Chapter 9
Kai
I can't help but grin wider at Hudson's discomfort.
"You're not my type. Besides, we've got work to do.
" I watch him adjust himself, the big man suddenly awkward as a teenager.
It's fucking delicious. I've always known Ry would unravel him—she has that effect on everyone. Even me, after all this time.
The bedroom door opens and Ry emerges, transformed back into the deadly creature I know so well. Black jeans hugging those curves, hair pulled to the base of her head, severe and tight. I catch the way Hudson's breath hitches, the way Ry deliberately avoids his gaze.
"Let's go," she commands, voice steady but I hear what others don't. "Tell me what Oliver said."
I follow them to the elevator, watching the space between them—electric, dangerous.
In the confined space, I observe how they both press against opposite walls, how Hudson stares straight ahead while Ry's fingers tap restlessly against her thigh.
I've seen her kill men without blinking, but now her hands tremble.
I smile to myself.
"Oliver didn't say much," Hudson finally breaks the silence as the elevator descends. "Just that there was trouble at the Playground and we needed to get there immediately."
"That's not very fucking helpful," Ry mutters, still not looking at him.
I lean against the elevator wall, enjoying the tension radiating between them. "Maybe our pretty dancer just misses us already."
The look Ry shoots me could cut glass, but I just wink back at her. The elevator reaches the basement, and the doors slide open to reveal the private garage. My bike sits next to Rev's, both gleaming under the fluorescent lights. The SUV Hudson usually drives is parked in its designated spot.
I stride over to my motorcycle, swinging my leg over and starting the engine with a satisfying rumble. I flash a wicked grin at Hudson and Ry, already imagining them trapped together in the SUV after what just happened upstairs.
"See you there," I call over the engine's roar.
But before Hudson can shepherd Ry toward the SUV, she's moving—quick and determined—straight for me. She slides onto the bike behind me, her arms wrapping around my waist, her body pressing against my back.
I scoff, though I can't deny the pleasure of having her pressed against me. "I thought you two should have some quality time."
"Drive," she says, her voice brooking no argument.
Hudson curses, loud enough that I hear it over the engine. Then, to my surprise, instead of heading to the SUV, he grabs a spare helmet from the rack along with Ry's and stalks over to us.
"What do you think you're doing?" I demand as he shoves Ry's helmet onto her head, buckling it under her chin with quick, efficient movements.
"Making sure she doesn't crack her skull open," he growls, then swings his leg over Rev's bike.
I can't help but laugh. "Oh, Rev is going to fucking murder you when he finds out you touched his baby."
Hudson ignores me, starting the engine with practiced ease. The bike roars to life, and I can see the satisfaction on his face. Rev keeps that thing in pristine condition—it probably runs better than my own.
I’m still laughing as I kick up the stand and guide my bike toward the exit.
We tear out of the garage, the cool night air hitting us like a slap.
Outside the Devil's Lair, chaos reigns—ambulances with flashing lights, police cars forming a perimeter, confused patrons milling about while being questioned by officers.
We weave through the emergency vehicles, Ry's arms tightening around my waist as I take a corner too sharply.
Hudson follows close behind, handling Rev's bike with surprising skill.
The streets blur as we speed toward the Playground, the city a kaleidoscope of neon and shadow.
Ry's heartbeat pounds against my back, her grip never loosening.
I can feel her tension, the barely contained rage vibrating through her.
Whoever's behind this mess is going to wish they'd never been born.
I've seen what Ry can do when she's truly angry, and it's both terrifying and fucking beautiful.
We reach the Playground in record time, pulling into the staff parking lot at the back of the club. The place is quiet, not yet open to the public. The grand opening is three nights away, but right now the place is meant to be empty, the staff only preparing during the day.
I kill the engine, and Ry immediately slides off, pulling her helmet free and brushing a hand over her teal hair. Hudson parks beside us, his movements stiff as he dismounts Rev's bike.
We approach the back entrance together, a united front despite the complicated dynamics between us. Hudson steps forward, knocking solidly on the metal door. There's a pause, then the sound of a bolt sliding. The door opens just a fraction at first, then widens to reveal Oliver.
The dancer looks almost fearful, his eyes darting between the three of us like he can't decide who to be more afraid of. I'm not sure if it's whatever he saw that has him spooked, or if it's just us. Maybe both.
"Thank god you're here," he says, voice low and urgent as he ushers us inside. "They're gone now, but they'll be back. I heard them talking about opening night."
"Who? Start from the beginning," Ry commands, all business despite the fact that less than thirty minutes ago she was coming apart on my dining table with Hudson's hand around her throat. "Tell me exactly what you saw and heard."
His words start tumbling out so fast I can barely keep up.
"So I was practicing earlier but then that big guy—" he shoots a nervous glance at Hudson, "—one of your men grabbed me and hauled me out like I was trespassing even though I work here and I tried to explain but he wouldn't listen and I left my bag with all my stuff in it and I really needed it so I came back after everyone was gone because I wanted to get some extra practice in for opening night because I want to be perfect for you—for the club, I mean—and make sure I do my absolute best and I was just about to put on the harness to practice the aerial routine from the ceiling platform when I heard voices and I didn't want to get in trouble for being here so late especially after what happened earlier so I hid behind the—"
We've been following him through the darkened club, the only illumination coming from the emergency lights that cast long shadows across the space. As we start up the stairs to the mezzanine level, I reach out and grab him by the collar, yanking him to a halt.
"Hey, Puppy, take a breath and slow it down," I order, keeping my grip firm on his shirt.
Oliver rolls his eyes but when he starts speaking again, his pace is noticeably slower.
"I hid behind one of the curtains near the VIP section," he continues, leading us toward the area. "Even though I was hidden, I could still see them. Three men I've never seen before. Not workers, definitely not supposed to be here."
"And?" I prompt when he pauses.
"They were working on something near the ceiling. Looked like they were messing with something in one of the panels."
Hudson growls low in his throat, and I don't need to be a mind reader to know why. Security is his department and if they touched one of the panels then they messed with his systems. Someone touching his systems is like someone touching his woman.
I suppress a grin at that thought.
"Can you describe them?" Hudson demands, voice tight.
Oliver nods eagerly, leading us toward the back of the club. "One was tall, maybe six foot, buzzed hair, scar across his right eyebrow. Another was shorter, stocky build, with a full beard. The third guy was thin, nervous-looking. He kept watching the doors while the others worked."
I frown for a moment but we reach a section of wall near the stairs leading to the aerial platform. Hudson immediately drops to his knees, examining the paneling with practiced hands. His fingers trace the outline of a small access panel, and when he pries it open, his entire body goes rigid.
"Motherfuckers," he growls, examining the wiring inside. "They've tampered with the fire suppression system."
Ry curses, checking her watch. "The fire marshal inspection is in six hours. If they find this..."
She doesn't need to finish. We all know what happens if the Playground fails inspection. The grand opening gets delayed, our reputation takes a hit, and whoever's behind this wins the first round.
"Oliver," Ry says, "did you check the security cameras?"
He shakes his head, copper-blonde hair falling across his face. "I don't know where they are or how to access them."
"Follow me," Hudson commands, already stalking toward the administrative offices down on the main floor at the back of the club.
The security room is small but state-of-the-art, with monitors covering one wall and a control panel that looks like it belongs in a military installation. Hudson slides into the chair, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he pulls up footage from earlier in the night.
"Fuck," he mutters, clicking through empty frames. "The system's been wiped clean. All footage from after Stella left is gone."
"Can you recover it?" I ask, already knowing the answer from his expression.
"No. This wasn't amateur hour. They knew exactly what they were doing." He pulls out his phone. "I need to check every system in the building. This could be just the beginning."
As Hudson starts making calls, I watch Ry.
Her face has shifted into what I privately call her boss mode—eyes sharp, jaw set, fingers already tapping messages into her phone.
She's beautiful like this, all cold calculation and deadly intent. It reminds me of the Dead Devil’s Night years ago when we saw her alive after thinking she was dead—that perfect blend of fire and ice.
But then she does something that catches me off guard. She pauses, slides her phone into her pocket, and approaches Oliver, who's hovering uncertainly by the door.
"You did well," she says, her voice softening in a way I rarely hear directed at anyone but me and Rev. "Coming back here alone was risky, but you were very brave to call us right away."
Oliver practically melts under her praise, his eyes widening with naked adoration. "I just wanted to help," he says, voice small.
"And you did. You're such a good boy, Oliver." She reaches up, brushing his hair back from his face in a gesture so intimate it makes my teeth clench.
The look he gives her is exactly why I called him Puppy.
His eyes are wide and worshipful, hungry for more praise, more attention.
He'd probably roll over and show his belly if she asked.
I hate it. I hate the way he looks at her like she's his salvation and his destruction all wrapped in one perfect package.
But I can never deny Ry anything, not even this. If she wants to keep this pretty little dancer as a pet, so be it.
I turn away, focusing on Hudson instead. "How bad is it?"
"Bad enough," he replies, still on the phone. "I'm bringing in a team to check everything. If they messed with the fire suppression system, they could have tampered with other safety measures too."
Ry rejoins us, her hand lingering on Oliver's arm for a moment before she lets go. "We have six hours to fix this before the inspector arrives. Whatever it takes, the Playground opens on schedule."
Her voice brooks no argument, and I find myself nodding along with Hudson. When Ry gets like this—all iron will and cold determination—it's impossible not to follow her lead.
"I'll call Rev," I say, pulling out my phone. "He needs to know what's happening."
As I dial, I glance back at Oliver, who's watching Ry with those puppy-dog eyes. Yeah, he's going to be a problem. But maybe he'll be a useful one.
If anything, at least I know he likes pain so I can get some knife practice if he ever even thinks of hurting her.
For now, we have more pressing concerns. Like finding the fuckers who dared to sabotage our club and making them regret the day they were born.