Chapter 12 Torin
Torin
Noah picks up his hand of cards and I lean over him, draping my chest over the top of his shoulder.
I nod at them. “Kind of an unlucky hand, Daisy,” I murmur in his ear as the other guys are lost in banter across the table. “Think you might have to strip off your pants.”
Bree’s on the other side of him, laughing at something another guy said while she leans up against Noah’s arm.
Her tits look good, spilling out of the top of her bra.
And she seems very happy tonight.
What exactly did you get up to while I was gone, Noah? Just how happy have you been making Bree?
“Didn’t ask for poker advice, but thanks,” Noah mutters to me.
I give his bare shoulder a squeeze.
My hand’s still a little wet from the pool, and I watch a droplet of water drip down along his shoulder blade from the back.
Roman’s glancing over at us now.
So many fucking eyes on Noah, and it’s making me feel like some sort of territorial animal.
It’s a side of myself I don’t even know.
I haven’t felt like myself since the moment I walked back into Onyx House tonight. The security patrol who I had following Noah did a debriefing with me right after he finished earlier.
And it wasn’t good.
He let me know that just a few hours ago, another black car was following Noah.
A different one.
He almost had to draw his gun and blow his cover, apparently, when the black car pulled up along the road where Noah was jogging alone.
But then, he told me that luckily, Noah turned a corner and met up with a girl with long brown braids.
Bree Harris.
The black car only tailed the two of them for another minute before it left. He got the plates, and didn’t find any worthwhile info from them—the car was stolen, apparently, just a few days ago.
I was going to come home and tell Noah, but instead I found him with that same beautiful girl out here on the patio, as she touches Noah like he’s her plaything.
Bree’s stealing glances at me from the other side of him now.
I can see her suppressing a laugh. She has no clue that Noah’s been in danger. And I’m sure Noah hasn’t told her about the mafia issues because he doesn’t want to involve other people in Roman’s business.
“Fold,” Noah says quickly in the next round, barely even seeming to glance at what his cards were in the first place.
“What? No fucking way,” Roman says, frowning down at the cards on the table. “You never fold.”
“He’s right. Noah, I can recall you literally saying you never fold, last time we played,” Rayne points out. “Granted, that was on a night when you were carrying two liquor bottles with you everywhere you went, but still.”
“Sorry. It’s not a winning hand,” Noah says, shrugging.
He’s trying to get me to leave.
But he has no clue that I’m staying right by his side, whether he refuses to play poker or not.
“Noah has to strip if he folds, right?” Hunter asks.
Roman shakes his head. “No. That’s not how we play. If you fold, you don’t participate in that round.”
“Boo,” Bree says, giving Noah a little push on his arm.
I’m starting to feel like I have a string of dynamite rigged up inside of me. It’s sitting there, ready to catch, ignite, and blow at any moment.
No need to make a scene, I tell myself.
Wait him out.
He can’t sit out here all night. I’m getting him alone at some point, whether he makes it difficult or not.
He reaches for his phone again a minute later, and mine vibrates soon after.
No one invited you to this game.
No one invited you to come in my hotel room, either, but I still got satisfaction out of it. Did you get any more texts from Maletti scum this week?
How do you know their name?
Right.
I forgot that was another piece of information that the security detail informed me about whoever’s watching Noah.
He overheard a conversation, had in broad daylight in public, between Roman and Noah today. Roman was apparently telling Noah details about who the men were, and that it’s a rival mob that only recently started having more issues with the Petrov family again.
But Noah has no clue that I know that.
He still doesn’t know I had someone watching over him while I was away, period.
Doesn’t matter how I know. Second question. Are you fucking Bree?
Impulse control has never been my strong suit, but it feels like I’m physically unable not to ask about her.
Since when do I give a fuck who Noah Vancliff sticks his dick in?
Messing with my goddamn mind.
He just puts away his phone, not responding to my question. I stay right where I am beside him, leaning over to observe the rest of the poker game.
Trying to appear calm.
Collected.
In the next round of poker, Noah gets back in the game.
Rayne deals, and Noah has a hand that should be a surefire win, three of a kind.
They go around the table, a couple of other guys fold, and eventually it gets to Noah.
He smacks his cards down, nodding up at the others. “Hope someone else is ready to strip.”
Roman’s eyes glimmer. He sets down his cards, revealing that he got a full house. “Nope. I’m not the one stripping.”
“Fuck,” I say in a low tone. “Roman actually beat you.”
Rayne is smiling across the table.
He’s the last person to put down his cards, and when he spreads them on the table, everyone erupts into shouting.
“Try a royal flush, baby,” he says.
“What the hell? This isn’t possible. You’ve been having shitty hands all night and now you get a royal flush?” Noah protests.
“You know what that means,” Rayne says. “Strip.”
Noah inhales, conceding that he’s lost. He stands up, pushing his chair back, and for the first time he glances back at me.
Those eyes.
So big and blue.
I watch him the whole time as he starts to strip.
He’s already shirtless, so he goes for the front of his jeans and undoes the top button. Bree claps and shouts, and everyone else is laughing or banging on the tabletop for a drumroll.
Noah seems to take the opportunity to channel his inner stripper, giving everyone a show.
He pulls down his front zipper slowly, then pushes down on his waistband bit by bit, showing the V-shape that leads down toward his groin. As he reveals inch after inch of skin and strips down to just his dark boxer briefs, Roman’s eyes are glued to him, too.
Finally he kicks off his jeans to a raucous round of applause and laughter, and he gives the group a little bow.
The rest of the table is even rowdier now.
I know exactly what point of drunkenness they’ve reached—that part that Noah always used to love, so much, when people move from tipsy into full-blown drunk.
And everything starts to devolve.
People break off into side conversations, and others get up to go refresh their drinks or snacks. Niko dares Oliver to jump in the pool and he does it instantly, stripping down to his own underwear before cannonballing into the deep end.
When Bree gets up for a break, there’s a short moment where it’s only me and Noah left on this side of the table.
And Noah leans back toward me and gets close to my ear.
I feel his breath and my cock throbs suddenly, starting to harden uncomfortably beneath my swim trunks.
If I moved to the side a few inches, I could kiss him.
I don’t care if it’s bad.
I don’t care that he’s pissing me off more with every passing minute, because he kisses me like he wants to be fucked, and that’s all I’ve been able to think about all goddamn week.
I want to taste his infuriating mouth.
I want my cock in his throat, and his eyes on mine while I give it to him.
I want to fuck him so hard it hurts.
Yet he’s standing there glaring at me, fighting with me again, acting like he doesn’t feel this pull between us, too.
You aren’t a liar, Noah.
Kiss me.
Tell me I win.
“By the way,” he tells me under his breath, “to answer your question, it’s none of your business who I’m fucking.”
I snap.
I reach for his wrist below the table, cuffing it in my hand as I move close to his ear, instead.
“Tell me the goddamn truth. Are you fucking her?”
“Get the fuck out of my life,” he says more loudly, not bothering to whisper this time.
He stands up, yanking his wrist from my grip.
I don’t want to do this.
I don’t want any of this.
For fucks sake, I was sitting there thinking about kissing him, and now something has set him off.
I stand up as well. The two girls around the fire pit are looking over, and they definitely heard what he said to me.
“You need me in your life,” I tell him, trying to keep my voice low and even. “I saved you that night. And now you want more of me. The sooner you can admit that, the sooner you can pull the rod out of your uptight ass—”
“I was never uptight before you got here. Ever. I was the life of every party.”
I narrow my eyes. “You were obliterating yourself at every party. That wasn’t your life. That was you fucking running from your life.”
He doesn’t respond, his eyes flaring wide just for a moment.
It’s as if I splashed ice water on him.
He’s frozen, then after a beat, I regret the words I chose. And then he turns away slightly, looking off into the distance.
He seems fragile, for the first time all night.
I wish I could shove the words back in my mouth, but they’re out there. I’ve never had the urge to apologize to Noah or really to most people in life, but it’s happening now, and I don’t know how to handle that.
I don’t know what to say.
So I reach up and bring my palm to the top of his back.
I bring my hand down the length of his spine, rubbing his back, trying to bring him back down to Earth.
And then I pull away.
“I need to get some air,” he says suddenly, taking two steps to the right, then backtracking and going to the left.
Roman’s walking back outside from the kitchen, and he gives Noah a confused look.
“You’re already outside,” Roman tells him. “You drinking again, Noah?”
“Haven’t had a drop,” Noah says. “I just need a minute. I’ll, uh, be around—”
He doesn’t even finish his sentence before he takes off into the house.
Roman glares at me the second Noah’s gone.
“What?” I snap at him.
“What did you do?”
I puff out a breath, turning to head back inside. “I’m doing everything you refuse to do, Roman.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“If you keep saying you can fix this shit, then fix it,” I tell him. “Noah is in danger while you’re walking around sipping drinks. Understand?”
“I am handling things. Don’t walk in here and act like you know how my life works. Or how Noah’s does, either.”
“He can’t ensure his own safety without me.”
“Leave him alone,” Roman says.
I want to clock him right in his strong fucking jaw.
Instead, I ignore him.
Stay.
In.
Control.
I walk off into the house, and when I head upstairs Noah’s door is closed.
I rinse off in the shower and change into pants and a white T-shirt, but instead of relaxing, I’m starting to feel that fucking dynamite go off inside me.
“Fuck this,” I say under my breath.
I arrive at Noah’s door and when I push it open, he’s not inside.
I look around upstairs and he’s nowhere to be found.
He isn’t downstairs, either, in the study, the kitchen, or any of the other rooms. Outside, Bree and her friends are still around, so he didn’t go off anywhere with her.
I call him a couple of times, but he doesn’t pick up.
In the entryway, I confirm that the spot where he keeps his running shoes is empty.
No fucking shot he went for a run at midnight.
He can’t seriously be jogging alone in the middle of the night, even when he’s being hunted by a rival fucking mafia.
Shit, shit, shit.
Need to go.
Now.
I quickly shove my shoes on, head out the front door, and book it down the route I know he takes, fueled by rage and fire and raw fear that takes me by surprise.
No one is going to touch him.
Not a fucking soul.
Stupid, fearless fucking Vancliffs, thinking the world is made for them.