CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX #2
I swirl my dwindling caramel-colored liquid, like I’ve seen Wells do with his scotch countless times.
“I did a little digging. While I can’t pinpoint the exact location of where Hailey might be buried, I found an area mentioned on the dark web.
” Pulling a map from my purse, I slide it toward him, the suspected area circled.
“The caverns don’t offer a lot of burial grounds , so while it might be a jump, it’s not a long one.
If you tell Monroe that you know what he and Dalton did to Hailey and that you have Mercy and her son in your possession, he’ll take Dalton down himself in the spirit of saving his grandson and his own ass, and Mercy can return to you.
Your hands will appear squeaky clean, and she’ll be relieved that the Holden family has closure. ”
“Fuck me,” he mumbles, scrubbing both hands over his face like he’s waking up. “Jesus. Wells is a fucking moron. What the hell happened with you two?”
That begs the question, what does he know? Or think he knows?
“Sometimes, things aren’t what they seem.” It’s the only answer that makes sense here. The only one I’m capable of offering that isn’t woven with self-deprecation or information I can’t divulge.
Ryker is someone I could’ve been friends with in another life.
He’s unabashedly himself, not hiding anything—threat, power, anger, relief.
Gratefulness. It reassures me I did this right.
I could’ve found another way with the necklace, not risking the Noire brothers calling Wells.
But I wanted to do this. For Hailey Holden.
For Mercy. For Ryker. And for my father.
It’s what he would want, why people trusted him .
That thought seems to coast over Ryker as well—realizing he won the fatter pot in this gamble. He moves to pour me a little more whiskey, but I lift my palm to stop him.
“You can stay the night,” he says. “You’ve earned your place here, separate from Wells’s crew.”
I roll my lips in, the thought of Rena and maybe Ryker being yet one more place I could’ve fit knotting me up. Could have. “I can’t. I’m not safe here, and I’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”
“There’s no safer place for you than with us.” He slings that with a shadow of offense.
But I know all about relying on villains to protect me from other villains. I’ve lived it.
And died to it.
“Thank you,” I say, standing. “I know you’d be capable of protecting me, but it’s not the kind of freedom I’m chasing. If we could just work out the details for the necklace, I’ll be out of your hair.”
He nods in agreement, and after sauntering away to grab a pen and notebook from his desk, he writes down all the information on the jeweler, referring to his phone a few times. Glancing up at me, he asks, “Is the time important?”
I ponder that. I’ve got a ten-hour drive ahead, and I’d like to be settled with the security system before the jeweler checks the serial number. It’s late afternoon now. “Four p.m., if it isn’t any trouble.”
“No trouble,” he says, still scribbling down some information. “The whole staff is under our thumb, so we’ll handle the threats. No worries there either.”
I titter a quiet chuckle, my chest tightening at the threats that will undoubtedly be unraveling in a frenzy. “Wells may be the worst to—”
“I’ll handle him.” He waves me off, plainly nettled by the idea that Wells could be an issue. Cockfighting. “He’ll at least know you’re in one piece. And luring the people after you makes his job easier. He should fucking thank me.”
Yeah, I wouldn’t count on that .
I’m not sure why his flippant remark about Wells slices me the way it does, but I’m suddenly consumed with worry.
What if he doesn’t come after me? What if he really was willing to let me go and I’m deluding myself into believing he cares enough to chase me?
What if, like the phantom ache between my legs that I feel every damn morning upon waking, I’m nothing more than that? A quiet whisper of what was?
Ryker scans my face, his icy eyes and sculpted features melting into domineering agitation. That’s probably as gentle as he gets. “You’re staying for dinner.”
My mouth falls open to protest, but he doesn’t allow me to speak.
“It isn’t a request. You’re staying. Rena will join us here in the suite.”
There’s an undercurrent to his demand. My good-faith information earned me not just an invitation to La Lune Noire, but one to their inner circle. Another family to leave behind.
“If Axel sees me—”
“No one will contact Wells or his crew tonight,” he assures me. “I’ll see to it. He’ll be calling us tomorrow anyway.”
With that, he trades me the jeweler info for the necklace and a note with two pictures of Wells taped to it: one from his service years, the other from my painting—best I could do.
He locks the ruby necklace and the envelope in a safe under his desk and swipes his phone, presumably for our dinner arrangements, while I fidget, torn between staying and fleeing.
Amid my internal debate, he ushers me out to the dining room. “Sit,” he orders.
And I do. Not out of fear or obligation. But because that barking command was a taste of home. An echo of my husband, the man whose orders shattered me and made me whole.
Rena waltzes in moments later, arms out and squawking as I bounce up to greet her.
She made good on her piercing chains with an elegant nose-to-eyebrow adornment, and with the thin material of her shirt, it looks as though her nipples have capitalized on their prime piercing real estate. God love her.
It floods me with thoughts of the clamps Wells was so fond of—the delightful sting of the pain and pleasure, magnified by his praise. I can’t imagine exploring that ache inside me with anyone else, but I brush off the reminiscence.
Rena swallows me with an alarming amount of force, a hug reaching my bones and heart and forgotten past. “Where the fuck have you been, girl?”
Ryker levels her with an admonishing glare, but I laugh and simply say, “A secret mission of sorts.”
She skips backward, a wistful chide on her magenta-painted lips. “Secret mission? I tracked you down to a hospital in Ohio, where I presume you dyed your hair this foxy brown. The only secret is what the hell was wrong—”
“You were told to leave it the fuck alone!” Ryker scolds, his booming tenor ricocheting off every solid surface in the suite.
Rena flip-flops her hand like she’s swatting at a bug. “Please. Like you get to school me on that shit, Mr. Walk Away .”
Ryker snarls, bulldog mode in overdrive. “Axel and I don’t want you mixed up in whatever the hell this is!”
She howls, twisting her pink-and-gold strands, and rolling her wild hazel eyes—a brighter green than I remember. “And yet you’re arranging a quiet dinner for us all? How hypocritically quaint.”
I’m amused by the exchange, but also sickened by the derisive chasm I’m wedging between them. I’ve endured enough of that for a lifetime. “I don’t want to cause any trouble. Thank you for everything, Ryker. I—”
“For Christ’s sake, Ivy.” A deep groove pierces Ryker’s forehead as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sit the fuck down and have a meal with my defiant pest.”
All righty then. Heaping on the nostalgia. It’s almost as if Wells’s ghost were hovering in the hopes of a good old choking.
God, I miss that. Our standoffs. The way we challenged each other until we were both fervent and unhinged.
He was right that time he told me I wanted to be on his leash.
I’d never craved anything like that before, but with Wells, handing him complete control was a drug.
Because, Jesus , he knew how to wield it.
The image has me rapt with a ravenous want.
Fuck, it’s been too long.
My cheeks heat, and a dizziness engulfs me. So, while not due to Ryker’s intensity, I sport a sheepish grin and sit.
Rena levels Ryker with a hostile glower, lifts her thumb to her nose, wiggles her outstretched fingers, and sticks out her tongue before plopping down beside me.
Gasoline on the fire, girl. I get it.
We share dinner, and I dodge her inquisition like an NFL quarterback superstar, fake-outs complete with intrigue regarding her latest rebellion.
The rest of the Noire brothers, aside from Axel, filter in and out, casting me flirty smirks and sly winks, causing Ryker to blow a gasket with every gesture.
I’d love to say the whole scene offers me a glint of hope, but with every smile and laugh and remembrance, it’s as though the last layers of connection are being peeled away.
After this, I’ll be gone. Erased. Reborn to a world I know nothing about.
Alone.
What if my guys don’t fight for me? That field of ashes in Ohio isn’t enough to lay it all to rest. Not the love that binds me to them.
I’m adrift between the heavens and the embers.
Desperate for that taste of the cloudy haze of languid happy they had me floating on.
And yet, if they can’t make sense of what they’ve done to me, then finding me won’t be enough anyway.
I’ll burn them all like our abandoned home.
I’d rather have a taste of Heaven though.
Wells’s words wrap around me like the crumpled bedsheets from a morning snuggle when we were more tangled up than a pretzel, his fingers scampering over every inch of my skin, his emeralds full of adoration.
“No moment before you was living. You, Little Storm, are my life, the light striking through the darkness, as close to Heaven as I’ll ever get. ”
It had to be real for him.
“She’s fine. She’ll come back when she’s ready.” Rena’s warble disintegrates the amber pixels of my memory.
Dandelion dreams.
Blown and scattered and lost to the frigid breeze.
Ryker’s eyes are creased in both humor and fascination, but I rejoin the chatter as though I never drifted away.
As it nears my time to go, the air thickens with tension.
Rena can’t understand why I won’t give her my plans or contact information.
She won’t accept this as goodbye, and it breaks me a little.
A rogue tear trickles out before Ryker insists she leave, so with a final hug, she begrudgingly tromps away with a plethora of grumbles that make me smile.
I wonder if this will result in a piercing.
Ryker escorts me to the private exit, insisting he walk me to my vehicle, but I can’t allow that.
“I’m sorry,” I say, “but I need to disappear now. If you see the car, it’ll cause me a whole extra step.”
“That’s fine.” He ignores my reasoning, urging me forward and passing me the black backpack that was slung over his shoulder. When I stare at him in question, he unzips it with a vexed scowl. It’s full of stacks of hundred-dollar bills—has to be a couple hundred thousand.
“I can’t take that. I have money, Ryker.”
“You will,” he demands. “Buy a new car if you want.”
I stop, dead in the middle of the parking lot, shrouded by shadows and secrets with a guy who threatened to kill me a few hours ago. “Why?”
He considers my question—aware it isn’t simply about the money—seemingly turning his words over, his hand scratching his chin.
If he didn’t have that aggressive marble edge to him, he’d have a baby face.
But something robbed him of his boyish charm, and I suppose I understand that.
His icy eyes meet mine with a tender warmth that seems meant for someone distant rather than me.
“Two reasons. That information was priceless, and your request wasn’t.
I don’t like outstanding debts.” He swallows a disquieting groan.
“I don’t know what I’m missing. You and Wells are mixed up in some fucked-up shit, and for the sake of my family, I’m not going to pry.
But, Ivy, I’ve only looked at one girl the way Wells looked at you.
Hell, all four of those guys were fierce for you.
But Wells … fuck. Leave a window ajar for the guy. ”
When I came to see Ryker, it never occurred to me how much he’d be a haunting of my guys.
Tears brim as I search for words, so he tucks me into his chest while I nod and whisper, “It’s cracked. The rest is up to him.”
“Good enough.” He drags me forward until I’m mindlessly marching us toward the car. “Are you armed?”
“Yes.”
“Good girl,” he says, and the pang of torment that shoots through me nearly knocks me to my knees.
When we reach the car, he notes my trembling. As I slide myself inside, he braces the door open, stern eyes zeroing in on my clammy forehead.
“Where’s your head at? Your feistiness waned an hour ago.”
I choke back the sludge of sorrow fusing into a boulder in my throat.
When you strip away the people and love and purpose from a life, what’s left to live for?
What marks it as living, other than another day toward the grave?
That’s the most morbid thought I’ve ever had.
But the adrenaline of the search and fight and fire is all wearing off, and nothing but naked pain remains.
My eyes flit to his, and I get it—I’m making this complicated for him. Leaving broken so he’s left cleaning up the mess with his friend. But I can’t muster the strength to plaster on a fake smile, so I simply say, “My head? Old ghosts.”
And somehow, the flicker of his dark lashes in the moonlight tells me he understands .
“Burner phone?” he asks.
“Yep.” Several.
He removes a small card from his pocket, ripping it in half so only the number is visible on the part he hands me. “Memorize it. If you need anything …” He glances somewhere far off before returning to me. “No questions asked.”
I stare at it, searching for … what? I’m not sure. Maybe a sign that it doesn’t all end like this. “Thank you.”
He taps the hood. “No. Thank you for Mercy. For being good to Rena. Be safe. Be smart.”
The door closes with a bang, and it’s only me, the ten-hour drive ahead, my sullied memories, and my new existence.