Owen’s face was like stone.
“Max was created for the Red Team—set up in a sting, then raised to be a warrior in prison. How do you get into the Army with a record like his…unless he was created by the Army? I don’t see a connection with Selena or Angel, but Kit was Blade’s handler before either of them even knew what a handler was. And Rocco—he was just a windfall. Best to grab him and use his skills than to let them fall to the enemy. But look at how Greer’s grandfather trained him. He was taking out enemies long before his kills were sanctioned.”
Val watched Owen, wanting to catch his carefully managed expression when he said this next bit. “And weren’t Greer’s grandpa and your dad instrumental in getting the Red Team started?”
“How did you know about Greer’s grandfather?”
“Greer and Blade have been doing some digging.”
“And they didn’t bring it to the team?”
“It’s only a fragment of info, which doesn’t seem to be news to you.” He held Owen’s gaze. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You aren’t wrong, but I don’t know what any of it means. Yet. It’s why I got out of the Army. I don’t like dancing at the end of strings someone else is pulling.”
“And you didn’t think to fill us all in?”
“On what? A conspiracy theory I have about”—he made air quotes—“anarchists united who want to rule the world? Who the fuck would believe that?”
“Well, obviously your dad and Greer’s grandpa did, else they wouldn’t have started the Red Team. And they got buy-in from somewhere in the government, or the Red Team would have been a no-go.”
Val went silent a minute as he processed the impact of that. He got up and started walking around Owen’s room. “So what’s the real nature of your relationship with the rogue Red Teamer you’ve been wanting us to find—Wendell Jacobs?”
“Our fathers were friends. His dad was—”
“U.S. Senator Dean Jacobs from Virginia, founder of the Red Team unit,” Val finished for him. “Shit, O. You seriously didn’t think we’d figure this out?”
“I knew you would. But I didn’t want my theories to steer you. I want you to prove my suspicions wrong…or right. I don’t want to influence you.”
Val looked back at Owen. “Did you know, when you started Tremaine Industries, about the Omni World Order?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know when you and Wendell joined the Red Team?”
“Yes.” Owen stood. “I knew when we were boys. I knew the Order killed my dad.”
“And you didn’t tell me then?”
The stillness in Owen’s face cut like a knife. “You were four years younger than me. You weren’t afraid of anything. You were so busy being your sisters’ darling little brother and the bane of your father’s existence. Life was a game to you, a thing full of joy, a thing to laugh at. How could I tell you there were monsters out there? Monsters who’d killed my dad and might very well be after me?”
Owen blinked away the anger in his eyes. “I needed you to be normal. I needed you to be exactly like you were because it meant not everything was tainted. And yeah, I made sure you got into West Point, and I brought you into the Red Team.” He walked over until he was almost nose to nose with Val. “I did it because in every sense that matters, you are my brother, and I couldn’t stand losing you, too.”
Val’s jaw worked as he fought to calm his breathing. “Maybe you haven’t worked this out yet, in your fear-frozen brain, but you’ve got a whole bunch of brothers now. And a sister. Don’t blindfold them. Bring this to them. We all know the origins of the Red Team, but I doubt any of us have put together Wendell and his father the senator. Greer knows about his grandfather, but maybe not about your and Wendell’s dads. We’ve all seen the banners and the extensive infrastructure the Omni World Order is building. Right about now, your conspiracy theory isn’t sounding like random shit you made up.”
Owen glared at him. “I’ll bring it to the team when the time is right.”
Val shook his head. “Fuck you.” He pivoted on his heel and slammed out of Owen’s room.
*
Val needed to work off some steam. He was halfway to the gym building before he realized that he’d gone to Owen’s room to tell him about Ace’s butterfly tattoo, which he still hadn’t done.
He shoved through the doors to the weight room, then stopped short. Rocco and Angel were sparring, but it wasn’t a friendly match. They hadn’t even heard him come in, so intent were they on killing each other.
“What the hell, you guys?” He went to break them apart, which was easier said than done. When he finally separated them, he held a shoulder of each. “Wanna tell me what the fuck’s going on?”
Both men continued to glare at each other. Val now knew the bruises he’d seen on them weren’t left over from King’s Warren. “Shake it off. We’re on the same team, remember?”
Angel stepped back first. His bare back was a mass of knotted muscles. They wore boxing gloves, but no helmets or teeth guards. It was like they had a death wish. Val looked at Rocco. Maybe one of them really did.
“Fine.” Val straightened. “You guys need to cool off. Let’s go to Winchesters. We can talk things out over a couple of beers.”
“We’re good,” Rocco said. “I’m gonna take a shower, then hit the sack.”
Angel wiped a thin stream of blood from his nose with the back of his wrist. “I’ll meet you upstairs in ten,” he growled.
*