Page 21 of Ugly Truths
My fists clench. “She'll talk.”
There's a beat of silence. “Maybe,” he responds.
I want to dismiss his words, but the way she sits there gnaws at me. Scarlett would still be fighting tooth and nail, spitting fire and venom at me or whoever would listen until her throat was raw.
Was that all just a part of her facade, too?
“What about Luis?” I ask.
Davey stands up straighter, visibly relieved to move on. “He's starting to bend. Says he knows Elena through work, helped her get out of a bad contract, and let her stay with him for a while. Cillian pressed him about their relationship, but he insists they're just friends.”
I scoff. “You believe him?”
Davey hesitates. “I don't know,” he admits. “It feels too clean, but he hasn't changed his story, even after some of Cill's… convincing.”
I sink my teeth into the inside of my cheek to keep my thoughts to myself. We'd agreed it was best if I wasn't the one to question Luis. Davey figured I wouldn't know when to stop, and he's probably right. There's not a single punishment I'd give that wouldn't have him screaming loud enough for Elena to hear through the walls, and I don't want either of them to realize they're only three holding rooms apart.
The basement of this building hasn't always existed in its current form. Almost a decade ago, my father offloaded some of his assets as he began to consider retirement. It made sense for him to sell the building to me, given the trajectory of my career. I hadn't even considered whatI'd do with the space until the world stopped seeing me as just William Wells's oldest son and started seeing me as the heir.
That's when the threats really started.
First, they were subtle: hushed whispers, veiled warnings. Then they became louder, more violent. A kidnapping attempt at a charity gala. A bullet through the front door of my old penthouse. My father kept telling me that I just needed to increase my security as he had, as if another guard or another system would be enough.
When the threats got too close and I found myself waiting for someone else to handle it, something in me snapped. Not from fear, but from rage. A deep, soul-splitting fury that hollowed me out and made space for one truth: I'd never feel that powerless again.
So I stopped waiting.
That's when the training started. Combat, firearms, strategy—anything that would make me a weapon instead of a target. I built my own team, piece by piece. People I handpicked to protect me and everyone I gave a damn about. I never made a show of what I was doing, but people close to me saw the change.
I stopped going to events unless I had to. Changed my routines. Cut access to anyone who didn't have a reason to be close. The more I learned, the tighter I drew the lines around my life. Privacy stopped being a preference and became a necessity.
My father noticed the change too, though he never acknowledged it directly. In typical Wells fashion, he offered criticisms wrapped in concern.
“Trying to be a one-man army now?”
“Most people outgrow that kind of paranoia.”
I told him it was my business to worry about, and that was the end of the conversation.
He still makes comments now and then about Cillian and the rest of my team, but I choose not to respond. His judgment is the reason Inever disclosed the holding rooms and other utility spaces I built in the basement, or what my team uses them for. To his knowledge, I employ a bunch of overqualified bodyguards. He's never asked in earnest about any of it and, if I'm being honest, I didn't want to hear what he'd have to say.
And in some small, sick way, I enjoy having a piece of something that he has no part in. Something I made and run on my own. Damn well, too.
“How's Colorado going?” I ask to redirect my thoughts.
Davey's quick to tell me what Paul and Lloyd have been able to find out about Luis so far, which is oddly reminiscent of the life Elena led. They're in the process of locking up his home to avoid suspicion.
When Cillian was on his way back to Chicago, he contacted Elena's boss at the restaurant from her phone to say she had a family emergency in Arizona, Luis joined her for support, and she wouldn't know when she'd return. The woman didn't even question it, and we haven't run into any other issues yet.
My brother-in-law clears his throat. “We also got an update on the servers.” He nods towards my laptop. “Brenden sent the location. It's an office building close by. Basement level. We'll head over this afternoon, but I need to see what we're working with before I can give you any timelines.”
Then, he hesitates, glancing at me with uncertainty. “Jeremy was looking for you earlier,” he says. “He said he wants to have lunch with you and talk.”
I let out a frustrated sigh, dragging a hand down my face.
Of course he does.
Jeremy has been more adamant than ever about becoming more involved at Wells, and I've had to take several meetings to discuss his “ideas.”
