Page 70 of Undercover Shadow
“And MacLeod—forever in his brother’s shadow, managing the family’s estates like a servant.” MacLeod flinched. “His own family’s properties, and he’s treated like staff.” Ambrose glanced at Renegade. “And your family’s as well.”
“We call ourselves the Forgotten Sons,” Ambrose continued with a smirk. “We met at the Imperial Club, but it wasn’t until Fallon Wallace provided the resources and connections that we understood our real purpose. She knew what it meant to be denied your birthright—she’d built an empire from nothing while watching incompetent men inherit fortunes. Together, we were going to create a new world order. One where power was earned, not inherited.”
“Brose—” Con took half a step forward.
“Don’t.” Ambrose’s thumb twitched on the mobile screen. “One more step and I release it.”
He looked at each of us in turn—at Ash, the nephew who’d inherited everything when his father died; at Con and me, earls in our own right; at Gus, who’d recently discovered his own aristocratic bloodline.
“All of you were born into wealth and privilege you never had to fight for.” His eyes had gone too bright. “You’ve never known what it’s like to be overlooked, dismissed, treated as less than, despite being equal in every way that matters. AIWS is power that can’t be taken away by birth order or family trees.”
“This isn’t you.” Con kept his aim steady. “You’re family.”
Ambrose’s sneer was ugly. “Family? None of you ever cared whether I existed. You tolerated me at gatherings, humored me, but did any of you ever really see me? I was furniture. Background noise.”
“You haven’t earned anything.” Ash’s voice broke halfway through. “You’ve destroyed everything. For what? For revenge? Your actions won’t bring my mother back or make you the heir.Nothing will change except prove you were never worthy of any of it.”
Ambrose started to respond, but movement on the laptop screen caught his eye. His head snapped toward McLaren at the terminal.
Even from where I stood, I could read the display.Unauthorized Access. Administrative Override in Progress.
His face went white, then red with rage.
“Step away from that terminal! Now!”he screamed.
McLaren had been working silently the entire standoff, her thin frame hunched over the keyboard. Twenty feet separated her from where Ambrose held his weapon to Nightingale’s head. All focus had stayed on him, on the threat, on his mobile—and she’d used the distractions.
She didn’t pause. She kept entering code with the desperation of someone who knew they had one chance.
“I rescued you!” Ambrose’s voice cracked with fury. “I pulled you from the burning building when everyone else ran. I nursed you back to health, gave you purpose again.”
“You imprisoned me.” McLaren turned to face him, thin and exhausted but with her spine straight. “You kept me drugged for weeks until I was too weak to resist. You threatened to hurt innocent people if I didn’t comply. This was supposed to prevent war, not enable terrorism.”
The screen behind her continued scrolling—Accessing Core Protocols.
“I gave you everything!” Ambrose continued his rant. “Resources, equipment, the freedom to perfect your work!”
“You gave me chains disguised as opportunity.” McLaren’s voice held steady now. “I helped create AIWS to prevent nuclear war, to give governments a non-lethal option. You’ve perverted it into a tool for mass murder.”
Ambrose was stuck. He couldn’t remove the threat from Nightingale, because that was the only thing stopping us from advancing on him. That meant he couldn’t stop McLaren, and he couldn’t release the mobile.
“I said to stop, now!”he screamed again.
Like before, she ignored him.
I saw his intent a second too late—the slight shift in his stance, the way his arm tensed. Ambrose raised his weapon and fired. The shot cracked through the chamber. McLaren jerked forward against the keyboard, her hands clutching at the desk for support. I lunged, but Ambrose swung the barrel back to Nightingale’s head, still clutching the mobile in his other hand.
“Don’t move!” he shouted at us as McLaren slid from the chair, blood soaking her shirt. She reached toward Lex with trembling fingers, then shifted her gaze to Nightingale.
“Damascus…” Each word cost her. Blood frothed at her lips. “Codes…”
Her breath rattled in her chest.
“Finish it…”
Her hand dropped, and her gaze went blank, as if fixated on something none of us could see.
Lex made a sound as if she’d been gutted. She tried to move forward, but Con caught her arm even as she fought against him.
