Page 9 of Velvet Betrayal (The Dark Prince of Boston #3)

Kieran

I t was simple. Protect Rosie and Ruby. Keep Tristan in the dark. Don’t fuck this up.

I spent most of the afternoon splitting wood behind the house, letting the axe do the talking.

The wind was sharp enough to cut skin, and the sweat freezing under my shirt stung worse than the cold.

But I preferred this—the ache in my shoulders and the numbness in my fingers—to standing around in the kitchen, pretending not to stare at Ruby.

From here, I could see her through the window—dressed in borrowed black, looking every inch the threat she’d always been.

She crouched in front of Rosie, stripping off snow-wet layers, laughing at something the kid said.

Ruby held one mitten between her teeth while she zipped up Rosie’s coat, saying something that made Rosie laugh in turn.

Of course she was good at this. Of course she made it look easy.

She was always calm with Rosie—no panic, no raised voice, just steady hands and that low voice that made people listen. Watching her made something twist behind my ribs.

Our daughter.

The words still didn’t sit right in my head. Like they belonged to someone luckier, someone who hadn’t ghosted the woman he loved and missed the first eight years of his kid’s life.

Raising Rosie with her would’ve been the fucking dream.

And I gave it up without even knowing I had it.

I caught myself, axe raised over the next log.

With Ruby, it was never about the “with.” She belonged to herself, always had, and I’d convinced myself that was what I wanted.

Her freedom, her edges. But every time I caught her tying Rosie’s boots or testing her cocoa like she was making sure it wasn’t poisoned, I felt the regret settle deeper in my chest.

Letting her go had been the dumbest thing I’d ever done.

I’d ghosted her. And maybe one day she’d forgive me for that. But the price was steep: she hadn’t told me about Rosie. My own fucking kid. I wanted to be pissed, but mostly, splitting wood just felt like penance. Every splinter, every thud of the axe, was time I’d never get back.

I stacked the last of the logs, sap sticking to my palms, and wiped my hands on my jeans. The wind knocked a branch loose from the birch and sent it rattling down the ice. Inside, they were still laughing.

For a second, I let myself believe this could be normal.

Most of my life, I’d lived with violence breathing down my neck.

But nothing— nothing —had prepared me for the slow-burn panic of hiding a kid.

All of a sudden, it made a hell of a lot more sense why Tristan was such an asshole sometimes…

because he was keeping three kids safe, even though we all knew there were dozens, maybe hundreds, of people who would love to have his head on a platter.

Then I heard it—a car. Close.

The engine whined, tires chewing up snow maybe a hundred yards out. Not on our drive…not yet, but coming. My body moved before my brain caught up. I grabbed the axe, already turning toward the door.

Inside, I slammed the deadbolt home. Ruby looked up, and I caught her eyes. “Upstairs,” I said, low and fast. “Take Rosie. Hide.”

Her spine straightened, not with fear, but with focus. She crossed the room in two steps and crouched beside Rosie like this was just a game, voice light as she said, “Let’s go upstairs, baby. I want to show you something.”

Rosie giggled and followed without hesitation, her little boots thumping on the steps.

It made something in me twist.

She didn’t know what this was. Didn’t know what the world was really like. And I hadn’t been there to teach her.

There were people out there who would hurt her.

She needed to know that.

I just prayed she wouldn’t have to learn it today.

Ruby paused on the landing. I met her gaze again and said, “Lock the back door behind me.”

She nodded once. Then she was gone.

I stepped through the kitchen and out the back.

If they forced the door, I knew exactly what I’d do—kill fast, move faster, get Ruby and Rosie into the woods. I’d done it before. I could do it again.

But not yet.

I crossed to the woodpile and picked up the axe—not for chopping this time. I tested the weight of it in my hand. The handle was damp and cold, a little slick from melted snow, but it sat heavy in my grip like it remembered me.

I moved to the side of the house and dropped into a crouch, half-shadowed by the drift. My breath fogged the air. The axe rested against the snow, butt-down, waiting.

If it came to blood, I wouldn’t hesitate.

Not for them.

Not ever.

The car engine shifted pitch…then cut.

Doors opened and shut—sharp cracks, clean and loud in the stillness.

Footsteps. Two sets.

I didn’t have to see them to know: cop-walk. That steady, squared-up pace you learn when you’ve never had to run. Could’ve been contractors. Could’ve been state. Could’ve been worse.

Then the knock—measured. Knuckles, not the heel of a fist. Friendly. Curious. The kind that’s meant to sound safe.

I prayed Ruby didn’t fall for it.

If they’d spotted me by the shed, they weren’t showing it. I edged along the wall, slogging through drifted snow. Moved slow. Low.

By the time I reached the edge of the porch, I had eyes on them.

First guy was a mountain. Built like he’d been poured into his jacket.

His partner was the opposite—thin, twitchy, with the look of someone who’d memorized the inside of a patrol car.

Not the front of the car either…the back.

These weren’t cops; they were thugs pretending to be cops.

…fuck me.

I did the math: if they wanted to bust in, they’d already be inside. This was a knock-and-talk, fishing for something, or maybe just trying to look official until they had more to go on.

The hollow-cheeked one raised his voice. “Anyone home?” he called, almost polite. “Saw a car out front. Just checking on whoever’s here.”

I dropped lower, making sure I was out of the line of fire if things went sideways. No point getting shot before I even got a word in.

The big one chimed in. “Anybody hurt? We saw tracks out back. Looked fresh.”

I didn’t move. Not an inch. My whole job was to stay invisible, to listen. I tracked their breathing, the way their boots shifted and tapped out little patterns of impatience on the porch.

Inside, Rosie giggled. Loud enough to carry through the thin glass. Fuck. That was it. They’d try the handle next, maybe knock one more time just to say they’d tried.

The skinny one changed tactics. “We’re with the county. Otis substation,” he said, voice raised. “You’re not in trouble. There’s a gas main advisory.”

Bingo. Not a threat—yet. Just a probe.

If they really knew who was inside, they wouldn’t bother with a script. No uniforms, no backup, no warrants. Just two men, sent to confirm a location before someone meaner showed up to make the grab.

I tightened my grip on the axe. Just in case this was the part where it got messy.

They knocked again, louder this time. “Ma’am? If you’re in there, I need you to open up. It’s not safe to leave the gas running overnight.”

I caught a flicker of movement upstairs—the curtain shifting.

Ruby, watching, fast enough that they didn’t catch a glimpse of her.

She wouldn’t open the door or show herself unless she absolutely had to.

Smart play was to let them get bored and leave, maybe take a picture of the car on the way out.

Worst case, they circled the house, spotted the tracks, and came back with backup.

Standard playbook. I counted down the minutes in my head. Three, maybe five, then they’d bail.

The two men took turns pounding on the door, never quite in sync. Like they couldn’t agree on who was in charge. I tried to anticipate the rhythm, but the nerves made every silence feel like a question I couldn’t answer.

Minutes ticked by. At first, the two of them did a slow patrol of the porch, calling out every so often—“Ma’am?

State orders, we can’t leave until we know you’re okay,” and “Just knock if you need anything”—but their voices got less certain with every lap.

The skinny one drifted back toward the cruiser, fiddled with a radio, and scribbled notes on a pad like he actually cared.

The big guy lingered at the bottom of the steps, eyes tracing the icicles along the eaves and the weird old latticework on the windows.

For half a second, I thought he might have seen something inside, but he wasn’t really looking.

He was scanning for a security camera, or maybe just an excuse to leave and say he’d done his job.

Then, out of nowhere, the skinny guy called up, “Hey, little girl at the window—could you get your mom, please?”

Shit.

I slid the axe alongside the wall, close enough that I could grab it if I needed it, and stepped out onto the porch like I’d meant to all along. “Hey,” I said, easy. “Sorry, I had headphones on while I was out back. What’s up? My daughter was napping.”

The big one gave me a once-over, like it was the most normal thing in the world for a mobster posing as a lumberjack to carry out a perfectly executed jump scare on the porch of what must have looked like an abandoned cabin.

“We’re looking for the property manager.

Yours is the only car up here.” His gaze lingered on my .

“Gas main’s out on Becket. State’s running wellness checks. ”

“Didn’t see any notice on the drive in,” I said, keeping my tone flat. Uncooperative Vacationer: that was the play. “Is there an actual leak?”

He gave me a smile, patient and a little condescending. “Could be. Storm’s not helping. Neighbor two over reported a smell.” He nodded at the roof. “Can’t be too careful. Is the homeowner around?”

“Just me, my wife, and the kid upstairs. Pipes are all new. You want to check a meter or something, Officer…?”

He laughed, not even trying to sell the badge. “It’s Deputy. But close enough, pal.” He backed up a few steps to peer up at the window. I couldn’t see Rosie or Ruby…but we both knew they were there. “Hey there, sweetheart. You staying warm?”

I shot him a cold smile. “She doesn’t talk to strangers.”

He blinked, slow and deliberate, like we were negotiating terms without saying a word. The thin one started up the steps, not even bothering to shake the snow from his boots. He had a clipboard, but it was all wrong—like he’d seen it in a movie and decided to improvise.

“You’re not from the county,” I said.

He stopped, just shy of the door. “You want to be a smart guy, or just answer a couple questions and get back to your family?”

I didn’t answer. Didn’t have to.

The big guy shrugged. “Here’s the thing, friend.

There are people in this area that aren’t supposed to be here.

” He gave another look up at the window.

“You fit the bill. We’re supposed to call it in, but honestly?

We don’t care. We’re just looking for a woman and a kid. Not even supposed to say why.”

“Weird job for a deputy,” I said.

The skinny one grinned, sharp and tired. “Like you’re the only one with a side hustle?”

Almost believable, honestly. Not the story, but the tone—a guy who’d figured out the angles, realized this wasn’t worth the trouble, and wanted to get home in one piece. Better than someone who wanted to be a hero. Or a Callahan.

So that was something.

The heavy looked past me, into the dim foyer. “If you see them, or if they try to break in—”

I cut him off. “What, the woman and the kid? You want to leave a number in case they break in and steal my juice boxes?

He reached into his coat, pulled out a battered wallet, and peeled off a card that looked freshly printed—too clean, no county seal.

I took it anyway, letting my fingers linger just long enough to note the cheap stock, the name that probably wasn’t his, and the burner number printed crooked near the bottom.

The pen mark across the top read Otis County Services, but the ink had already started to bleed from the cold.

They left with what dignity they could muster, boots thumping down the steps, the skinny one muttering to himself and the big one easing back into the driver’s seat.

I watched them as they sat there, killing time for a few minutes before backing down the drive…

not even remotely aware that I had an axe around the corner just begging to split their skulls.

Eventually, the engine growled to life. They backed down the drive slow, not even bothering to check for prints.

That told me the only thing I needed to know: that they’d found what they were looking for…and they’d be back.

I waited another ten seconds. Then I circled back around the side of the house, fist stiff from the cold as I knocked twice—sharp, then soft.

Ruby cracked the back door. “Are they gone?”

“Yes,” I said. “But we’ve been made. We have to go.”

I didn’t say it out loud, but I was already calculating—routes, fuel, food, fallback shelters. No time for pancakes. No time for a last snowball fight. If those two weren’t the solution, they were the preview. Someone meaner would be next. Someone official. Someone who got paid by the body.

That’s how you lost people.

Ruby stepped back to let me in. I shut the door behind me and locked it fast, already pulling the curtain to check the window. The taillights had disappeared, but the wind hadn’t changed. Still biting. Still sharp. I didn’t trust it.

“We leave now,” I said. “I’ll take the ATV down the lower trail. It’s not registered, won’t ping anything.”

Ruby was already moving. “Is it running?”

“It’ll run.”

It wasn’t. Not yet. But I’d make it. If I had to hotwire the damn thing with my teeth and a jump box, I’d make it run.

“Five minutes,” I said. “Pack warm layers. Nothing traceable. Grab the red pack from the hall closet. Leave the rest.”

Rosie’s voice piped up from the landing, bright and excited. “Is this the secret part of the adventure?”

“Yeah,” I said, plastering a smile on my face. “This is the super secret part. You remember what we practiced?”

She nodded, solemn now. “Quiet as a fox.”

“That’s my girl.”

Ruby went still. Just for a second…but she didn’t call me on it.

She just grabbed the go-bag and said, “Five minutes, then let’s go on an adventure.”