Page 7 of The Cousins and the Brunette

“Ticket to a prison cell if we’re not careful,” Sebastian said.

“Only if we get caught.” My voice was low and serious.

The thrill of the challenge surged through me. This was what I lived for—the high-stakes game, the adrenaline rush of taking on someone like Shoemaker. And I’d be damned if I let Sebastian’s hesitation hold us back.

Braxton cleared his throat. “Guys, maybe we’re overthinking this. What if we just invite her to a party or something? Get her drunk, record some compromising stuff—”

“Jesus, Brax!” Sebastian exclaimed. “That’s not much better than kidnapping.”

The wheels in my head started turning. Braxton might be onto something here. A party, some carefully orchestrated “accidents” and it could work. And if it didn’t, well, we could always fall back on more...direct methods.

I paused, considering. “It’s sneakier, though. Less risk.”

Sebastian threw up his hands. “I can’t believe we’re even considering this. We’re supposed to be better than Shoemaker, not sink to his level.”

“Better?” I laughed bitterly. “Wake up, Seb. In this world, there’s no ‘better.’ There’s only who comes out on top.”

Sebastian could cling to his moral high ground all he wanted, but I knew the reality of our world. And I was ready to do whatever it took to make sure the Porter family stayed on top.

“Enough!” I slammed my hand on the mahogany side table, making the others jump. “We can debate morals until the sun burns out, but it won’t change our situation. We do this—for the family.”

The words tasted like ash in my mouth, but they were the only justification I had left. The only thing that could make this necessary evil palatable.

Sebastian met my gaze, his brown eyes reflecting a tempest of conflicting emotions. He was the thinker, the moral compass, but even he couldn’t deny the logic in my words. After what seemed like an eternity, he nodded slowly. “All right, Joel. But we do this carefully, methodically. No harm comes to Elizabeth.”

“Of course not. I’d never hurt a woman,” I said.

The words felt hollow even as I spoke them. Wasn’t kidnapping a form of harm in itself? But I pushed the thought away. There was no room for doubt now.

“And if things go south, we abort immediately. No exceptions,” Braxton added, locking eyes with mine.

“Understood,” I replied, knowing full well the risks involved.

“Then it’s settled,” Sebastian said with a heavy heart. “We move forward with the plan to kidnap Shoemaker’s daughter.”

As I looked at my cousins, their faces etched with determination and dread, I knew we were united in our decision, however reluctant, bound by family and ambition.

The weight of what we were about to do settled on my shoulders. Except I couldn’t show weakness now. And right now, the hardest choice was to ignore the voice in my head screaming that this was wrong.

Chapter Three

BRYNN AND THE HORRID LIFE

I was rifling through the scattered debris of what used to be a corner store, the early morning light shining on the broken glass. It was quiet, except for the occasional distant clang of rumble from collapsing in the decomposing cityscape. Measured footsteps sounded from behind me.

Just what I needed - company in my private scavenging grounds. Probably some desperate junkie looking for a fix. Or worse, a rival scrapper eyeing my territory. My fingers tightened around the rusty pipe.

Bring it on, buddy.

“Good morning,” a voice said, smooth as the silk lining of the coats I’d seen in the windows of shops I’d never enter.

I turned sharply, my hand instinctively clutching a rusted pipe. Standing there was a man who looked like he’d just stepped out of one of those advertisements for a life that didn’t involve scavenging for survival. He was short and lean, his features sharp enough to draw blood. His light-brown hair was styled immaculately, not a strand out of place, and his cold gray eyes assessed me like I was an item at auction.

Well, shit. Not a junkie or a rival, but an Elite. Fan-fucking-tastic. Maybe the Queen of England would drop by for tea next.

“Chad Shoemaker.” He introduced himself, extending a hand that I had no intention of shaking.

Backing up, I eyed him suspiciously. “What do you want?”

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