Page 4 of Shattered Vows

“It’s nothing for you to worry about.” I take a sip of my coffee, keeping my expression blank.

“I think you’re lying. I haven’t seen you with that look in your eye since?—”

When he stops speaking, I look at him.

His nearly black eyes are wide. “Holy fuck, really?”

I have no interest in talking to him about Rapsody. The chair falls back toward the floor when I push away from the table, but I steady it with my hand and stalk from the room.

“You found her?” Sid calls.

Sid’s footsteps echo in the wide hallway as I head from the communal part of the house toward the north wing, my private area.

“Where is she?”

“Leave it alone.” I don’t ease my pace or bother to look over my shoulder.

“Kol.” He grips my elbow to try to pull me to a stop.

In seconds, I have him pressed up against the wall with my arm pushed against his neck. If he wasn’t my brother, I’d be squeezing the life out of him. “I said leave it alone.”

He glowers, eyes narrow, assessing. “At least tell me your plans.”

“I don’t know.” I’m telling him the truth. I’m still processing that I found her.

Part of me wants to run off half-cocked, but my military training taught me not to act on emotion without a plan.

Sid studies me for a beat then nods, I guess believing me. “Do you need my help?”

I let my forearm drop, and he takes a couple deep breaths. “No.”

“If you do, you’ll tell me?” He meets my stare, and I nod.

Growing up, Sid was the closest to me out of my three brothers. Asher was the oldest and always trying to protect the rest of us from the wrath of our father—before attending boarding school in his teen years. I don’t blame him for leaving. I did the same thing when I joined the military at eighteen, although my father had been dead for two years at that point.

And Nero was always the baby of the family, which left Sid and me to bond, stuck in the middle between the oldest and the youngest.

“Good luck.” Without another word, Sid makes his way back to the dining room.

I stalk through the dim mansion to go to my wing to pack a bag, texting the pilot of my private jet that I want wheels up within the hour. I’ll figure out my plan in the air.

When I land in Seattle, I purchase a run-of-the-mill minivan for cash from some guy in the outskirts of the city. A vehicle that blends in and screams suburban soccer dad of four, not billionaire ready to seek revenge.

Mr. Smith’s guy sent me all the information he could find on Lillian Harris and her mother, Virginia Harris, whose name is on the lease of the crappy two-bedroom apartment they’re renting.

Even without seeing Virginia, I know it’s Rapsody’s mother and not some aunt, cousin, or sister. My quick background check on Rapsody after we first met four years ago didn’t bring up any other living relatives, and Rapsody told me it was just her and her mother.

I’m parked outside the apartment and seeing her again knocks the wind out of me as if I’ve been punched in the gut. It irritates me to admit that she’s as beautiful as ever. Her long blonde hair hangs to her waist. It’s styled in waves and swishes side to side as she walks toward a vehicle parked on the curb.

I clocked the guy when he pulled up—light-brown hair, neatly trimmed, mid to late twenties. As soon as he had his sedan in park, he picked up his phone off the console. He didn’t garner much interest at first, but now that Rapsody is walking toward him, he has my full attention.

I type his license plate into my notes app. She smiles when she sees him and opens the passenger door. What kind of man doesn’t get out of the car and go up to a woman’s door, or at the very least get his ass out of the car and open the door for her?

Rapsody is dressed in a pair of baggy black dress pants and a light purple button-up blouse with no sleeves. Though nothing about her outfit is revealing, my cock jerks, noticing the swell of her breasts under the thin fabric. My hand tightens around my phone, annoyance with myself swelling along with my cock.

When she leans across the console and gives him a chaste kiss, my hand goes to the door handle to get out of this shitty vehicle and drag him out and introduce him to the heel of my boot.

Instead, I let them drive away and follow at a distance that won’t raise suspicion. When they pull into the parking lot of a church, I bypass the entrance and circle back a few minutes later as they walk inside.

---