Page 10 of Ugly Truths (The Veiled Truths Trilogy #2)

Silas

I slam the three steel bolts into place, each one thudding into its reinforced socket with a snap that echoes down the hallway.

Above them, a panel beside the door blinks to life.

I swipe my keycard, waiting for the faint beep and the reassuring green light.

An electromagnetic seal hums quietly as it activates.

My chest heaves when I finally lean my back against the cold metal, trying to find my breath. She's in there, tied to that chair, and I hate it.

It shouldn't matter. It can't matter, but it does.

And that pisses me off even more.

Every thought I had in that room was a contradiction. Do I want to punish her or protect her? Hurt her or kiss her? Kill her or untie and fuck her? I was teetering on the edge when she looked me in the eye and told me with her whole chest that she wanted to choose me.

It sounded so convincing.

By the time I reach the elevator, my hands are shaking.

I punch in the code and press my thumb to the scanner.

The door slides open. This private elevator is a fortress, just like the rest of this building.

It's designed to keep people like Elena out.

And yet, here she is. In my world. Living under my skin. Again.

Though I'm the one who dragged her back here, it already feels like I've lost control. I hadn't expected her to threaten to die with the information I need .

All to protect precious fucking Luis.

Cillian came back from Colorado with Cora and the two runaways, but Paul and Lloyd stayed behind.

They're tearing through every inch of that asshole's life—his home, his records, every breadcrumb he's ever left behind.

Anything to figure out who the hell he is and how he got Elena out of my city without leaving a trace.

There aren't many institutions I haven't been able to influence, and that locally owned bank in Arizona was no exception.

One well-placed bribe, and the owner agreed to notify us the second there was activity on the account.

A week ago, that call came through about small transfers trickling into a new account at a national bank.

More challenging to trace, sure, but not impossible.

She made finding the routing trail easier by taking out cash.

I didn't bother asking about the details or how Davey did it.

All I cared about was dealing with her as quickly as possible.

Cillian and Cora were enroute to her within a day. Still, they had to wait a few more to make sure all our safeguards were in place, including access to their smart devices so we could intercept and answer any messages if questions started coming in.

The elevator shifts gears, rising smoothly. In less than a minute, the doors are opening onto the executive floor, opposite the public elevator.

After offering Leslie a curt greeting, I'm pushing my office door open. Davey is at my desk, the glow of my laptop illuminating his face. He looks up as I step inside, a slight furrow on his brow.

“That didn't go how I expected.” His voice is quiet, almost tentative.

I round my desk, loosening my tie just enough to take the pressure off of the lump it's pressing against. “What do you mean?”

Davey scratches the back of his neck, glancing at the screen as he stands. “I don't know.” His confusion is evident. “I thought she'd have more to say. Try harder to negotiate with you, something. But she's just sitting there.”

I follow his gaze to the screen and sink into the seat he just vacated. The video feed from the basement shows Elena exactly as I left her, head bowed to hide her face. The trembling in her shoulders tells me she's crying, though she makes no sound.

“She hasn't tried to talk her way out of it?” I ask, my voice tight, knowing she saw the security camera in the corner of the room. She wouldn't miss something like that.

Davey shakes his head. “Not a word. It's strange. This isn't the woman I remember from before.” His eyes meet mine, searching for some explanation I don't have.

My fists clench. “She'll talk.”

There's a beat of silence. “Maybe,” he responds.

I want to dismiss his words, but the way she sits there gnaws at me. Scarlett would still be fighting tooth and nail, spitting fire and venom at me or whoever would listen until her throat was raw.

Was that all just a part of her facade, too?

“What about Luis?” I ask.

Davey stands up straighter, visibly relieved to move on. “He's starting to bend. Says he knows Elena through work, helped her get out of a bad contract, and let her stay with him for a while. Cillian pressed him about their relationship, but he insists they're just friends.”

I scoff. “You believe him?”

Davey hesitates. “I don't know,” he admits. “It feels too clean, but he hasn't changed his story, even after some of Cill's… convincing.”

I sink my teeth into the inside of my cheek to keep my thoughts to myself.

We'd agreed it was best if I wasn't the one to question Luis.

Davey figured I wouldn't know when to stop, and he's probably right.

There's not a single punishment I'd give that wouldn't have him screaming loud enough for Elena to hear through the walls, and I don't want either of them to realize they're only three holding rooms apart.

The basement of this building hasn't always existed in its current form.

Almost a decade ago, my father offloaded some of his assets as he began to consider retirement.

It made sense for him to sell the building to me, given the trajectory of my career.

I hadn't even considered what I'd do with the space until the world stopped seeing me as just William Wells's oldest son and started seeing me as the heir.

That's when the threats really started.

First, they were subtle: hushed whispers, veiled warnings.

Then they became louder, more violent. A kidnapping attempt at a charity gala.

A bullet through the front door of my old penthouse.

My father kept telling me that I just needed to increase my security as he had, as if another guard or another system would be enough.

When the threats got too close and I found myself waiting for someone else to handle it, something in me snapped. Not from fear, but from rage. A deep, soul-splitting fury that hollowed me out and made space for one truth: I'd never feel that powerless again.

So I stopped waiting.

That's when the training started. Combat, firearms, strategy—anything that would make me a weapon instead of a target.

I built my own team, piece by piece. People I handpicked to protect me and everyone I gave a damn about.

I never made a show of what I was doing, but people close to me saw the change.

I stopped going to events unless I had to. Changed my routines. Cut access to anyone who didn't have a reason to be close. The more I learned, the tighter I drew the lines around my life. Privacy stopped being a preference and became a necessity.

My father noticed the change too, though he never acknowledged it directly. In typical Wells fashion, he offered criticisms wrapped in concern.

“Trying to be a one-man army now?”

“Most people outgrow that kind of paranoia.”

I told him it was my business to worry about, and that was the end of the conversation.

He still makes comments now and then about Cillian and the rest of my team, but I choose not to respond.

His judgment is the reason I never disclosed the holding rooms and other utility spaces I built in the basement, or what my team uses them for.

To his knowledge, I employ a bunch of overqualified bodyguards.

He's never asked in earnest about any of it and, if I'm being honest, I didn't want to hear what he'd have to say.

And in some small, sick way, I enjoy having a piece of something that he has no part in. Something I made and run on my own. Damn well, too.

“How's Colorado going?” I ask to redirect my thoughts.

Davey's quick to tell me what Paul and Lloyd have been able to find out about Luis so far, which is oddly reminiscent of the life Elena led. They're in the process of locking up his home to avoid suspicion.

When Cillian was on his way back to Chicago, he contacted Elena's boss at the restaurant from her phone to say she had a family emergency in Arizona, Luis joined her for support, and she wouldn't know when she'd return.

The woman didn't even question it, and we haven't run into any other issues yet.

My brother-in-law clears his throat. “We also got an update on the servers.” He nods towards my laptop. “Brenden sent the location. It's an office building close by. Basement level. We'll head over this afternoon, but I need to see what we're working with before I can give you any timelines.”

Then, he hesitates, glancing at me with uncertainty. “Jeremy was looking for you earlier,” he says. “He said he wants to have lunch with you and talk.”

I let out a frustrated sigh, dragging a hand down my face.

Of course he does.

Jeremy has been more adamant than ever about becoming more involved at Wells, and I've had to take several meetings to discuss his “ideas.”

“What does he want now?” I mutter, more to myself than anything .

Davey shrugs. “Not sure. He's been, I don't know, weird lately. I'd tread lightly.” He pauses, then adds, “I'll round up the IT team. Let me know if you decide to come with us.”

As he leaves, my focus returns to my laptop. Elena hasn't moved an inch. She looks thinner than when she left, her hair now chopped off to her shoulders. There's a heaviness pressing on her that I only remember seeing her the last week she stayed with me.

Before I allow myself to fixate on her any longer, I slam the laptop shut and lean over to my landline to dial Leslie's extension.

If I can't figure Elena out, I'll deal with Jeremy instead.