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On the list of voices I don’t want to hear while holding this fucker at gunpoint, that one’s definitely near the top. I only take a quickfire glance, equal parts pissed and horrified to see Verity standing in front of the lobby door, her wide green eyes fixed on Charlie. “You’re selling videos of me?”

“What the hell are you doing?” I hiss, putting myself between them. “I told you to stay in the car.” The hoodie is gone, so she’s standing there in that pretty dress, gawking at the blood.

Her hand brushes my back. “I heard a gunshot.”

Charlie doubles over, pushing his fist into his wound. “Look, I’ll delete them, okay?”

“No, you won’t,” I snap. “Because you’re lying. Verity was barely showing on April twentieth, and the only fucking she was doing was done in pitch fucking black.”

“I don’t make up the rules for what people kink on, man.” He squints at me. “You should know that better than anyone.”

Jesus Christ, I raise the gun again, but her fist twists into my t-shirt. I glance back to see her face, all drawn and sickly.

“Pace, I can’t…” Her throat clicks with a swallow. “I can’t have another video of me out there. The cleansing is bad enough. I can’t…I can’t.”

Spitting a curse, I look back at Charlie, jerking my chin. “Let’s go into the back. We’ll look for ourselves.”

“Okay,” Charlie says, sucking in these long, hissed breaths. “After you?”

“Like hell.” I wave the gun, waiting for him to take the long, painful trek down the hallway.

Verity sticks close, her grip on my shirt never easing as I lead her to the main security room. It certainly smells the same, my nose scrunching up as we enter. But when Charlie goes for the monitor, I make a sharp sound.

“Not you,” I bark, motioning with the gun. “Yougo to the corner. Verity can verify for herself.”

Charlie moans in pain, staring longingly at the chair. “She doesn’t know the root password.”

“Then I guess you’re gonna tell her,” I say, jerking the gun toward the back of the room. “Charlie here has never been the best or brightest,” I tell Verity as she moves warily to the seat. “He’s Ashby blood, but only tangentially. Some cousin, however-many-times removed. Less of a creation than a shruggable mistake, I’d wager.”

Before she sits, she turns to him, grimacing. “Does that mean… you’re my family?”

Charlie slumps against the wall, groaning, “I’m a lot of peoples’ family.”

She probably doesn’t understand what he means, but I do. He’s also no one’s family. The bond my brothers and I share is something Charlie could never conceive of. He skates by in East End on a flimsy technicality. Never Royal, only useful.

Until he becomes a liability.

“Pace? What do I do?” she asks, staring at the screen. There’s a wallpaper illustration of a pin-up boy, his ass hanging out as his hand flutters over a shocked mouth.

“Click the folder icon on the taskbar,” I begin, hearing the little clicks as she navigates obediently to each directory.

After a couple of minutes, I hear her shift. “This one wants a password.”

I arch an eyebrow at Charlie, who squirms.

“Look, do we really need to—” I aim at his kneecap, and he sucks in a sharp gasp. “Okay, no, fine. This is fine. Listen carefully.” He then proceeds to grit out a long string of random letters, numbers, and symbols. The password is at least sixteen characters long, making my eyebrows hike up higher and higher as he goes on.

This is his fucking vault.

“I’m in,” she says, the mouse clicking a few more times.

Impatiently, I ask, “What do you see?”

There’s a small huff, and then, “There’s a lot of stuff here. Give me a second.”

Scowling at Charlie, I say, “A lot of stuff, huh?”

He tips his head back, eyes fluttering. “I think I’m bleeding out.”