Page 105 of Pucked Around and Found Out

His network.

I have been so focused on what Masen took from me that I haven't once stopped to look at what he built while I wasn't watching. I came back to Somerset looking for the brother I lost and found a stranger, and I assumed the stranger was new. I assumed grief and my father's corruption reshaped him into something I didn't recognize.

But you can't describe two hundred people across three states with that kind of precision unless you've been managing them for years.

The stranger isn't new.

The stranger is just the version of him I was never allowed to see.

I look at my brother across the table and something cold and clarifying moves through me.

How long have I not known him?

“Two hundred,” I repeat numbly.

‘The Kellar Cartel is extensive,” Masen says, his voice carefully neutral. “Dad spent decades building it. Creating networks. Securing loyalty. It's not just Somerset, it extends to three other states.”

“Jesus Christ, you've been running all of it,” I say. “Since you were seventeen.”

“Yes.”

“While playing hockey. While pretending to be normal.”

“Yes.”

I stare at him, trying to reconcile the brother I thought I knew with this stranger in front of me.

“How?” The word comes out broken. “How did you—how could you⁠—”

“Practice,” he says simply. “Compartmentalization. Dad trained me well.”

“Dad turned you into a criminal,” I correct harshly.

“Dad gave me purpose,” Masen shoots back. “Gave me power. Gave me something to build when everything else was falling apart.”

“You killed four people and Dad gave you an empire as a consolation prize?” My voice rises. “Is that what you're telling me?”

“No.” His voice hardens. “I killed four people and Dad gave me a way to make it mean something. To use the guilt and the pain to build something bigger than myself.”

“That's fucked up,” I breathe.

“Yeah.” He looks away. “It is.”

Silence stretches between us, heavy and uncomfortable.

“Tomorrow night,” I finally say. “When the men show up. What are you going to tell them?”

Masen looks back at me, and something shifts in his expression.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you're willing to stand beside me,” he says carefully. “Dad's dead. The cartel needs leadership or it falls apart. I'm the second, but I'm compromised. I need someone the men will respect. Someone with the Kellar name who can help me maintain control.”

My blood runs cold. “You want me to help you run Dad's empire?”

“I want you to help me keep it from tearing itself apart,” he corrects. “There's a difference.”