Chapter 4

The long oak table in the dining room groaned under the weight of a massive American dinner. Platters of roasted ribs, mashed potatoes, and macaroni and cheese steamed in the warm light.

Ava sat rigidly in her chair. She gripped her fork, her mouth watering as she stared at the food.

Carrie aggressively scooped a massive pile of meat onto Ava's plate. "You're too skinny, sweetheart. Eat."

At the head of the table, Jerimiah picked up a long, wicked-looking boning knife. He pressed the blade into the rack of ribs.

Ava watched him. His movements were terrifyingly precise. The blade slid through the meat and separated the joints without making a single scraping sound against the bone.

Ava swallowed hard. The IT guy might look clumsy, but he was surprisingly good in the kitchen.

Across from her, Cody sat perfectly straight. He lifted his fork, chewed exactly twenty times, swallowed, and repeated the motion like a programmed machine.

Desperate to break the heavy silence, Ava cleared her throat. "Do I have other brothers?"

Cody set his fork down. He dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

"Gideon is the oldest," Cody recited in his flat, monotone voice. "He is a doctor. He specializes in anatomy and helping people... when their bodies can't be fixed anymore."

Ava nodded slowly. A doctor. That sounded respectable. Safe.

"Collin is the second," Cody continued. "He works for the police department. His primary function is asking questions. He is very good at getting people to tell the truth when they don't want to."

Ava's eyes lit up. A cop. Her new family was practically a fortress of justice.

"Deegan is the third," Cody said. For the first time, a flicker of disgust crossed his face. "He is a neurotic, sickly heir. He lives with our grandfather at the estate. He is a volatile explosive hazard."

Ava pictured a coughing, spoiled rich kid throwing tantrums. She made a mental note to stay out of his way.

Carrie smiled brightly, cutting Cody off as she set a hot apple pie on the table. "We are a very loving family, Ava."

After dinner, Carrie took Ava by the hand and led her upstairs.

Carrie pushed open the door to the bedroom. Ava gasped.

The room was an explosion of high-saturation pink. Pink walls, pink ruffled curtains, and a bed buried under dozens of massive stuffed animals. It was a violent, over-the-top attempt at a princess room.

It was tacky. It was loud. But Ava's throat tightened, and hot tears spilled over her eyelashes. It was hers.

She turned and threw her arms around Carrie's waist. "Thank you," she sobbed.

Carrie's eyes softened completely. She stroked Ava's hair.

An hour later, Ava was asleep. Carrie pulled the pink door shut. The second the latch clicked, the maternal warmth vanished from her face.

Carrie walked down the stairs and headed straight for the basement. She pulled open a heavy, soundproof steel door disguised as a bookshelf.

Inside, Jerimiah sat at a workbench, meticulously cleaning the slide of a Glock 19. Cody sat at a dual-monitor setup, typing lines of encrypted code.

Carrie pulled up a metal folding chair. She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Emergency protocol," Carrie stated, her voice cold and sharp. "From this second forward, everyone in this house is a normal, boring civilian."

She pointed a finger at Jerimiah. "No more clothes smelling like copper and blood in the laundry room."

She turned her glare to Cody. "And you. Stop using sociopathic terminology in front of your sister."

Jerimiah and Cody exchanged a brief look. Facing the absolute, lethal dominance of the family matriarch, both men slowly raised their hands in surrender.