“I’m sorry. I couldn’t let you do something rash that would only escalate the situation. I thought, with both of your dads out of the picture”—he gestures to Cam and Mason on either side of me—“that owning the full Davenport quarter of the company would be enough for her.”
“It’s not going to be enough until she owns the entire thing,” I tell him. What I don’t say aloud, because I still don’t trust him, despite this ‘gesture’, is that her owning the entire company is unacceptable. Handing everything over to her might buy us our freedoms, but it won’t solve the problem that is Nocturnal Mercenaries. Without anyone standing in her way, she will simply rebuild and go back to destroying children’s futures. I won’t allow that to happen.
His lips flatten, his only response to what I’ve said, and he glances at each of the others before his gaze comes back to meet mine. I can tell he wants to say more, but he won’t with the others here. Eventually, he gives a sharp jerk of his head and strides out of the boardroom without another word.
***
“How the hell are we going to get Frank’s shares transferred over to Maria?” Cam asks that night, once we’re all back at school.
His question is met with thoughtful silence, none of us having a good answer for him.
Eventually, Mason sighs, running his hand through his short strands before he drops his head back to lean against the top of the couch cushion so he’s staring up at the ceiling. “I’m going to have to go see my father.”
“What?” I argue. “No. You can’t go see that shitstain!”
Lifting his head, he pierces me with a resigned look. “I have to.”
“Should we even be handing them over to her?” I continue to argue. “What’s going to happen when she has the majority? We might be free and clear, but if she rebuilds the compound, she can pick right up where they left off, and go back to stealing kids. I”—I shake my head and sigh—“I can’t stand back and let that happen.”
Beck pulls me into his arms. “We aren’t going to let that happen,” he promises, but I’ve got no idea how they plan on preventing it, especially if we hand over control of the company to her.
“Even with majority control, it will take time for her to forge the necessary relationships and rebuild the compound,” Hawk states.
“Could we get your dad to sign over his shares instead?” I ask West, desperate to avoid Mason having to go see his father. I saw the way he acted when he was forced to be around his father at parties, and I refuse to put him in that situation again.
“We probably could, but she’ll know they aren’t Frank’s. She probably thinks she has our father wrapped around her finger, which is why she’s demanding Frank’s shares instead. Our father will go along with whatever she wants, giving her full control of the company.”
“No.” I shake my head adamantly. “We can’t allow that to happen!”
I can see West thinking something over before he finally speaks, “But we could get my father’s shares and keep them for ourselves.”
“What would the benefit of that be?”
My question garners West’s attention as he looks my way. “I’ve been through the company bylaws enough times while trying to find a loophole to get us out, to know that even if she has the majority shares, she can’t make huge decisions like deciding to rebuild the compound without a unanimous vote from the board, i.e., us.”
“So, what, we just keep blocking her by voting no?” I question. “That’s not a long-term solution. It’s a bandage on a gaping wound at best.”
“It would be something for now,” Hawk says, although his expression is tight, so I know he agrees with me. He focuses on West and Beck before speaking again, “You think you could get Wilbert to hand them over?”
The two brothers exchange a look before both of them nod. “Yeah,” West confidently states. “I think he could be persuaded.”
“Okay, so we just need to sort out how to get Frank’s shares.” Hawk sighs, looking grimly at Mason.
“Yeah, and to do that, I need to go see my dad,” Mason states with a finality that lets me know he’s not going to change his mind.
***
The rest of the week goes by in a blur. Between the stress from our parents, the pressure of upcoming exams, and how far behind in my school work I am, not to mention the lack of sleep and constantly feeling like I’m barely keeping my head above water, I’m honestly beginning to struggle.
After Mason’s chat with me last week, none of the guys have asked how I’m doing, and I appreciate them backing off a bit. I know they’re worried, but how the hell can I even begin to explain to them how I’m feeling. That I feel eyes on me all the time; that I’m hearing a dead man’s voice; that every morning when I wake up, for those first few seconds, I’m convinced all of this is a dream and I’m still locked in my cell in the compound.
They’ve shouldered more than any sane boyfriend would when it comes to me. Finding out that my brain might finally have snapped and I’m probably losing my mind would push them over the edge.
It took me weeks to assimilate into ‘normal’ life when I first escaped from the compound and, while this is different, I’m confident it’s just going to take some time. All this extra stress isn’t helping either. Once we get shit sorted with our parents, the company, and finals are out of the way, I’m sure I’ll be starting to feel better. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
“Shall we agree to meet in the library after dinner?” Emilia asks as we exit the main school building. Class has just finished for the day, and while all I want to do is just go back to the dorm, curl up on the sofa and ignore everything for the rest of the day, I know I really really need to study.
“Yeah, sounds like a plan,” I agree.
“Super, I’ll see you then.” Beaming like we’re going on a trip into town or doing something fun, she takes off toward the music department for choir practice.
Continuing along the path toward the dorm, I’m not far from the dining hall when my tablet buzzes in my bag. As I go to grab it, a passing student knocks into me, and in the blink of an eye, the campus grounds around me fade away, replaced with dark walls as someone grabs my arm roughly and tugs me down a familiar hallway. The one that leads to Bowen’s torture room.
Panic flares to life within me and I tug, trying to get out of the guard’s grip. I wriggle and writhe until he loses his hold on my arm, and I spin to face him. Despite my smaller stature and weakened state, I tackle him with all the pent-up rage I’ve been harboring all these years. Catching him by surprise, I quickly take him to the ground, and with him pinned beneath me, I pummel my fists into him over and over until he’s bloody and beaten.
“Hadley!” The shout comes to me as though in a dream, and I pause with my fist drawn back, glancing up. The voice comes again. “Hadley!” And I blink. “What the hell are you doing?” Hawk barks.