“You killed Brooke?” Dinah spits out, her horrified gaze glued to her husband.

Her hand shakes. I see a glint of black, and that’s when I realize what she’s holding.

A small, black revolver.

“Put the gun down,” Steve tells her, sounding annoyed.

“You killed Brooke,” she repeats, and this time it’s not a question.

I plaster myself to Dinah’s side, but she surprises me by addressing me in a gentle voice. “Stand behind me, Ella.”

“Put the gun down!” Steve orders again.

He lunges forward, but Dinah swings the gun up. “Don’t take another step.”

He stops in his tracks. “Put the gun down,” he says for the third time. His voice is soft now, measured.

“Ella, call nine-one-one,” Dinah tells me without taking her eyes off Steve.

I’m too scared to move. I’m terrified that the gun might go off by accident, and I’ll get caught in the crossfire.

“For God’s sake, Dinah! You two are being ridiculous! Brooke’s death was an accident! And even if it wasn’t, who the hell cares! She was poison! She was a piece of garbage!”

He lunges toward us again.

And Dinah pulls the trigger.

It all happens so fast I can’t even make sense of it. One second Steve is on his feet, the next he’s on the carpet, groaning in agony as he clutches his left arm.

My ears are ringing like an entire row of carnival games. I’ve never heard a gunshot in real life before, and it’s so deafening I’m worried it might’ve shattered my eardrums. I feel sick. Really sick, like I’m going to vomit all over my feet. And my heart is racing faster than it ever has before.

“You shot me, you bitch,” Steve mumbles, staring up at Dinah.

Rather than acknowledge him, Dinah calmly turns to me and repeats her earlier request. “Ella. Call nine-one-one.”

35

Reed

“What’s wrong?” are the first words out of my mouth when I answer the phone.

“You need to come to the penthouse!” Ella gasps between deep, heaving breaths. “Come now. Bring Callum. Bring everyone. But especially Callum.”

“Ella—”

The line goes dead.

Dammit. She hung up on me. I don’t waste another second, though. She called and needs me. She needs all of us.

I’m off the bed and out the door in the next second. With my fist pounding on Easton’s door and then Sebastian’s, I scream downstairs for Dad.

“Dad! Something’s wrong with Ella.” I press redial, but she doesn’t pick up.

“What’s going on?” Easton bursts out of his room as I’m racing by.

“It’s Ella. Something’s wrong.” Leaping five steps at a time, I fly down the stairs. Above and behind me, I hear the slamming of doors followed by running footsteps.

Dad meets me at the bottom of the stairs. “What is it?” he asks in concern.

“Ella’s in trouble. She needs us.”

“Us?” Confusion flickers across his face.

I shake my phone at him. “She just called. Told me she needs all of us to come over now.”

His eyes widen, but he, too, jumps into motion. “We’ll take my car. Let’s go.”

We run outside and pile into Dad’s Mercedes. I take shotgun while the twins and East settle into the back. Dad presses the gas pedal to the floor and tears down the driveway, barely waiting for the gates to open wide enough for the car to speed through. Meanwhile, I’m redialing and redialing Ella’s phone.

After my fifth attempt, she finally answers. “I can’t talk, Reed. The police are here. Where are you?”

I tense. “The police?”

“Who’s that?” Dad demands from the driver’s seat.

“It’s Ella,” I tell him. To Ella, I ask, “Why are the police there?”

Her voice is strained. “I’ll explain it all when you get here.”

She disconnects again.

“Goddammit!” I slap my phone against my leg. I’m getting real tired of her hanging up on me.

East leans forward, sticking his head between the two front seats. “What did she say?”

Dad runs a red light, takes a hard right at about fifty miles an hour, and then careens wildly down another street. I brace myself against the door as I check the time. We’re about ten minutes from the city. I quickly text Ella.

Be there in 10.

“What did she say?” East repeats in my ear.

I toss my phone into the center console and turn to look at my brothers. The twins are pale and quiet, but East is frantic. “She said that we needed to get to the penthouse—all of us…” I pause and turn to my father. “She said specifically to bring Dad.”

“Why in the hell did she ask for me?” he wonders, not taking his eyes off the road.

Another hard turn has all of us sliding to the left before righting ourselves in our seats. “I have no idea.”

“Steve,” East pipes up. “Has to be about him.”

Dad’s jaw hardens. “Call Grier. Have him meet us at the penthouse.”

Not a bad idea. I dial our lawyer, who, unlike Ella, actually answers his phone. “Reed, what can I do for you?”

“You need to meet us at Steve’s place,” I instruct.

There’s a half beat of silence and then, “What in the world have you done?”

I pull the phone away from my ear to stare at the mouthpiece in disbelief. “This fucking guy thinks I did something.”

Dad makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “You’ve pled guilty to involuntary manslaughter. Of course he thinks you did something.”

I frown, but place the phone against my ear again. “It’s Ella. Something’s happened and Dad thinks you should get over there.” Then I hang up on him, because we’ve arrived at the condo complex and there are police cars everywhere.

Dad gapes at all the cruisers. “What in the hell?”

Heart in my throat, I jump out before the car stops.

“Reed, get back here!” my father yells. “Wait a damn second.”

But more car doors slamming indicate my brothers are hot on my heels. The people in the lobby are a blur as I race toward the elevator bank. Miraculously, the brass doors are sliding open as I skid to a stop.