blue eyes—matching those of my enemy—clash with mine while she downs the rest of her bottle before dropping it at my feet. “Oops.”
It’s then that my mission runs with clarity through my veins as we continue to stare off. As it happens, a slight remorse brews because she’s completely unaware of the threat she poses.
Tyler was only partially right in his assessment but missed something vital.
Her beauty is fucking tragic.
If her presence here so much as alters any small part of the ground plan that has to roll out in the next few months, I’ll have no issue doing whatever it takes to erase her from the equation.
Just as the thought crosses my mind, she ends her tirade, intent on having the last word. “You know, you could say it was nice to meet me. You are kicking me out of your party. It’s the polite thing to do.”
“Never been accused of being polite.”
“It’s common decency, arsehole.”
The feel of her fingers wrapped around my forearm begins to gnaw away the last of my patience. Sean reads my rapidly changing demeanor, cursing before scooping her over his shoulder. His eyes linger heavily on my profile for some acknowledgment while mine remain locked on Roman’s daughter.
“And what a pretty arsehole you are,” she slurs out. Laughter spills out around us, cutting through some of the thick tension, and despite myself, I can’t help the slight upturn of my lips in response. That is until she makes her last declaration. “I am trouble, you know . . . just ask your brother.”
Dangling over Sean’s shoulder, she keeps her steady gaze on me as Sean hauls her through the sliding glass door to protect her from getting the worst of me. When she’s out of sight, Tyler sidles up to me, putting voice to the question we both already know the answer to. “What was he thinking?”
“That he’ll get his dick wet while convincing us he’s doing us a solid,” I clip out, staring in the direction Sean fled.
“And no one thought to tell him otherwise?”
“We did.” I glance over at Tyler. “He just wasn’t paying attention.”
Tyler’s wheels begin to turn as I recall a long-ago conversation that took place next to a roaring campfire when we were just teenagers. A night that is—or should be—easily accessible to all of us, verbatim, because it’s the night we truly began.
* * *
“We’re going basic with our strategy,” Tobias relays, staring thoughtfully into the flames.
“Meaning?” Tyler asks.
“We’ve got to play this just right. The only way to defeat a man like Roman is to play sleeping giant,” my brother replies in a tone that has us all perking up.
“Think Helen of Troy,” I offer, reading his line of thought and knowing all of us are well-versed in the Greek myth thanks to Mrs. Green’s annual eighth-grade lesson.
In the story, Helen, the wife of King Menelaus of Mycenaean Sparta, was seduced and stolen by Paris, Prince of Troy, and remained with him, which sparked a ten-year war. My point in bringing it up has nothing to do with the love story but the tactic used by way of the Trojan Horse. Greek soldiers were able to gain access and take the city of Troy after a fruitless ten-year siege by hiding in a giant horse supposedly left as an offering to the goddess Athena. By using the same type of tactic, we could take methodical, measured steps to get to Roman.
Instead of rehashing that, I put a voice to my less complicated solution. “But it seems like a lot of trouble to go through when we can just eliminate the problem.”
My brother’s reaction is predictable and instant, a rare fear in his eyes as he weighs my words while assessing me. Saying it out loud forces him to acknowledge the side of me he’s been getting glimpses of but fears out of paternal concern. A side of me he’s terrified exists because it means, at one point, it will put me in the line of fire, where I fully intend to be. He speaks his objection a breath later. “I know you’re not fucking suggesting we kill the man in cold—”
“Eye for an eye.” I shrug. “Our parents burned to death. Don’t you think that calls for aggressive action? You, yourself, told Delphine you were sick of all the talk. The meetings are a joke, filled with nothing but pussies who like to bitch while she refills their coffee. Might as well be a book club for all the fucking good it’s doing.”
Taking it a step further, I lay out my simplified plan. “You know, if we boil down enough tobacco and dab the right amount of concentrate on his fucking car door handle, within minutes of it seeping into his skin, it’s game over. Heart attack on the autopsy report. Presented with the right opportunity, it’s a hundred percent untraceable.”
Though shrouded by the woods, there’s just enough firelight to make out the color draining from his face as he speaks in both alarm and warning. “He’s not a smoker, so there’s the first hole in that stupid idea, and that’s not who we are,” he grits out, “and not who we will be, Dom. That’s not what Maman and Papa wanted. There is a better, more diplomatic way to handle this, less merciful than death.” He gives me an adamant shake of his head. “No, what we’re going to do is change things for the better. Once we take Roman down, there’s a hundred like him to take his place. They exploit people like our parents and discard them once they become a liability.” He looks at each one of us pointedly. “What are we going to do about them?”
“Not our problem,” Sean says from where he rocks in his camping chair in his football jersey, beer in hand, high lingering from the pep rally.
“We’re going to make it our problem,” Tobias declares. “That’s the whole point of all of this. It’s not just about our family or this town. Not anymore.”
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he turns and stares in the direction of the newly erected construction of Roman’s house—a mere length of a football field away from our spot—his voice in a faraway place when he adds, “we’re going to do this in a way that will honor them.”
Sean pops another beer as he puts in his two cents. “This seems ambitious. I mean, come on, man, look at where we’re at—bumfuck nowhere.”
“That’s exactly the point.” Sean’s focus flits to me because of the amount of bite in my tone. He’s still straddling realms, living in the created world and the one Tobias has envisioned and wants us to help re-create. Despite my warnings that Tobias isn’t going to take us seriously if we don’t step up, Sean’s under the impression we’re already in due to relation. He has no idea just how wrong he is in that respect.
“You want to end up just another line cook at Daddy’s restaurant?” I remind him. “What’s going to happen when they call in that bank loan?”
Sean’s eyes flare, but he remains quiet, picking at his beer label as I turn and fix my gaze on Tyler, whose situation is just as grim. “Are you going to be a career soldier?”
Tyler glares over at me, his father’s fate his own worst fear.
The truth is, none of us wants to trace the footfalls or repeat the fate of our parents. While Tobias and I have suffered greatly, our brothers haven’t been much more fortunate. Tyler’s endured the worst by way of remnants of his father, who left US soil as one man and came back another. Sean’s in the midst of witnessing the toll it’s taking on his parents just to keep their restaurant running and collective heads above water.
Their fear of repeating a similar path is one of the main reasons why Tobias has our attention—but he’s given us plenty of others. He was the first to break the small-town mindset chain and get out. The not-so-subtle changes in him during his trips back are what’s kept their curiosity stoked. I satiated mine by digging into why my brother’s more relaxed demeanor started to disappear over a short time.
This made me more determined to ditch any ritualistic teenage bullshit and man up before I was expected to. Not that I had much of a choice or that he’s noticed.
“This is exactly why we’re here,” Tobias asserts, “to get our priorities straight.”
“My priorities are perfect.” Sean lifts his hands and begins to tick off his fingers to spite us both. “Pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy, and . . .” he holds a finger on his thumb, “yup, I’m going to have to go with pussy.”
I laugh despite my annoyance with him as Tobias’s eyes flare in warning. “This is another reason why I called this meeting. You want a girlfriend? Have one, but pillow talk and this fucking club are never to go hand in hand. What the other birds do is not my business, but as far as we are concerned, women don’t have a place at this fire, not yet. And not until they are vetted by me personally. End of.”
“I thought you said women are a sanctuary,” Sean snarks, testing Tobias again before sipping his beer.
“They are,” Tobias spits, “away from business. Personal attachments are the greatest liability. And the first one who fucks up on that front will pay dire consequences.” He again looks to each of us in an attempt to drive his point home before adding, “no fucking exceptions.”
As the conversation progresses, I try to diffuse the tension that continually rears its ugly head as we all snap back and forth. The resentment for Tobias’s long absences only to come back calling shots has him getting twice as much venom as he’s giving. I can barely conceal my own grudge, especially when my aunt’s drinking is tossed into the mix.
“So, if I’m getting this right,” Tyler diverts, posture rigid, “we need a wooden horse to recruit an army to hide inside it and the opportunity to slip into the city.”
Tobias dips his chin in confirmation.
“I’m going to be a third-generation Marine,” Tyler declares, which is no surprise to any of us. “It’s a given, and if there’s one thing I know how to do—it’s how to build an army.”
Sean speaks up next, putting his petulant bullshit aside. “Me and Dom will cover the garage, and once it’s up and running, I’ll figure out a way to get us through the gate.” He ruffles my hair, and
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