Page 67 of Carry Your Debt

“I saidimportant family meeting, and she’s here already because she broke in,” Apollo says, side-eyeing me. “I think it’s time we all sat down and had that talk. Laid some of those cards out on the table.”

I don’t miss the way he doesn’t specifywhosecards—or the way he only saidsome—but who would I be to press for more? I honestly would have no leg to stand on there. I also have no desire to feel like the biggest hypocrite in the room.

Hades chooses that moment to finally re-emerge from one of the bedrooms, this one at the opposite end of the suite. He prowls over to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Ares.

Great.

Now that they’re all here—and we’re not trying to beat the clock or dodge a bunch of Suits—I’m all out of reasons to keep stalling.

I pull in a long breath and take a step toward Apollo, wincing as I feel the pull of a wet silk gusset against my sore cunt. I had to choose between putting my saturated lingerie back on or going commando under my pleated skirt.

Ares instantly bristles, side-stepping to block my approach, inked fists curling at his sides.

“I’m not armed with anything but a few tumbler picks,” I offer him with a slanted smile, “and this.” I hold up a folded document between two fingers like it’s poisonous.

And in all the ways that count, it is. That insidious report is the reason nobody I care about has slept in almost five days.

Our fingers brush as he reaches for it, a dubious frown pulling down on his handsome face.

As he unfolds it and takes in the laboratory logo at the top of the first page, that frown morphs into one of concern. He takes a moment to scan the tabled data there before flipping over to the second sheet, where I know the interpretation of the results is printed. Then he reads it again.

“Tris,” he calls, lowly.

Apollo immediately moves to his side, Hades a silent ghost at his other shoulder. Hermes, however, is still doing his best impression of an armchair burrito, watching us over the edge of his blanket.

Ares hands the paperwork to his best friend. “I don’t know man, it looks legit, but who knows if it’s been faked.”

I don’t think Apollo’s regal face has ever looked more like a statue’s than it does right now. Fine marble features freeze; his pale cheeks hollow, and his strong jawline set in place as he, too, scans the document.

But just like those already threatening the hard shell of my resolve, I can see the tiny cracks forming along the stone walls of his composure.

His eyes flick up to mine.

Ocean blue Grayson eyes.

Not as crystalline as his brother’s, and not as dark as his father’s, either. But a stunning compromise between the two.

“It’s verified?”

I nod. “Your brother had our tech guy quadruple-check. It was a legitimate test and the results reported don’t show signs of tampering.”

“What about the sample itself?” Apollo asks with another frown.

I pull a face. “It’s a private laboratory, they’re not required to store samples indefinitely. They destroy all material after three years.”

“So, there’s a ch?—”

I sigh, waving off Ares’s skepticism. “Look, I know it’d be nice and easy if the test was faked. But Sebastian isobsessedwith his legacy and keeping it in his bloodline. Why would he go to the trouble of falsifying DNA when he could just create his heir and spares the old-fashioned way?” I spread my hands. “For all we know, he went out and knocked up a bunch of women, and you just happened to win the birth race.”

My stomach fizzes at the thought of that. We already hadoneheir whose life was in danger of being made forfeit. We didn’t need another.

“Besides, have you guys ever seen a picture of Lexington’s Mayor?Bothof his biological sons are the spitting image ofhim.” Crossing my arms, I turn to look directly at Apollo. “You’re a Grayson, Tristan.”

Ares doesn’t say anything, just stares down at the papers in Apollo’s hands. “Maybe we should go see your mom, Tris.”

Apollo’s cheek jumps, but he still hasn’t looked away from me. By the looks of it, his mind is attempting to fill in the most likely series of events that would’ve led to Rosaline Porter-Sinclair being forced to carry, birth, and raise the child of the fucking Gray Man.

He shutters those thoughts and smoothes his face.

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