Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty
Braxton

Light burst into the room, waking me from a warped dream of a half-lizard, half-human version of our mother, who I had only ever seen pictures of. Whoever yanked the curtains open so aggressively didn’t care that I had the world’s biggest headache and stomped around as if they had a point to prove.

“It’s past ten. You need to get up because we have to prepare for tonight,” Cruz lectured me, standing over the bed.

“Fuck off,” I croaked. “I’ll get up when I feel like it.”

Cruz didn’t respond to that, he taught me a lesson by pulling away the sheets and drenching me with water.

“Get up, get showered, and come downstairs. There’s something wrong with Bexley,” he informed me, grabbing my attention. His revelation prevented me from punching him in the face.

I scrubbed a hand over my jaw, then pinched the sleep from my eyes to clear my vision. “What’s the matter with her?” I asked, my mood switching from furious to concerned in a millisecond.

“She’s worried about you, so you better come down and fix it,” he replied.

Cruz stalked from the room and his boots thundered down the wooden stairs. I staggered into the bathroom to do my business, aiming straight into the basin like a water hose. My head throbbed like a bastard, and the shower jets sounded like pebbles were hitting the base tray. I washed away my night of regret, and resurrected my brittle tongue with my toothbrush and some minty toothpaste. My recollection of last night’s antics was a little hazy. I might have said and done things to upset Bexley, and that made me feel even worse. Resting my forehead against the cold wall tiles, I wallowed in my misery.

Of all the people in this world, why did the Chameleon have to be her? I know it’s her. There’s no smoke without fire.

Her traitorous blood ran through our veins, making me feel dirty and corrupt. I wished that Dad had chosen better, and that he hadn’t just picked those women to be surrogates. It wouldn’t have mattered if we weren’t full brothers — at least not to me.

I found them all gathered around the kitchen table, sipping their tea in silence. Bexley was sitting on Cruz’s lap, her head nestled into the crook of his neck. It was a submissive position that my brother and I both preferred. We loved it when she felt safe in our arms. I dragged my gaze to the left of them and Emilio flashed me a sympathetic smile as he leaned awkwardly against the counter. Ulrich and Asher scanned the newspapers, looking for further articles about us. Dominic tapped away on his laptop with Uncle Ted leaning in to look at the screen. Martha washed the breakfast dishes in the sink, humming to herself like her mind was someplace else.

“Do we have any pain killers?” I asked, wincing sheepishly.

It felt like a woodpecker was attacking my skull.

“In the top right-hand cupboard, next to the stove,” Asher muttered, without looking up from the paper.

I rummaged around and found a box of Aspirin, then popped two pills out of the blister pack. Then I swallowed them down with a mouthful of water. After twenty minutes of massaging my temples, listening to Asher huffing and swearing under his breath, the pain began to subside and I felt somewhat human again.

“Would you like some coffee?” Martha offered.

“Thanks,” I replied, accepting an espresso-sized cup and eyeing it with scrutiny. “You better leave the pot,” I suggested. “I’m used to drinking from a bigger mug than this.”

“More like a plant pot,” Bexley remarked, chortling. It was good to hear her laugh. It lessened my guilt for acting like a drunken neanderthal last night.

“Braxton can’t function without his morning coffee,” she told Martha.

I caught the cheeky glint in her eyes that suggested it fuelled something else.

I huffed a smirk, glad that she hadn’t lost her wicked sense of humour.

“So . . . have we made today’s papers?” I asked, in a disinterested tone. I couldn’t give a fuck whether we had or we hadn’t.

“No,” Asher replied, bunching his brows as he scanned the through the centrefold, finding nothing of significance. “It’s all quiet on the western front. But I’m sad to report that Chelsea beat West Ham by two nil. I’d offer my condolences, but I couldn’t give two shits.”

“You’re fucking joking,” I swore under my breath. “That’s three strokes of bad luck I’ve had up to now.” I counted on my fingers. “I’ve been shot. We found out that Mum is a fucking lunatic. And my team have been playing like a bag of shite. I give up. This year can go and fuck off. I’ve had enough of it.”

That put me in a grim mood for the rest of the afternoon. It wasn’t until Bexley emerged, hours later, dressed like an ethereal goddess in a glittering white and cream toga, gold sandals, and white mask with golden feathers. This year’s theme was deities of Mount Olympus, and Bexley wowed us all. My mouth ran dry as I watched her descend the stairs, the sides of her gown flowing around her long tan legs. The material hugged her curves perfectly, accentuating every delectable feature. I wanted to whisk her away to the master bedroom and barricade us in for the night. And by the heated look of desire in my brothers’ eyes, they all felt the same way.

Seeing Bexley in her dress was distracting enough, but witnessing her tucking a gun into a lace garter was like a dream come true. She was wearing the throw-blade earrings that Dominic had invented. I think I can speak on behalf of all of us when I say it scared me to see the bomb watch coiled around her wrist.

“Please tell me you’re not wearing the kiss of death lipstick,” Asher uttered defeatedly.

Bexley smirked. “No, but I have it in my bag, along with the toxic perfume you let me keep.”

“Please be careful with them. Those are not toys, Bexley,” Cruz warned her.

Our wife rolled her eyes and huffed with irritation. “I’m not stupid; I know what they are. I just feel safer knowing I could use them if I need to.”

“I’m just sorry I won’t get to dance with you in that dress,” I cut in, changing the subject.

Bexley stroked her finger across the underside of my chin. “No, but you’ll be the one who gets to take it off.”

“Fair point,” I agreed, grinning. “I can live with that.”

Bexley rearranged her boobs in her dress and checked her appearance in the hall mirror.

“Right . . . let’s do this, shall we?” she said, rallying us all together.

My brothers and I had to leave individually, taking separate methods of transport. Emilio and Bexley would be driven to the palace by Uncle Teddy, who looked unrecognisable thanks to Asher. He worked his prosthetic magic on us all, apart from Bexley who said she wouldn’t need it. Her cream and gold mask would suffice. It is enough to conceal her identity from prying eyes as long as she doesn’t take it off. I made her promise not to remove it under any circumstances. She agreed, but her eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief.

I was the first to arrive, followed minutes later by Cruz. He fell into line with the other security staff after an hours’ debriefing. It was the same with the kitchen and serving staff. We were given the grand tour of the palace and told what we should and shouldn’t do. Under no circumstances should we fraternise with the guests. Our job is to keep them fed and merry, not to canoodle in the palace or the gardens. Eyes would be watching us. I got the impression that this was a reoccurring issue; I caught the staff casting amused smirks among their colleagues. I was new, so our manager put me in charge of serving shrimp canapes and caviar. Then some patronising asshole named François, accused me of being a “clumsy oaf” when I dropped a full tray onto the floor. I’m sure I caught him checking out my ass as I crouched down. Something clattered outside the door and he scurried off to see what it was. I was still busy scooping up the mess with my fingers when Cruz sauntered past; he smirked at me and tapped his watch, causing me to check mine. It was almost time for the guests to arrive. The others would be here any minute. I pressed the side button to determine their whereabouts. The digital display indicated that Asher was close. I couldn’t tell how far away Bexley and Emilio were because they weren’t wearing synchronised watches like ours. Dominic’s signal pinpointed him somewhere in the vicinity. That reassured me. There was no way we would throw Bexley to the lions without the protection from the pack. We would fight to the death for our woman.

I caught a glimpse of my reflection in one of the huge ornate mirrors, and admired the elaborate décor surrounding me. The palace was truly a sight to behold. The ostentatious display of wealth in all its Baroque grandeur was characterized by multifaceted designs and extravagant embellishments. It would be a shame if we destroyed it in a shootout. This time, we’d be liable for any damage. I doubt the agency would pick up the bill, even after we expose the traitors for who they are. Speaking of weapons, Cruz planned to stash my gun in a vase. I would never have passed the security check if I had kept it on me. He sent me the coordinates, but there was no way I could search for it while the palace was empty. Suspicious eyes followed me wherever I went, watching me in case I tried to steal something of value. It was common for the staff to take mementos and then try to sell them on eBay. I had to wait for the hordes of guests to arrive so that I could avoid being detected by the CCTV, and security staff. Glancing around, I shoved my hand into the jewel-encrusted pottery and found my handgun. I felt safer with it stuffed into the waistband of my pants.

“Cough once if you can hear me, Brax,” Dominic spoke into my earpiece.

I did as he instructed, curling my fist against my lips. It allowed the microphone inside my watch to pass the signal back to Dom.

“Good,” Dominic replied, sounding satisfied. “We’re all in position. I’ve tapped into the CCTV to get a bird’s eye view of the area. Look up to your left and smile at the camera,” he urged in a humoured tone. I glanced up to where he meant and saw a dome-shaped camera. I knew he could see me, so I looked into the lens and huffed.

“There’s still no sign of the secretary; I’ll let you know of his whereabouts as soon as we locate him. Asher is here and is schmoozing with the upper-class elites. They’ve bought into the whole “Count Graff” guise, so bravo to his acting skills. Bexley and Emilio are walking in as we speak.” Dominic made an ominous ‘hmm’ sound. “I recognise those agents in the orangery. Wherever the Secretary of State goes, those guys are never far behind. Go check it out, then report back to base?” Dom’s voice vanished from inside my ear, letting the music flow through.

Armed with my trusty Glock, and a silver tray of fish eggs, I weaved through the crowd, searching for any sign of our target, and who he may be meeting. An uneasy ugliness lined the pit of my stomach, and it wasn’t down to the fishy smell because that was rather pleasant. It was the sickening thought of coming face to face with my mother, and how it would feel to be near her.