Page 37 of Deadly Legacy
The door behind him suddenly swung open.
“Get in. Now.” The voice froze his blood in his veins.
Reuben glanced over his shoulder. His father’s face stared back at him—Wallace Hoyt. The man who had disowned him years ago.
For a moment, Reuben’s reality tilted sideways; a firefight in a parking garage, and there sat Wallace Hoyt, offering sanctuary like some twisted guardian angel.
“Are you deaf? Get in before you get shot.”
Wallace grabbed Reuben’s arm and pulled him into the car as another gunshot cracked through the air.
Reuben tumbled onto the leather seat, quickly regaining his balance. The interior of the town car smelled of expensiveleather and his father’s familiar cologne; something spicy that brought unwelcome memories flooding back.
“Go,” Wallace barked at his chauffeur.
“My security team is still out there,” Reuben protested.
“They’ll be fine. Those aren’t just random muscle. They’re ex-military. Russian specialists.” Wallace loosened his tie with an unsteady hand.
The car accelerated, tires squealing against concrete as they shot toward the exit ramp. Reuben turned to look out the rear window. One of his guards was down, the other firing at the remaining attackers while using a concrete pillar for cover.
“Quite the coincidence finding you here,” Reuben said, voice sharp with suspicion. “In thisexactparking garage.”
Wallace ran a hand through his silver hair. “I had a meeting with Quantize Guard before yours. Was waiting to catch you afterward about the deal.” A muscle twitched in his neck. “Didn’t expect to find my son in the middle of a shootout.”
“Did Dmitrii put you up to this?” Reuben leaned forward, shoulders drawing tight as he studied his father’s face for tells. “Did he tell you about the attack?”
“God, no.” Wallace’s hand shook as he reached for a flask in the car’s side compartment. The tremor wasn’t faked. Reuben had played enough poker to know genuine fear. “I had no idea they’d be here.”
Outside, they emerged into the stark glare of daylight. The driver took a sharp turn, tires screeching against the pavement.
“Call your people,” Wallace said, offering his phone. “I assume they’ll track the car, but better they know you’re okay.”
Reuben took the phone without comment, dialing Stepan’s direct line. The head of security answered immediately.
“It’s Reuben. I’m in a vehicle with Wallace Hoyt.” He glanced at his father. “Left the scene. Two men down, status unknown.”
“Tracking your location,” Stepan responded. “Stay on the line.”
“I need your help, Reuben.” Wallace’s fingers gripped the flask so tightly his knuckles paled.
“Since when are you on a first-name basis with Dmitrii Miroslav?” The ice in Reuben’s voice matched his rigid posture as he sat against the leather seat. “Last time we spoke, you never mentioned him once.”
Wallace stared out the window. “Things changed. Fast.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“My company was already struggling when Dmitrii approached me.” Wallace’s voice had lost its usual commanding tone. “He offered a lifeline. By the time I realized what he really wanted, it was too late.”
“And why should I care about your problems?”
Wallace’s eyes—so similar to Reuben’s own—met his directly. “Because I’m still your father.”
“You stopped being my father the day you told me no son of yours could be gay.” The old wound still felt fresh, the words bitter on his tongue.
The car swerved around a corner, throwing them against the door. Reuben gave Stepan their updated location before returning to his father.
“Dmitrii will kill me if I fail him.” Wallace’s voice cracked. “He’s already threatened your mother.”
