Chapter 15
Ry
Consciousness returns to me slowly, like I'm swimming up through dark water. My body feels heavy, weighted down with exhaustion finally satisfied. I stretch languidly beneath soft sheets, reaching instinctively for the warmth of bodies that should be there.
Nothing. Empty space.
My eyes fly open. Sunlight filters around the closed curtains—curtains we rarely use—casting the room in a muted golden glow. I'm naked, my skin clean and fresh, no trace of blood or sweat or... other activities. Someone bathed me while I slept. Again.
I try to piece together fragmented memories: the coffee shop in ruins, Hudson on the motorcycle, his hands on me, his fingers around my throat—that bastard choked me out. After I came. The absolute fucking audacity.
I sit up, scanning the room for my phone, but it's nowhere in sight. Typical. They're always hiding it when they think I need to rest. As if I'm some child who can't manage my own sleep schedule.
"Fuckers," I mutter, but without real heat. I hate to admit it, but I do feel better. My mind is clearer, the exhaustion that's been dogging me for days finally receding.
I slide out of bed, my muscles protesting slightly—a pleasant ache that reminds me of Hudson's hands, his cock, those surprising barbells. A flush rises to my cheeks at the memory. Bastard.
The bathroom tile is cool under my feet as I splash water on my face and brush my teeth. I study my reflection in the mirror—the faint bruises around my throat, the clarity returning to my eyes. I look... rested. Centered. Ready.
I pull on a black silk robe hanging on the bathroom door, cinching it tightly around my waist before padding toward the bedroom door. Voices drift from the main living area, too low to make out words but familiar enough to recognize. The twins. Hudson. And... someone else?
"—reliable source?" That's Hudson, always the skeptic.
"I know what I heard." This voice is younger, eager, with an undercurrent of anxiety. Oliver?
I push open the door to the living area and four heads turn in my direction.
Rev and Kai are lounging on opposite ends of the sofa, looking like mirror images in black jeans and fitted t-shirts.
Hudson stands by the window, arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable as ever.
And perched awkwardly on a barstool at our kitchen counter is Oliver, looking like he's afraid the furniture might bite him.
"Well, look who's rejoined the land of the living," Kai drawls, his eyes raking over me with open appreciation.
"How long was I out?" I ask, tightening the sash on my robe when I notice Oliver's wide-eyed stare. Poor puppy looks like he might spontaneously combust from embarrassment.
"Just about nine hours," Rev answers, checking his watch. "It's early afternoon."
"The day before Dead Devil's Night," Hudson adds pointedly, his gaze heavy on mine. The unspoken message is clear: we're running out of time.
I ignore him for the moment, still not ready to forgive the stunt he pulled last night. Instead, I focus on Oliver, whose presence in our private sanctuary is unexpected, to say the least.
"What's he doing here?" I ask, not bothering to be subtle.
Oliver shrinks slightly under my direct attention, and I feel a twinge of something like guilt. He's been nothing but helpful so far, and here I am, making him uncomfortable in a space where he's clearly already out of his depth.
"He called Hudson with information," Rev explains, his tone neutral but his eyes sharp on my face, gauging my reaction. "We thought it was important enough to bring him up, and we didn't want to leave you alone while you slept."
"I'm sorry if I'm intruding," Oliver says quickly, his hands fidgeting in his lap. "I wouldn't have—I mean, I know this is your private space, but I heard something at the Playground this morning and I thought—"
"It's fine," I cut him off, softening my tone. "What did you hear?"
He straightens, eager to be useful. "I was at the club early, getting in some practice before the opening.
I was in the dressing room when I overheard two people talking.
They didn't know I was there and they were in the main area so I couldn’t see them, but I could hear them.
" He leans forward, voice dropping conspiratorially.
"They were discussing something happening at the docks this afternoon.
A shipment coming in. They mentioned containers specifically. "
My interest sharpens immediately. "Our containers?"
Oliver nods, a strand of copper-blonde hair falling across his forehead. "They didn't say whose, but they mentioned something about 'finishing what was started' and 'hitting them where it hurts.'"
I look to Hudson, whose jaw is tight with tension. "Could be nothing," he says, but I can tell he doesn't believe that any more than I do.
"Or it could be exactly what we've been looking for," I counter. "A lead. A chance to catch these fuckers in the act instead of always being one step behind."
Kai stands, stretching like a cat. "Either way, worth checking out. We can set up surveillance, see if anything happens."
"I can go back to the club," Oliver offers quickly, sliding off the stool and taking a step toward me. "Try to get more information from them."
I notice how he gravitates in my direction, like a satellite caught in my orbit. His eyes follow my movements with that puppy-like devotion that's becoming familiar. It should be annoying, but there's something endearing about his eagerness to please.
"No need," Rev says, his gaze flicking briefly to Oliver before settling on me. "I think you've earned the right to ride along with us to the docks. If you want to."
Oliver's eyes widen, genuine surprise and pleasure lighting up his face. "Really? I mean—yes, absolutely. I want to help however I can."
"It's settled then," I decide, ignoring the way Hudson's eyebrows rise at my easy acceptance of Oliver's inclusion. "We'll go tonight, see what's happening at our docks."
I move toward the kitchen, suddenly ravenous. Nine hours of sleep has awakened an appetite I've been ignoring for days. As I pass Oliver, he shifts slightly, unconsciously moving closer to me, his eyes tracking my movements with that same desperate need for approval.
"Thank you," he says softly, just for me. "For trusting me with this."
I pause, studying him. There's something in his expression—a hunger that goes beyond simple admiration. It reminds me of how I felt years ago, desperate to belong, to be seen, to matter.
"Don't make me regret it," I tell him, keeping my voice low enough that only he can hear.
He shakes his head vehemently. "I won't. I promise."
I believe him, which is rare enough these days to be noteworthy. There's something about Oliver that feels genuine, despite—or perhaps because of—his obvious fixation.
"Ry," Hudson calls from across the room, his voice deliberately casual. "A word?"
I turn to find him watching me with an intensity that sends heat racing down my spine. Memories of last night flash through my mind—his hands on my throat, his voice in my ear, the stars bursting behind my eyes.
"Sure thing, old man," I reply, deliberately provocative.
His eyes narrow at the nickname, but he says nothing as he leads the way to the other end of the room past the dining area. I follow, aware of the twins watching us with identical knowing smirks.
The moment we have an illusion of distance and privacy, Hudson turns to face me. "Are you sure about bringing the dancer?"
"His name is Oliver," I correct, leaning against the glass wall. The city stretches out below us, bathed in afternoon sunlight that does nothing to disguise its grime and decay. "And yes, I'm sure. He's proven himself useful so far."
"He's a liability," Hudson argues softly, stepping closer. "Untrained, unpredictable, and completely infatuated with you. That's a dangerous combination."
I arch an eyebrow. "Jealous?"
His expression doesn't change, but I see the muscle in his jaw jump. "Concerned. We don't know enough about him."
"We know he's risked his own safety twice now to bring us information," I point out. "That counts for something in my book."
Hudson sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. "Just... be careful. There's something about him that doesn't sit right with me."
I study his face, noting the genuine concern in his eyes. "I'm always careful," I say, softening my tone. "But I need allies right now, Hudson. I need people I can trust."
"And you trust him?" he asks, incredulous.
"I trust that he wants to impress me," I reply honestly. "That's useful."
He shakes his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. "You're dangerous, you know that?"
"So I've been told." I step closer, invading his personal space deliberately. "Speaking of dangerous, we need to talk about last night."
His body tenses, but he holds his ground. "I'm not apologizing for making sure you got some sleep."
"By choking me unconscious?" I hiss, jabbing a finger into his chest. "After fucking me senseless on a motorcycle?"
"It worked, didn't it?" he counters, unrepentant. "You're rested. Clearer. Ready to face whatever's coming."
He's right, damn him, but I'm not about to admit it. "Do it again, and I'll gut you in your sleep."
His smile is slow and knowing. "No, you won't."
"No," I concede, my own lips curving upward despite myself. "But I'll make you wish I had."
His laugh is unexpected—a deep, rich sound that makes something warm unfurl in my chest. "I'm sure I’ll enjoy you trying."
The tension between us shifts, transforming into something different but no less intense. For a moment, I consider leaning in, tasting that laugh on his lips. But we have an audience, and more importantly, we have work to do.
"Let’s head to the docks," I say, stepping back to a safer distance. "I want to catch these bastards in the act. End this game they're playing."
Hudson's expression sobers, all traces of humor vanishing. "Agreed. But we do it smart. No unnecessary risks."
"Since when do I take unnecessary risks?" I ask innocently.
His look of sheer disbelief is answer enough.
"Fine," I concede. "Be boring. We play it your way. For now."
We rejoin the others, finding that in our absence, Oliver has somehow managed to relax slightly. He's sitting on the couch now, listening intently as Kai explains something about the club's security systems.
"—so if anything happens, the silent alarm triggers automatically," Kai is saying. "Hudson's team can be there in under three minutes."
Oliver nods, absorbing the information with obvious fascination. When he notices me, he straightens immediately, that eager-to-please expression returning to his face.
"We leave at sunset," I announce to the room at large. "I want to be in position before anything happens."
Rev stands, stretching lazily as he checks the time on his watch. "I'll make sure everything's ready."
"I need food," I announce, suddenly aware of the gnawing emptiness in my stomach. Nine hours of sleep after days of running on fumes has left me ravenous. "I'm starving."
I pad barefoot to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator to survey the contents. There's not much—we rarely cook, preferring to order in when we're home, which isn't often. I spot some leftover containers from what must be yesterday and grab one without checking what's inside.
Cold pad thai. Not ideal, but it'll do. I hop onto one of the bar stools and dig in, not bothering to heat it up. The first bite hits my empty stomach like a revelation, and I close my eyes momentarily in satisfaction.
"You should probably eat something with actual nutritional value," Hudson comments, leaning against the counter next to me.
I point my fork at him threateningly. "Don't push your luck, old man. I’ll decide what I eat and don’t eat."
His lips quirk up slightly at the corners before he murmurs, "Does that include my cock?"
Heat rushes to my face, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flustered. Instead, I shovel another forkful into my mouth, chewing with deliberate slowness while maintaining eye contact.
Behind him, I see Kai roll his eyes before returning his attention to Oliver, who's now looking at a map of the docks on Kai's tablet. Rev has disappeared, probably to call Camden.
I finish the pad thai in record time, then raid the fridge again, grabbing a yogurt I find hiding behind some beer bottles. As I eat, I mentally catalog what needs to be done before we leave. Shower. Clothes. Weapons.
"I'm going to get ready," I announce to no one in particular, depositing my empty containers in the garbage.
Kai glances up. "Want company?" he asks, his tone suggestive.
I consider it for a moment, then shake my head. "Not enough time."
"Spoilsport," he mutters, but there's no heat behind it.
I head back to our bedroom, mind already shifting into preparation mode. Tonight could be the breakthrough we need—a chance to finally see who's targeting us, to go from reactive to proactive. The anticipation sends a thrill through me that's almost as good as sex.
Almost.