Sin Brothers.

Total Surrender.

Rebecca Zanetti.

This book is dedicated to my grandparents:.

Dale and Helen Cornell, Jim and Naomi English, Herb and Ruth Zanetti, and Harry and Janet Voltolini.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

It's with both excitement and sadness that I finish up this fourth book in the Dean brothers' lives. This series found a wonderful home with Grand Central Publishing/Forever, and I'm grateful for the opportunity to work with so many wonderful, talented, and hardworking people.

A special thank-you to my editor, Michele Bidels.p.a.ch, who has the rare talent to see how much deeper a book can go, and who works tirelessly to make sure the book gets there. She's insightful, kind, and brilliant... and I'm truly thankful for the opportunity to work with her.

Thanks also to Jodi Rosoff, Marissa Sangiacomo, Megha Parekh, and Jamie Snider from Grand Central/Forever for the hard work, dedication, and attention to detail. Thanks also to Diane Luger and Elizabeth Turner for the spectacular covers, and to Joan Matthews for the excellent copyedits.

A big thank-you to my agent, Caitlin Blasdell, who understands world building better than anybody I've ever met, and who also protects me, even from myself. She's the voice of reason in a wild industry, and I definitely owe whatever angel sat on my shoulder when I signed with Caitlin. Thanks also to Liza Dawson and the Dawson gang for the hard work.

Finally, thank you to Big Tone for the support, humor, and good times. Whoever said a marriage can get boring has never met you. I love you. Also, thanks to Gabe and Karlina for the fun and for being such great kids. I love you both!

PROLOGUE.

Southern Tennessee Hills.

Twenty Years Ago.

JORY SET DOWN the screwdriver and shoved the computer guts off his legs. The feel of the wires against his small hands sparked all sorts of creativity, and he knew he could make the processor run faster. Way faster. "I don't want to train. Can't I finish putting this back together?"

"No." Nate, his older brother, crossed skinny arms at the door. Well, skinny for now. At about eleven years old, Nate was starting to get bigger, like their oldest brother, Matt, and would soon be all muscley, too.

Jory sighed and pushed to stand. Wires and electrical components dropped all around him. He'd never be big like his brothers. Even now, at seven years old or so, he was the shortest kid in the compound. "Training is a waste of time for me."

Nate's eyes blazed all sorts of gray fire in a bruised face. "Bulls.h.i.t. You're going to train like a demon until you finally grow and we don't have to worry about the commander sending you away."

Jory swallowed. What if he didn't ever grow? Fear shook through his hands, so he slid them into his back pockets. He had to be tough like his older brothers. He needed to be a soldier and not a computer guy. "I think the commander's gonna send me away."

"Matt won't let him," Nate said, scratching a scab on his elbow.

The door pushed open, and Shane clomped his combat boots inside. Although Shane was probably only a year older than Jory, he stood almost as tall as Nate, with identical gray eyes. All four brothers had the same gray eyes, so maybe they'd all somehow grow big like Matt. Hopefully.

Nate glanced down at Shane's hands before hustling across the barracks to nab a towel. "You're bleeding."

Shane swallowed and held out b.l.o.o.d.y hands for the worn cotton that might've been white at some time. "I can't practice knife fighting any more today with all the skin wearing off my palms."

"Too bad." Mattie stalked into the room, bruises on his face, a Glock in one big hand. He'd probably been at the shooting range. His black hair had been buzzed short, showing welts down his neck from hand-to-hand yesterday. "You're going back out to practice for at least another hour. Tonight, when you're least expecting it, I'm coming at you. You had better defend yourself."

Jory swallowed and leaned back against the concrete-block wall. His hands shook harder in his pockets. Matt was his big brother, and he loved him, but sometimes Matt got scary. When he got all determined to train them.

Shane winced. "I don't think so-"

"Shane." Matt didn't raise his voice or move from his spot in the doorway. "Train."

Shane scuffed his boots and eyed Nate, his shoulders straightening when Nate nodded. "Yes, sir," Shane said quietly.

Jory gave him a sympathetic smile. Nate always backed up Matt, but Mattie seemed to need that, so it was okay.

Tension spiraled through the room. Jory cleared his throat. Sometimes, even though they were tough soldiers, so much emotion clogged the room he couldn't breathe. Matt was fierce in his obsession to keep his brothers alive, while Nate was constant in his worry for everyone's safety. And Shane. If Shane wasn't exhausted, Shane was p.i.s.sed. So much anger in him sometimes.

Emotion hurt, and Jory shoved it down deep and did what he did best. It was his job to get rid of the hard looks on his brothers' faces. "Tomorrow is my birthday."

Shane grinned, while Matt and Nate exchanged glances.

Nate tilted his head. "We don't know when we were born, Jory."

"I know." Jory pointed to the computer he'd torn apart. "But I did some research earlier, and I found our birthdates."

Matt frowned. "You found records?"

"No. Astrology," Jory said, facing his brothers.

A grin split Nate's face, and Shane snorted.

Oh yeah. He got them to smile. Jory rocked back on his heels. "Mattie is a Scorpio, Nate a Capricorn, and Shane an Aquarius." Sure, he was probably wrong, but this was fun. Plus, he really had done some research, and the signs fit his brothers.

"And you?" Matt asked softly.

"I was born on August eighth. Eight-eight." Jory smiled. "I'm a Leo."

Shane coughed. "Why do you get to be the lion?"

Jory sobered. "Because even the smallest lion can have a big roar."

Understanding filled Matt's eyes as his chin dropped. "You're going to grow, little brother. Your feet are huge."

Yeah, and he usually tripped over them. "Maybe. But until then, I want to have a birthday party."

Nate blanched. "We have training all day tomorrow."

Yep, they sure did. Jory had memorized the schedule weeks ago, which was easy because his brain took pictures of everything he saw. But he forced a frown. "Shoot. Well, you could just give me a present."

Shane bit back a smile. "Nice. What do you want?"

Heat slid down Jory's throat to land in his stomach. So far, he hadn't been able to get his brothers to agree to what he wanted. "Since it's my eight-eight birthday, my golden birthday, it's important. Reaaally important."

Nate sighed and eyed the clock ticking on the wall. "What do you want, Jory?"

"A last name," he whispered.

Matt blew out air. "I told you we'd pick a name when we got out of here."

"Come on, Mattie." Jory yanked his hands from his pockets. "You're probably twelve or so... don't you want a last name we can all share?" He looked down at his feet, and his eyes stung. His brothers never cried, and neither would he. "Just in case the commander sends me away, I want us all to have the same name. Just so I know what it is so I can find you guys." His hands shook again, but this time he didn't care. Plus, if he died, he wanted the right name on the grave marker. He didn't even care if he got a cross or not, like the soldiers did in the cemetery outside of the nation's capital. He'd seen pictures once.

"Jesus," Matt muttered. "Listen to me, d.a.m.n it. The commander is not going to send you anywhere. I promise."

Jory looked up, and Matt's face wavered through tears he wasn't strong enough to get rid of. Matt was the strongest boy Jory had ever met, Nate was the best fighter, and Shane was brilliant. But they were just kids, and the commander was a grown-up. "I know, Mattie. But I really want a last name."

Shane bit his lip. "I do, too."

Silence ticked around the room.

Nate lifted his shooting shoulder. "Um, I kinda do, too."

Matt looked at each one of them in turn, his eyes darkening. Finally, his shoulders relaxed, which usually meant he'd made a decision. "Fine. Does anybody have an idea for a last name?"

"a.s.skickers?" Shane asked, hope in his voice.

Nate laughed. "We need something untraceable once we escape. Something that's us but is a lot of other people, too."

Jory nodded. "I got an idea last week when we snuck into the secondary command center and watched those old movies via satellite."

Matt rolled his eyes, a real smile finally lifting his lips. "I'm not going to be Mathew Casablanca. Period."

Nate grinned, his body visually relaxing as Matt joked with them again. "Um, no."

"I meant that movie, Rebel Without a Cause," Jory said, holding his breath.

"Rebel?" Nate asked.

"Stark-after Jim Stark?" Matt rubbed his chin. "I think that might be too rare."

Jory shook his head. "Dean. After James Dean. He was kinda lost like us, and I think he would've liked to be in our family. The Dean family." Jory held still, trying not to hope too hard.

His brothers all remained quiet for several heartbeats.

Finally, Nate nodded. "I like it."

"Shane Dean," Shane murmured. "Yeah. It's good."

Jory sucked in air and focused on his oldest brother.

Matt studied him for a moment and then slowly smiled. "The Dean family it is."

CHAPTER.

1.

Utah.

Current Day.

IN A COLD and dismal cell, surrounded by concrete blocks, Jory Dean counted out push-ups, his brain shutting down pain receptors in his body. Sweat dripped onto the cement floor, and steam coated the bulletproof gla.s.s wall.

Yet he pressed on, aligning himself for maximum effect, strengthening each muscle in turn. His mind would save him, but he'd need speed and strength first.

For months, fighting insanity in the small quarters, he'd forced himself to behave like a good prisoner. But when he was sure he was strong enough, he ruthlessly pushed himself, knowing he'd need to be in top condition to get free.

He turned inward to listen to his heart rate and lung capacity. For the briefest of time, as he'd escaped a two-year coma, his blood had pumped slower than normal. But now, after three months of intense training in the freezing cell, he was back to normal.

The second his captors gave him an opening, he'd create the opportunity.

To flee this h.e.l.l and finish what they'd started.

His body had taken more time than his brain to repair, and the senses that once had been merely superior now thrummed with additional power. Something was about to happen, and he was ready.

High heels clicked several hallways away, and he kept punishing his biceps until the sound neared the outside door. The click was off to a slight degree, as if the woman wearing them was limping.

Interesting.

He stretched to his feet and grabbed a ripped towel to wipe off his face, knowing full well who stood on the other side.

Heartbeats had signatures, as did breathing rates and bodily scents. He knew the woman's scent well.

Dr. Madison clicked inside the room, wearing her customary white lab coat over skirt and dangerously high heels. At around fifty years old, she appeared much younger. She'd piled her dark hair up on top of her head and had applied perfectly layered makeup that failed to mask a brutal black eye that extended to her temple.

Jory blinked, studying the pattern of the bruise. It was nonsymmetrical, not spread out enough to be from a fist, and looked a day old. A car crash?

Where had she been? Companionship, even hers, was better than being left by himself. Except for the techs who dropped off his food and picked up his tray, he'd been alone with his thoughts, and inside his head wasn't a pretty place to be.