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Daisy turned from the stove, spatula in hand. "How's the head, sweetie?"

"It's still attached," Matty replied, carefully lowering himself onto a chair. "Though I'm not sure that's a good thing right now."

Daisy laughed softly. "Hangover special coming right up. Greasy bacon, pancakes, and my secret remedy."

"I'm not sure I can—" Matty started, but Daisy waved the spatula dismissively.

"Trust me, honey. I've been fixing Diamond Kings hangovers for twenty years. My remedy hasn't failed yet."

I sat beside Matty, close enough that our shoulders brushed. He leaned into me slightly, as if drawing strength from my presence. The gesture was subtle but unmistakable, and I felt that strange protective instinct flare again.

"Sleep okay?" Cruise asked, his eyes moving between us with barely concealed curiosity.

"Fine," I answered shortly, not wanting to discuss our sleeping arrangements in front of everyone.

Daisy set a steaming mug in front of Matty. "Drink this first. All of it."

Matty eyed the murky liquid suspiciously. "What is it?"

"Better not to ask," Ellie advised with a grin. "But it works."

With a grimace, Matty lifted the mug to his lips and took a cautious sip. His face contorted in disgust, but he continued drinking under Daisy's watchful eye.

"Good boy," Daisy praised when he finished, taking the empty mug and replacing it with a glass of water. "Now hydrate while I finish cooking."

The phrase "good boy" made Matty's cheeks flush, but he obediently sipped the water. I found myself watching him, noting how his hands had steadied somewhat, how the tension in his shoulders had eased.

"So," Cruise said, sliding into the chair across from us. "Jono's calling church at noon."

I nodded, understanding what he wasn't saying. We needed to figure out how to protect Matty and deal with Coombes. "I'll be there."

Matty looked at me in confusion. "You're going to church?"

I smiled. "A meeting of our main members. In biker circles it's referred to as "church."

"In the meantime," Cruise continued, "We've got something for you to look at." He glanced at Matty, then back to me. I pressed a kiss on Matty's head.

"Be right back." I shot a look at Daisy, and she nodded. Then I followed Cruise into the office. Digger was already in there.

Digger's laptop was open, displaying a series of documents and photographs. He nodded in greeting, his usually jovial expression serious.

"What've you got?" I asked, closing the door behind me.

"Financial records," Digger said, turning the laptop so I could see better. "And they're not pretty."

I leaned over his shoulder, scanning the spreadsheets and bank statements. "Talk to me."

"Harold Coombes has been systematically draining Matty's trust fund for the last three years after he made some particularly bad investments and needed Matty's to shore his own up," Digger explained, pointing to various transactions.

"Technically legal, because he's the trustee, but ethically?

Sketchy as hell. He's been moving money into dummy corporations, all kinds of shit. "

"How much?" I asked, my jaw tightening.

"Based on what I can piece together, he's siphoned off at least four million in the past three years," Digger said grimly. "And that's just what I can track."

Cruise let out a low whistle. "No wonder he's desperate to keep Matty from getting married."

"There's more," Digger continued, clicking on another document. "Remember that James Degrassi guy Matty mentioned? I found him."

A photograph appeared on the screen—a handsome man in his forties with cold eyes and an arrogant smile. My stomach turned as I remembered Matty's panic attack at the mere mention of his name.

"He's got a reputation in certain circles," Digger said carefully. "And not a good one. Been banned from three BDSM clubs in Atlanta for crossing lines. There are rumors about him—nothing that's stuck legally, but enough smoke to suggest a serious fire."

"Coombes hired him, didn't he?" I said, the pieces falling into place. "To marry Matty, and then what? Control him? Abuse him?"

Digger nodded grimly. "Found emails between them. Coombes promised Degrassi a cut of the trust if he married Matty and kept him 'in line.' Whatever that means."

"Jesus Christ," Cruise muttered.

My hands clenched into fists, rage building in my chest. "And Carrington? The first guy?"

"Similar deal, just less sinister," Digger confirmed.

"Matty found this guy himself but Coombes offered him quick cash to back out, and he took it, and after that Coombes decided he couldn't risk it and got in with Degrassi.

But with Degrassi..." He hesitated. "The arrangement seems darker.

There's language in their emails about 'teaching Matty his place' and 'breaking bad habits. '"

The implications made my blood run cold. No wonder Matty had panicked at the mention of James. What had that bastard done to him?

"There's one more thing," Digger said, pulling up another document.

"The trust fund stipulations. If Matty doesn't fulfill the marriage requirement, everything goes to Coombes.

But here's the kicker—if Matty dies before the three-month mark after the wedding, Coombes still gets everything.

As his husband, if you hadn't signed a contract it'd be all going to you, so you just got a target put on you as well. "

I stared at the screen, a chill running down my spine. "So he has a financial motive to make sure Matty doesn't make it to the end of three months, never mind two years."

"Bingo," Digger said grimly. "If Matty dies, Coombes gets everything without having to wait."

"That car wasn't just trying to scare him," Cruise said, his voice hard. "They were trying to kill him."

My mind raced, piecing together everything we'd learned.

Coombes had been systematically stealing from Matty's trust for years.

He'd tried to control Matty through getting rid of Carrington, then through the more sinister Degrassi.

And when those plans failed, he'd decided murder was the simplest solution.

"What were his parents thinking?" I asked incredulously.

“Evelyn and Richard Coombes were childhood sweethearts. Richard Coombes was a computer software genius, but didn't have a lick of business sense, which is where Harold enters the picture."

"How did they die?" A cold feeling ran down my spine.

"Private helicopter crash. The pilot, who had a previously unblemished record, according to the tox screen was apparently so drunk it was a wonder he could get the bird off the ground.

Thing was, Matty was supposed to be with them, but at the last minute he came down with chicken pox so they left him at home. He was three."

"Does Matty know any of this?" I asked, my voice tight with controlled rage.

Digger shook his head. "Not the extent of it, I'd bet. He knows Coombes controls his finances, but I doubt he realizes how much has been stolen or the Degrassi involvement."

I straightened, my decision made. "Keep digging. I want everything you can find on Coombes—business dealings, personal life, the works. And see if you can track down that black sedan from yesterday."

"Already on it," Digger assured me. "Tex has some contacts at the department of transportation. We're pulling camera footage from the area."

"And we've no way of telling if the helicopter crash might not have been an accident, so nothing in front of Matty," I said. There was no point in adding to his worries.

I nodded my thanks and headed back to the kitchen, my mind churning with what I'd learned.

The rage I felt toward Coombes had intensified, but now it was worse.

This wasn't just about my parents anymore.

It was about Matty—the vulnerable young man who'd been manipulated, controlled, and now had been targeted for murder by someone who was supposed to protect him.

Guilt hit me. Wasn't I doing something similar? Using him? But I didn't want to hurt him, never that. When I returned to the kitchen, I found Matty nibbling tentatively on a piece of toast, looking slightly better than before. Daisy was hovering nearby, a satisfied expression on her face.

"There you are," she said when she spotted me. "I was just telling Matty about the time you and Cruise decided to rebuild that Harley in the living room."

Matty looked up at me, a hint of a smile on his pale face. "She said you got engine oil all over her new carpet."

"She's never let me forget it," I said, settling back into my chair beside him. "Feeling any better?"

He nodded cautiously. "Daisy's witch's brew actually helped.

My head doesn't feel like it's going to explode anymore.

" Most people would have been fine with the water I'd given him last night, but I was clearly going to have to be more careful with Matty, and definitely make sure he didn't skip any meals.

"Told you," Daisy said smugly, sliding a plate of pancakes in front of me. "Eat up, both of you. You'll need your strength."

I caught the subtle warning in her words—she knew. Just then, the prospects arrived with what looked like Matty's stuff.

"Bear?" Tik Tac yelled. "You want it in here or at your place?"

Shit. I didn't dare glance at Matty. This wasn't how I wanted him to find out I had a house.