Defiance (The Protectors #9)(3)

Part of me actually wanted to take him up on the offer, but the other part…the part that still mourned David even after all the years that had gone by, sent silent warnings to my brain not to get involved. I’d had the chance for a different life, but I’d blown it.

I’d chosen wrong.

And it was too fucking late to do anything about it.

But I couldn’t discount what Dom had said. “Tell me about Cade’s son,” I said.

Dom sobered and then he glanced at Ronan and Memphis. “May I?” he asked as he motioned to the couch. Both men nodded. I went to sit in an armchair because I could tell just by looking at the expression on Dom’s face that whatever he had to tell me was not going to be easy.

“Beck is nineteen…almost twenty, actually,” Dom began. “Cade and my brother, Rafe, adopted Beck and his brother and sister when Beck was twelve. Beck has struggled with some mental health issues over the years, but we didn’t know until this past summer what was driving some of the behavior. He’s finally in a good place, but with the threat against Brody’s brother, Beck and both his men are feeling the strain. The mention of Brody in some of the emails Nathan received has made things even harder, especially on Beck.”

My eyes shifted to Memphis and Ronan briefly before they fell back on Dom. When his eyes met mine, I felt anger settle over me.

But it wasn’t directed at him.

It was directed at myself.

I’d had a chance to have a man like Dom in my corner, but I’d been na?ve enough back then to think that the country David and I had served would step up and make things right.

Now David was dead and I’d served my country in a different way.

A way that would have shamed David.

I got up and went to Dom and extended my hand. He immediately stood up and shook it, though he looked both confused and surprised.

“You had my back when no one else did,” I said. “I’ve got your nephew’s.”

As much as the idea of going back to the world that I’d fought so long and hard to escape sickened me, I knew that was no longer a factor in any of this. I didn’t give a shit about Nathan Wilder or whatever bullshit he wanted to sell to the American people so they’d give him the power he needed to push his own personal agenda, but I did want to do something that might have David looking down on me with pride instead of shame.

I turned to look at Ronan and Memphis. “If I do this, I’m doing it my way.”

Both men nodded. I turned to leave, but then thought better of it and paused long enough to say, “After this, lose my number. It’ll be better for all of you that way.”





Chapter 1





Nathan





Hey Nathan, it’s me. I know you don’t want to hear from me so I’ll stop bothering you after this. I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday…

My brother’s voice dropped off, but the voicemail message didn’t stop. My gut clenched as I heard his voice become more uneven.

I really miss you, big brother. I just…I…

Another pause had me dashing at the tears that threatened to fall. I’d made the mistake of hitting the play button on the voicemail message while still sitting in my car after parking it in my driveway. I’d had two new messages and had accidentally hit Brody’s message instead of my campaign manager’s, and the mistake was like a punch to the gut.

Because I always needed to steel myself before I let myself listen to my twin’s voice, which was so much like my own.

Brody’s voice lost its luster as he blurted, I hope you’re okay. And with that, the message ended.

I wasn’t okay. Not even close.

But Brody didn’t need to know that. And he most definitely didn’t need to know how badly I wanted to hit that call back button and tell him how fucking sorry I was.

“Fuck,” I muttered to myself as I reached for the door handle. The message from my campaign manager could wait, because I needed a drink.

Or ten.

I climbed out of my car and wiped at my eyes. Luckily, it was late and there weren’t any stray reporters lingering today. Because I wasn’t sure I could paste the smile on my face that was a requirement for the camera that inevitably got shoved in your face, along with the microphone or tape recorder that was thrust so close to your mouth that you wondered if it shouldn’t have been required to buy you a drink first.

I loved coming home. It was one of the few places where I could just be Nathan instead of the various titles that I’d somehow managed to accrue, despite how very little I’d actually done with my life.

Candidate for Senator.

Son of Chandler Wilder, governor and political scion.

Former poster boy for the right-wing movement to Bring God Back to America.

Fuck the damn titles tonight. I’d turned thirty today, and the only person I would have even considered celebrating that milestone with was over two thousand miles away.

Because I’d driven him away.

I managed to remember to lock my car as I made my way up the path leading to my front door. I would have liked to park my car in the garage, but it was full of campaign paraphernalia that I hadn’t been able to find the time to get moved to my new campaign headquarters in the heart of Charleston.

I’d bought the little Cape Cod home earlier in the year after I’d escaped the stronghold of the right-wing movement my father had begun building in Columbia, the capital of South Carolina. I’d left my law practice, too, which had pissed my father’s former General Counsel off to no end, since he’d gotten me the job at the prestigious firm shortly after I’d graduated from law school. Yeah, the plan had always been for me to get into politics, but I’d kind of fucked those plans up when I’d abruptly turned my back on my father and his constituents to run as a Democrat instead. To this day, I received countless calls from endless high-ranking officials in the Southern Baptist community who were trying to usher me back into the fold. They’d even suggested how I could spin my explanation for the sudden, albeit temporary, switch in my political affiliations.