25. 25 – Ryder
I reach for the leftover lasagne, pulling it out and settling in at the kitchen counter. Thank fuck for housekeepers. Ours makes sure we’re well stocked, even when the staff have left for the evening. None of us are chefs.
I barely glance up when Maverick enters, grunting a hello through my food. He ignores me, setting up the coffee before he slides into a stool opposite me.
I stare resolutely down at the table. I don’t want to go over our discussion earlier again. He’s already hauled me over the coals for making Zella feel unwanted, and I feel shitty enough about the whole thing.
That was never my intention.
He gives me a minute, and when I continue ignoring him, he reaches forward and yanks the plate away from me. “Hey!”
“Have you spoken to Zella?” he asks calmly instead, and I glare at him.
“She’s with Enzo upstairs,” I point out. “And you told me to trust him.”
Maverick’s lips tighten. We both know what Enzo’s capable of. But he treats our little stowaway with a gentleness I haven’t seen from him before, even if it’s edged with his own personal brand of psycho. “You will, though.”
It’s not a question, and I give him a salute, my fingers bouncing off the side of my head flippantly. “Aye aye, captain.”
A flicker of hurt enters his eyes, and I hate myself for it. He despises any reference to him being our leader, even though it’s the fucking truth. God knows where Enzo and I would be without him.
The lasagne turns to ash in my mouth, and I swallow it down in a tasteless lump. “I’ll speak to her. Is that all?”
He sighs, but his fingers drum out a rhythm on the counter, a sure sign that there’s something else. “John Martinez called earlier. He wanted an update on Moore.”
I straighten. “You didn’t tell him—,”
“Of course not,” he snaps. “Jesus, Ryder, give me a little credit. I don’t want to give him anything that might put him on Zella’s trail. But we’ve got our own reasons to follow Moore right now, and I could use something else to add to the recordings from Club X.”
Sudden queasiness turns over in my stomach, and I experience some regret about the lasagne. “You want me to follow him again.”
He nods. “We need to know where he is and what he’s doing. He dumped his car and torched it, so we don’t have the tracker anymore.”
Which means we’re working blind, and we need to retrace his steps. It means I’m heading back to Club X.
“Ryder…” Maverick starts. His voice is more gentle this time. “If you—,”
I cut him off. “It’s fine. I’ll go.”
The club doesn’t open until midnight, so I have a few hours to kill. As I’m contemplating my options, footsteps sound, and we both turn to see Enzo saunter in.
Both Maverick and I stiffen in surprise as he walks to the refrigerator. His typical black shirt is nowhere to be seen, and as he turns his back on us, his scars are on full display.
Full, colorful, shimmering display.
The wings covering them have been painted in painstaking detail. One side is vibrant color – gold, red, orange, a mix of fire and flame that gives him the look of an avenging angel.
The other is darker. Grays, deep purple, shot through with slivers of silver.
Light and dark.
It’s a perfect mix for him, and as he turns, he graces us both with a sardonic smile. “Enjoying the view?”
My eyes narrow. “That’s a nice addition to your tattoos.”
“It needs to dry.” All of our heads spin around to where Zella lingers awkwardly in the kitchen door. Maverick and I both stand instinctively, and Enzo crosses the room, drawing her in with his hand at the back of her neck.
“Are you hungry?” he demands. “Thirsty?”
She shakes her head, but her eyes move to the coffee pot.
Maverick gets there first, so I just lean against the counter and try to act like my half-sprint across the kitchen was for nothing more than a bit of light exercise.
Maverick nudges me out of the way with his shoulder as he reaches for a cup, and I not so casually shove him back.
We’ve officially regressed to teenagers, and Enzo’s snort tells me he hasn’t missed it.
Zella is thankfully oblivious. Enzo leads her to the table, and she gives Maverick a soft smile when he places the cup in front of her. “Thank you.”
We’re all trying not to stare as she takes a sip, her soft lips opening in satisfaction.
Jesus.
Swallowing, I blurt out the first thing that enters my head. “Clothes.”
Everyone turns to me, and I try to form a coherent sentence. “Zella. I thought we could look online, get you some new things to wear.”
I see her eyes light up, although she looks confused. “What’s online?”
“Like my phone,” Mav reminds her. “You can use different things to find what you need and have it delivered here. It’s a good idea.”
She looks dubious. “Like… clothes? Through the screen?”
Everything is so damn new to her. Considering I’m so jaded about just about everything in life, Zella is a breath of fresh air in comparison.
Yet another reminder that we’re worlds apart, whatever Enzo thinks.
I head to grab my laptop from my room, bringing it back and opening it up on the counter. Zella’s eyes widen as the screen comes on. “It’s so bright!”
I glance at the generic beach background. “I guess so.”
It only takes a few strokes to bring up a search for a large department store. Zella’s eyes get bigger by the second as I start scrolling through, showing her the different styles and types. “You can get all of this… on the line?”
“Online,” I correct her, biting my lip to hide my smile. “It’s called the internet.”
“Wow,” she whispers. “I only knew about phone calls. Not all of this.”
I wave my hand at the screen. “You can choose whatever you want.”
She takes a hesitant step forward and touches the pad, her hand making a tiny movement that doubles the screen size and makes her jump back, snatching her hand away. “I don’t think it likes me.”
“You just need to get used to it.” Sitting next to her and breathing in that flowery scent, I open up the section for tops and slowly scroll through, watching her face. When it changes, I stop. “You like this one?”
Maverick chokes. It’s a bright gold silky-looking halter neck with large, dangling sequins. Mildly aghast, I flick my eyes to Zella. She’s practically got hearts in her eyes as she stares at it. “I could wear that?”
“Please no,” Maverick mutters, and I shoot him a glare. If Zella wants to wear feathers and tar, then she damn well can. Taking a guess at her size, I put it in the basket.
It takes a few more minutes of coaxing, but we all sit back and watch as Zella hunches over the screen, feverishly flicking through the pages and crowing with increasing joy when she spots something she likes. Everything she likes is on the vibrant side.
“Uh…princess?” I offer, when she lingers over a particularly hideous bright purple and green playsuit with orange lightning stripes. “Maybe we should get you some basics, too.”
She glances around, her eyes taking in the decidedly not rainbow colors we’re all wearing, and her shoulders slump. “Oh. Yes, probably.”
God fucking damn it. I add the playsuit to the basket too.
Maverick gives me a death glare. Enzo ignores us all, working his way through his third bowl of cereal as he watches Zella like she’s going to vanish if he takes his eyes off her for a single second.
When I check the time, I’m disappointed at how much time has passed. “Sorry, princess. I need to head out for a little while. Rain check?”
She nods, and Maverick seizes the opportunity to snag the laptop. “Why don’t we grab some of those basics now?”
Before I leave, Zella reaches out, touching my arm. Her fingers close over my skin, warm through the end of my bottle green shirt. “You’re going to work?”
I give her an easy smile, not letting my disgust at the task ahead of me seep through. “That’s the plan. Try not to miss me too much. Maybe these two will put on a movie if you ask them nicely.”
Enzo looks like I’ve just proposed a tooth extraction, but Zella bounces in her chair with excitement, so he stops short of telling us all exactly what he thinks of that idea. She doesn’t let go of me, though, and I glance down. “Mind if I have my arm back, princess?”
She blushes, but her fingers release my sleeve. “Just… be careful. Please?”
She has no idea what I’m going to be doing, but her concern makes something flip over in my chest. “Always am.”
With a final wink, I slip away. Leaving them to their cozy evening, I liberate Enzo’s bike again and hit the road, speeding into the city.
I hit my first road bump when I knock on the door at Club X. The bouncer gives me a closer look than he did before, the search much more thorough this time around. They still manage to miss the little camera built into my cufflinks, and I tidy them as I stroll through the club.
Something is definitely off. The staff look a little more wary this time, some of the serving girls a little too pale as they grit their teeth against the wandering hands and plaster too-tight smiles across their faces.
When I try to wander down to the underground level where I saw Moore before, I’m stopped again.
“This section’s closed,” the security guard grunts. Summoning a glare, I gesture around.
“Look, man, the rest of the club is a washout. I just wanna get to the good stuff, you know?”
Leaning in, I flick a piece of non-existent lint from his shoulder, clapping him on the back. The pig-faced guard squints at me, clearly not used to anyone being nice to him. “Uh. Sorry?”
Sighing dramatically, I lean against the wall. “All the good shit gets closed down. Why’d they close it, anyway?”
He leans in, clearly not used to any of the patrons talking to him as ruddy cheeks gleam in excitement. “One of the girls… she went missing. Reckon one of the punters got a little too excited. You know what I mean?”
I don’t have to force the grimace that appears on my face as my stomach begins to churn. “I don’t like playing with my food. What happened?”