Eric
The past…
Christmas hell.
That’s what this is. I sit across from Isaac at a chess board while my father stands above us, watching us play. I plan to do what I always do. Let Isaac fucking win. He needs the ego stroking. I do not. I just want the fucking game over with. He makes a move. I make a move. He makes a stupid move and that forces me to act like an idiot and ignore it. He makes another move. Another stupid move and actually thinks it’s smart.
“Your move, savant.”
I can almost feel our father pushing me to push back, to take his pride, to cripple him. I almost feel sorry for Isaac for the way the bastard uses me to taunt him. In that moment, I hate my father more than Isaac. I make a stupid move and endure Isaac’s gloating as he takes my king.
As if he’s the king. As if he’s telling me I will never be king.
***
Three months later…
A new kind of hell.
That’s what being pitted against my brother in a mock trial is for me. I can’t win because I can’t lose and that will lead to complications outside this auditorium. I sit behind the defense table, my mock client accused of a laundry list of white collar crimes. I listen as Isaac leaves me a hole to bury his case. And I am going to bury his case. This isn’t about family. This is about my career.
He walks back to his table but slides by mine first, smirking as he loudly jabs me with his favorite taunt of, “Your move, savant.”
He walks away and sits down. I stand up and proceed to steal his false sense of security. I destroy his case, and him, in all of three minutes.
***
Present…
I’m out of the hospital room door and manage two steps before I stop dead. Not only is my father being rolled in my direction, I have a sudden realization that I shouldn’t have missed in the first place. The wording of that note comes back to me “Your move, savant.” That fucker. Harper’s right. I’m operating on emotion because I just came about ten seconds from being played. The mob didn’t write that note.
I back up several steps and wait as my father is rolled past me in a bed, surrounded by a medical crew. Harper and Savage are ordered into the hallway. Harper rushes up to me and I pull her close.
“What just happened?” she asks.
Just thinking about that note and the threat against Harper, about how capable of bad deeds my brother is, has me tangling fingers in her hair and kissing her, a deep, drink-her-in-and-fucking-never-lose-her kiss. “Isaac happened,” I say, looking up at Savage as he appears over her shoulder.
“Isaac wrote that note. His way of trying to force me to protect him.” But what doesn’t make sense to me is the fact that it also forces me to protect my father. In fact, it protects my father over Isaac.
“Are you sure about that?” Savage asks. “It’s typed, not handwritten.”
“What note?” Harper asks, and I take it from Savage and hand it to her. “This note.”
Harper looks down and reads it, her pale skin turning paler as she looks up at me. “How are you sure it’s him?”
“Because he’s stupid enough to use the words ‘your move, savant’ which I know well from him, but knowing this is him doesn’t change the reality of this note.” I turn her in my arms and we both face Savage. “Isaac has made his point. If he doesn’t survive, I inherit and that means more than money. I inherit his problems which means I have to fucking fix them for him. Then I’ll deal with him once and for all.”
Harper turns to face me. “How?”
“He threatened you twice, baby. He’s going to pay.”
“How?” she repeats.
“I might just feed him to the fucking mob and let them handle him.”
Isaac appears beside us and I release Harper, taking the note from her. “Go check on my father, baby.”
She nods but her fingers brush my cheek, lingering a moment before she turns away. I motion to Savage and he follows her, though not before I see how much he wants to hear the exchange about to take place.