The stepbrother I shouldn't want

Chapter 23: Chapter 23: Syndicate Whispers

"Monthly payments are for mortgages, Lucian. Not for men like us."

The voice came through the phone like smoke through a keyhole. Lucian sat on the edge of my couch, his elbows on his knees, his spine curved like a bow about to snap. I sat cross legged on the floor, my ear pressed close enough to hear the man’s breath.

"I’m not late," Lucian said. "Three days. You gave me three days."

"We gave you patience. Different currency." The man paused. I heard paper rustling. "Your father blocked the corporate accounts. We know. Our eyes in his office are very good."

Lucian’s knuckles whitened around the phone. "I have other assets."

"Your apartment? Sold. Your car? Financed. Your watch?" The man laughed. "Pawned, I think. On Fourth Street. Sad little ticket."

"My mother’s jewelry. Diamonds. I’ll sell them. I’ll bring everything to the drop. Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow." The man sighed. "You said tomorrow last week. And the week before. The monthly game is over, Lucian. We want the balance. All of it."

"That’s impossible."

"Then we start collecting from people who matter." The voice dropped. "Mrs. Carter makes excellent coffee. Did you know that? Two sugars. No cream. She offered me a cup this morning when I knocked. Very hospitable woman."

Lucian shot to his feet. The couch cushions bounced. "Don’t you touch her."

"Amara is home from school by four, yes? Blue backpack. Red scarf. Pretty girl. Looks like her brother."

"Leave them alone." Lucian’s voice cracked. "They didn’t do anything. They took me in when I had nothing. They’re the only family I have."

"Then pay your debts. Full balance. The designated place. Tomorrow at noon. Bring the diamonds. Bring the cash. Bring your apologies." The man paused. "Or we finish what Noah started. Starting with the little sister."

The line went dead.

Lucian stared at the phone. His chest heaved. Then he hurled it at the wall. It cracked. The battery popped out and skittered under my radiator.

I stood up slowly. "Monthly payments? You’ve been paying them monthly for three years?"

"Two years. Since Noah left." He didn’t look at me. He walked to the window and pulled back the curtain an inch. The alley was empty. "I pay. They stay away from the Carters. That’s the deal."

"And now they want everything at once."

"Now they want to end it." He let the curtain fall. "My father noticed the missing company funds. He blocked my access. Froze the accounts. I was going to take more to cover this month’s payment, but I couldn’t get in. So I started selling things. Her rings. The diamonds." He pulled a velvet pouch from his jacket. It was thin. "This is the last of it. I promised I’d bring it to the drop. But it’s not enough. It was never enough."

I stepped toward him. "You can’t do this forever. Selling pieces of yourself until there’s nothing left."

"I don’t have a choice."

"There’s always a choice." I grabbed his arm. "Let me help. I have some money. Not three million, but enough to hire someone. The best lawyers. Federal judges. We build a case. We go after them."

He turned. His eyes were red rimmed, furious. "You think I haven’t tried?"

"Then try harder."

"I did!" He shook me off. "Last year, I hired the best defense attorney in the city. Cost me twenty thousand dollars I didn’t have. Three days later, he returned my retainer. Said he couldn’t help. Wouldn’t say why. Two weeks after that, Noah’s father got pulled over by police. They beat him in the ditch. Smelled weed, they said. There was no weed. Just a message."

My throat closed.

"They own the cops," Lucian said quietly. "They own the judges. They own the clerks. You can’t build a case against people who write the rules."

"So you just bleed? One month at a time until they decide to kill you anyway?"

He walked to the door. "I keep the Carters safe. That’s not bleeding. That’s breathing."

"Lucian." I moved in front of him. "There has to be another way."

"There isn’t."

He reached for the doorknob. I grabbed his wrist. His pulse hammered against my fingers.

"Then I’m coming with you."

"No."

"Lucian..."

"If you come, they kill her." His eyes held mine, steady and devastated. "They kill Amara. They kill her mother. That’s how they work. They don’t bluff. They collect." He pulled his wrist free. "Stay here. Lock the door. Don’t open it for anyone."

He turned the knob.

The door was already opening inward.

A man stood in the hallway.

Tall. Gray suit. Clean shaven. He looked like an accountant or a funeral director. He smiled when he saw Lucian. Then he saw me. The smile didn’t change.

"Lucian Smith," the man said. "Your ride is here."

Lucian stepped in front of me. "Who are you?"

"The boss wants to meet your stepsister." The man’s eyes moved past Lucian to mine. "She lied to us in that lab. Sent us away like children. The boss finds that interesting. He wants to hear her side of the story."

"She’s not involved," Lucian said.

"Then she won’t mind coming along to explain that." The man opened his jacket. A gun handle caught the hallway light. "Both of you. Now. Or I start the car without you and visit the Carters first. Amara should be home from school in twenty minutes. We could wait for her."

Lucian went still. Every muscle locked.

I looked at the gun. I looked at Lucian’s back, rigid and helpless. I felt my heart hammering against my ribs, but my hands didn’t shake.

I stepped out from behind him.

"Fine," I said. "Let’s go."

The man smiled wider. He gestured down the hall. "After you."

Lucian turned. His eyes met mine. In them I saw every apology he’d ever swallowed, every warning he’d ever given, every wall he’d built to keep me out.

I walked past him into the hallway.

The man fell in behind us. The gun was close enough that I could smell the oil.

And just like that, the monthly payment became something else entirely.

A collection.

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