25. Moon
25
MOON
I woke up to the quiet hum of the TV and the soft rise and fall of Holden’s chest beneath my cheek. The morning light filtered through the living room windows, casting a soft glow over the big L-shaped sectional we’d all ended up on again. It wasn’t planned, but none of us had wanted to say goodnight alone after the night we’d had. The tension from the gallery still lingered, but here, wrapped up in each other, it felt like the world had shrunk down to just us.
I shifted slightly, the oversized t-shirt I’d borrowed from Holden slipping off my shoulder. My legs were tangled with his, and his hand rested lightly on my hip, warm and natural. Across the sectional, Hendrix and Conrad were sprawled together, Hendrix’s arm draped over Conrad’s back, their heads tilted toward each other like they’d fallen asleep mid-conversation. None of us had felt like sex last night—not after everything—but the intimacy of just being close, curling up and breathing the same air, had been enough.
Holden stirred beneath me, his hand flexing against my hip as he let out a soft, sleepy groan. “Morning,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
“Morning,” I whispered back, my lips curving into a small smile. I tilted my head to look up at him, his green eyes blinking open, soft and unfocused as he woke. His curls were a mess, his jawline shadowed with scruff, and he was dashing in that effortless way that made seem like beauty sleep was a real thing.
“You’re staring,” he said, his lips quirking into a lazy grin.
“Because you’re pretty,” I teased, my fingers brushing lightly over his chest.
“Keep looking at me like that, and you’re gonna make it hard to behave.” His hand slid lower on my hip and dipped inside my waistband.
I raised an eyebrow, pushing back slightly against the hardness pressing into my thigh. “Seems like that ship’s already sailed,” I bit back a laugh.
I rolled over, tilting my chin up so I could brush my lips over his. What started as a soft, playful kiss deepened quickly. Holden’s hand slid up my back, pulling me closer as his tongue swept against mine, a slow, lazy glide that dared me to chase his. I sucked in a breath when he bit my bottom lip lightly, the sharp jolt sending heat spiraling through me. He didn’t stop there, sucking my lip into his mouth, as his other hand slipped beneath the hem of the oversized t-shirt I wore, his fingers tracing slow circles against my bare skin.
“Holden,” I murmured, the sound breaking into a sigh as he kissed me again, deeper this time, his control slipping just enough to make me shiver. He groaned against my mouth before pulling back slightly, his eyes dark with something heavy and wanting.
Before I could move, he rolled me onto my side, spooning me as his arm wrapped around my waist. His lips found the curve of my neck, soft at first, then warmer, wetter as he kissed along my skin. I moaned quietly, my body arching slightly into his as his mouth found a spot just below my ear and sucked, sending a pulse of heat straight through me.
“Watching them is going to kill me,” he murmured against my neck, his voice low and rough.
I blinked, turning my head slightly to follow his gaze. Across the sectional, Hendrix’s hand had slipped beneath the waistband of Conrad’s sweats, his movements unhurried, as Conrad looked across at us with his hooded ocean eyes. Conrad leaned back into Hendrix, his head resting against Hendrix’s shoulder as a soft growl escaped his lips, the sound low and warm as Hendrix stroked his shaft with a slow, steady rhythm.
“Who’s watching who?” I teased as Holden’s lips trailed lower, his tongue flicking against my skin. My hand found his, guiding it up my thigh, my breath hitching as his fingers grazed over my pussy.
“Shh,” he said softly, his lips brushing my ear now. “Just let me have this.”
And I did. Wrapped in him, watching my guys, the threats of the world outside disappeared. There was only this—our warmth, our closeness, the quiet hum of intimacy that made everything else seem far away.
We’d spent the day together, the kind of lazy, comfortable hours that felt suspended in a quiet, unspoken anticipation. Coffee, light conversation, even some joking about how we were becoming too good at this whole breaking-and-entering thing—it was a distraction, a way to ignore the nerves as we planned to sneak back into the gallery later that night.
We waited until well after dark, after the streets would be clear of people popping into shops and restaurants. Conrad took the lead, like always. He moved with quiet confidence, unlocking the gallery door and punching in the alarm code quickly. The beeping stopped, and we slipped inside, the air cool and still as we found our way through the darkness.
“Everyone knows the drill,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “We get in, we load everything into the crates I’ll grab from storage, and we get out. Quick and clean.”
We didn’t linger. The four of us made our way to Blanton’s office, flipping on the light once we were all inside. Everything looked pristine. Just as it had the night before, thankfully minus Lucien. Holden’s movements were sure as he reached for the hidden panel on the bookshelf. I heard the soft click of the false door mechanism unlocking, and I waited as the bookshelf slid open, revealing the entry to James’ studio.
“Alright.” Conrad stepped back to let us through. “Let’s do this.”
Conrad went in first, and I followed close behind, anticipation curling tight in my chest.
And then I froze.
The room was empty. Fucking empty.
Every easel, every canvas, every scrap of James’ work was gone. The walls that had been lined with his art now stood bare, and the long table in the center, once cluttered with brushes, paints, and sketches, was wiped clean. Even the faint scent of oil paint seemed to have vanished, leaving only a cold, sterile stillness.
“What the fuck,” Hendrix said, his voice a low growl, breaking the heavy silence.
“They cleared it all out,” Conrad said in disbelief, his tone clipped as he crossed the room in a few long strides. He yanked open a drawer in the worktable, then another, his movements growing more angry. “Not a single piece left.”
“How is this possible?” Holden said, his voice tight. “You were just here last night. It was all here.”
My pulse thundered in my ears, my stomach churning as I turned in a slow circle, my hands clutching at the air like I could find something they hadn’t taken. “This can’t be happening,” I whispered.
“They knew,” Conrad said suddenly, his voice hard and laced with fury. He slammed one of the drawers shut. “Lucien. He knew we must be on his trail with the paintings and decided to snatch them all. I don't know how he's connected, but I'd put money on the clues in the paintings leading back to Lucien.”
“But he knew where to look because of me,” I said, the words bitter and cold on my tongue. “He saw me leave with the canvas. He must’ve?—”
“It’s not your fault,” Conrad interrupted, his jaw tight as he turned to face me.
Hendrix turned, his tone cautious. “But how does Lucien have that kind of access? My dad keeps this place locked tight.”
The implication hung in the air like a dark cloud, and I couldn’t bring myself to say it. Instead, Holden did. “You think Blanton’s in on this?” His green eyes burned as he looked at Conrad. “You think he worked with Lucien? That he just handed over James’ work?”
“We don’t know that,” Conrad said, his voice steady but firm. “It’s possible Lucien told Blanton he found Moon in here. Maybe Blanton thought he was protecting James’ legacy or some shit.”
“Protecting?” Holden’s laugh was harsh, bitter. “You call wiping away everything James left behind protecting him?”
“Holden,” I said softly, stepping toward him. “We don’t know what happened yet. But we’ll figure it out.”
“But it doesn’t make sense,” Hendrix growled, pacing near the empty walls. “How did they get it all out so fast? It’s not like they knew we were coming tonight.”
“Maybe he didn’t know, but he anticipated,” Holden said darkly, his green eyes sharp as he glanced toward the door. “That sinister fuck. Lucien’s one step ahead of us now.”
“Maybe several steps,” Hendrix groaned.
The weight of it all sank in, heavy and suffocating. I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to stay focused. “He doesn’t have everything,” I said quickly. “He doesn’t have the double-sided canvas. We still have the map. And we have photos of all the art that Conrad took last time.”
“And what if that’s not enough?” Hendrix shot back, his voice brutal in frustration. “We don’t even know what the symbols mean. And now, Lucien has all the originals.”
“We’ll figure it out,” I said, though my voice wavered. “We don’t have another choice.”
The silence that followed was deafening, the cold emptiness of the studio pressing in on all sides, like the room itself was mourning everything that had been stolen. James had hidden so much in this room—secrets, warnings, pieces of himself—and now they were gone, stripped away and locked in the hands of someone who would do anything to keep them buried.
Holden broke the silence first, his voice trembling as he tried to keep it steady. “It’s all gone,” he said, barely above a whisper. He paused, swallowing hard, his shoulders tense as if he were holding something back. “Every piece of his art—everything James left behind. It’s not just losing the clues. It’s—” His voice cracked, and he dragged a hand through his hair, his green eyes shining with unshed tears. “It’s losing him all over again. A piece of him—of who he was—is just…gone.”
Holden’s chest rose and fell unevenly, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he paced. “I didn’t have much of him left,” he said, his voice breaking. “The art—it’s the only way to still hear him. When we found all these new pieces, it felt like a gift, connecting me to him again. And now it’s gone. Every single fucking piece.”
“We will get it all back,” Conrad said, his voice hardening. “I swear to you, Holden, we’ll track Lucien down and get James’ art back.”
“Not just the art.” Holden’s voice sharp as he turned to face us. His expression was unrelenting, his green eyes blazing with determination. “I don’t just want the paintings. I want to take down whoever James was trying to expose. Lucien’s obviously implicated, but if Blanton’s involved, if every fucking of member Charleston’s elite is involved—I don’t care. It all burns. And if it involves my mom too, well…” His voice faltered, and he shook his head. “Oh fucking well.”
Hendrix stepped closer, his expression grim but understanding. “I hear you, man, and we’ll go after Lucien with everything we’ve got. But this is our family we’re talking about,” he pointed out gently. “Let’s fucking hope our parents aren’t mixed up in some shady shit.”
Holden’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, the room was so still I could hear my own heartbeat. “Yeah,” he said finally.
Whatever lay ahead, whatever answers James had hidden in his work, we were going to find them. And we weren’t going to stop until we did.
“Let’s go,” Conrad said, breaking the silence. His voice was calm, but his clenched fists told a different story. “We can’t stay here. Lucien’s not done, and neither are we.”