Page 12

The rising sun made the images on Quinn’s walls and ceiling fade. They were still there, faint light and transparent shadows dancing on every surface, but they were harder to parse now.

Thank God.

Sleep had eluded him. Between the heat and the bright, loud videos projected all over his room, he’d managed a few brief stretches of unconsciousness before he’d snap awake again. Now his head pounded and throbbed as if he were hung over, and he was tired to the point of nausea.

It didn’t help that the rising sun brought with it fresh warmth, which only made the room uncomfortably hotter. Growing up in Phoenix, Hawaii, Dubai, and various other places his jet-setting family had lived and traveled, Quinn was no stranger to heat. Inescapable heat, though— that was miserable. In all the places he’d been, there’d always been relief available. Air conditioning. A comfortable breeze. A cool swimming pool. Something .

But the heat and lack of sleep weren’t the only reasons he was sick to his stomach.

All night long, he’d been bombarded with horrors he’d never known existed. Seared into his brain beside videos of his father touring construction sites was footage of the deplorable working conditions on those sites. A monotone voice narrated the images, accusing the Hayworth family of everything from worker exploitation to environmental destruction.

He’d had no idea the dark truth behind one of the jewels in the real estate empire’s crown—a sprawling development of homes with seven-figure price tags nestled in Washington state’s Cascade foothills. But there it had been, projected all over the walls of his suite—the aggressive lobbying and palm-greasing to relax environmental protections. The straight-up bribery to pretend they wouldn’t be destroying wildlife habitats and damaging critical waterways.

It was also one of the few developments, he learned, where his father’s company hadn’t recruited as many undocumented immigrants as possible to work for next to nothing. No, this project had been built during a time when Hayworth Development had been applauded for helping the city of Seattle with its massive homeless problem. There’d been news articles and even awards because the company had generously relocated almost two hundred people from the city’s streets to communities of tiny homes built along the I-5 corridor.

“Contrary to the story fed to the public,” the narrator’s voice echoed in Quinn’s throbbing head, “those individuals were temporarily relocated to a site that was a logging camp during the timber industry’s heyday over a century ago. They were later shipped off to other cities— after they’d finished building the seventy-one homes making up the Riverbend Heights neighborhood for far below minimum wage.”

Lying there in his bed, sticky with sweat and hazy with fatigue, Quinn struggled to make sense of it all. He’d thought his father was just a savvy businessman. That he’d taken the reins of his own father’s thriving business and turned it into an empire worth billions.

Quinn wiped a clammy hand over his sweaty face.

His relatives and his late father’s colleagues had loudly criticized him for refusing to take over the business. They’d called him useless and lazy for leaving the company in other hands while he continued enjoying the high-rolling life of a billionaire’s heir.

So why the fuck was he being beat over the head with the sins of his father? He stared up at the ceiling, the remnants of the videos fading as the morning light intensified. Why was he here? He’d neither known about nor participated in his father’s pursuit of wealth and power.

Maybe Rich didn’t realize how little Quinn had been involved. Maybe he somehow thought Quinn had followed in his father’s footsteps.

Maybe this was all a mistake.

An image flashed through his mind of the suited man cutting Eric Valentine’s throat in the boardroom. Quinn shuddered as he tried to keep his stomach from rebelling.

Eric was also a product of generational wealth, born of a family who’d created a chain of massive box stores. While Eric could absolutely live it up as the child of billionaires—God knew he and Quinn had crossed paths on the high society party scene—he was also very aggressively involved in his parents’ company. He’d been instrumental in getting the stores into over a dozen countries outside North America.

Geri had assumed the position of CEO after her father’s death. Kyle Aimes and Kit Mason had taken over their respective companies after their parents had retired. Charlie Simmons and Paul O’Connor had, along with their business partners, built their empires from the ground up.

Quinn hadn’t wanted to get involved with his dad’s company. Not out of any altruism or some belief that the company was unethical—he just hadn’t wanted that life. Either way, he hadn’t played any part in the apparently awful practices of Hayworth Development.

Eric hadn’t deserved to die, and Quinn didn’t think anyone else on this island did either. But if Rich’s intent truly was to punish those who made billions on the backs of others—then why was he here? All he’d done was be born into the Hayworth family. He’d very publicly and conspicuously not taken part in the company.

What the fuck? Why am I here? I haven’t done anything!

This had to be a mistake. It had to be. There was no way—

Abruptly, the projections on the walls and ceiling turned off, and a voice barked from the same hidden speakers the narrator’s had: “Mr. Hayworth, report to the restaurant in thirty minutes.”

His mouth went dry. Shit.

Though… did that mean the doors were unlocked now? He tried the handle, and sure enough, the door swung open. He was no longer trapped in his room.

Still trapped on this fucking island, though.

But maybe not for long? He’d talk to Rich as soon as possible. He could clear up this mistake and get the hell out of this place.

And maybe if he did, he could sound the alarm and let the authorities know what was happening here.

Body aching with fatigue but head buzzing with determination, he rolled to his feet and stumbled into the bathroom. Showering helped. He couldn’t get the water hot and he couldn’t get any decent pressure, but the lukewarm trickle was both a relief from the oppressive heat and enough of a jolt to wake him up a little.

On the way into the restaurant downstairs, he encountered Kevin, and he pulled him aside. “Hey, um, I’d like to speak to Mr. Price.”

Kevin looked bored. “A lot of people would like to speak to him. What makes you think your concerns are his?”

“Uh… Well…” Quinn cleared his throat. “Would you mind telling him? I’m sure he can decide for himself if he wants to speak with me.”

Kevin scowled. “I’ll pass the word along.”

Somehow, Quinn doubted that.

To his surprise, though, an hour later, as all the competitors were filing into the elevator take them up to the boardroom, Rich appeared beside him. He gestured for Quinn to hang back.

Pulse jumping, Quinn stood aside to let everyone else get on the elevator. After the doors had closed, Rich turned to Quinn. “I understand you wanted to speak with me.”

“I—yes, yes, I did.” Quinn cleared his throat. “To cut right to the chase, I… I don’t think I’m supposed to be here.”

The upward flick of a single eyebrow had never been so menacing. An unspoken, “Are you sure you want to tug at this thread, Mr. Hayworth?”

The memory of Eric Valentine’s blood erupting from his throat and between his fingers both terrified Quinn and galvanized him. He knew the man in front of him was more than capable of giving an order to kill someone where they stood. At the same time, if Quinn stayed here any longer, he was going to wind up like Eric. He had to do this, and he had to do it now, or he might as well lie down and give up.

“I don’t think I’m supposed to be here,” he said again. He showed his palms. “Look, you’ve made your point about what my father’s company was involved in. Is involved in.” Lowering his hands, he shook his head. “But I’ve never had any part in it. I can even show you emails I’ve received from people saying I’m betraying my father’s legacy by refusing to get involved. I…” He gestured around them. “I don’t think I belong here.”

Rich studied him. “So you’ve never played any role in your father’s company.”

“No. Never!” Hope swelled in Quinn’s chest. “It just wasn’t what I wanted to do.”

“I see. What did you want to do?”

Quinn shrugged. “Nothing, honestly. I like investing in startups and stuff—that’s why I accepted the invite to come here—but I just like, you know, traveling and gambling and shit. I don’t want any part of what my dad was doing.” He paused. “Especially not after the stuff I saw last night.”

“What stuff?”

Quinn explained some of the things he’d seen projected all over his walls all night. “I… honestly, I never know about most of that. It’s all just…” He trailed off, unsure how to describe it. “I get how fucked up my family’s business is. But… I haven’t done anything.”

Rich’s expression was impossible to read as he watched Quinn. After a moment, he said, “So you enjoy playing with your family’s wealth. You just want no part of its acquisition.”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

The man nodded slowly. “Are you familiar with blood diamonds, Mr. Hayworth?”

Furrowing his brow, Quinn said, “Um. Yes?”

“Right. Right. So you know where the term comes from. All of that.”

Quinn nodded.

“Mmhmm. And if my father owned a company distributing those diamonds—well, the company, since we all know there’s only one —and I lived a lavish lifestyle funded by that company…” He inclined his head. “Wouldn’t you say my lifestyle was paid for by blood diamonds?”

The hope in Quinn’s chest died away, and his stomach flipped. “I, uh…” He swallowed. “I guess it would be, yeah.”

“It would be,” Rich confirmed. “And in that same respect, your life—your entire lavish existence—comes directly from Hayworth Development. For better or worse.” He clapped Quinn’s shoulder hard enough to throw him off-balance. “You say you haven’t done anything, and you’re correct.” He squeezed Quinn’s shoulder painfully. “That’s exactly the problem.”

Quinn gaped, speechless.

Rich gave his shoulder another squeeze. “I assure you, Quinn. You’re not here by accident.” Then he let go, went to the elevator, and pressed the button. When the doors opened, he stepped inside, eyeing Quinn as if to ask, Are you coming?

Quinn didn’t want to be, but what choice did he have? So, he joined Rich in the elevator, and as it climbed the tower toward the boardroom, Quinn’s head spun. He was too exhausted and terrified to pull his thoughts into order. His brain just could not comprehend that he was here, he was in this, and there was no mistake. There was no escape.

One thought did swim to the surface of the maelstrom in his mind, though:

At this point, it didn’t matter if Rich was right or wrong in his assessment that Quinn should be here. Quinn was here, and if he didn’t want to wind up like Eric Valentine…

He had no choice but to play the fucking game.