Chapter 23
Sterling
Elle sleeps. I watch her, longer than I should, long enough that I lose track of time.
The air in the cabin bedroom is warm, her breaths even against the pillow.
She’s curled on her side, her hand tucked near her face, her head turned to me, and when I stare at her, she looks untouched, like she belongs in a world that isn’t this one, where I shared her on a couch, claiming her body.
The memory of her saying my name pierces through me like a blade dragged slow across skin. I close my eyes, trying to force it out of my head, but it lingers, sticky and thick, all mixed up with everything I felt. She reached for me. She wanted me. She chose me.
Except…she didn’t just choose me.
The sound of a cleaver slamming cuts through the quiet.
Again.
And again.
And again.
I take a sharp inhale and exhale hard, then quietly and grudgingly leave the room, gently pulling the door shut behind me, despite the rage rising in me. The warmth I felt moments ago chills under my skin.
Stanley is in the kitchen, still shirtless, standing over the tiny wooden counter.
He’s got the boar he hunted propped up like a prize, half-hacked and bleeding all over the cutting board, chunks of meat already heaped onto a stained towel.
His hair’s a mess, and there’s fresh blood streaked up his forearms, like some kind of wild, grinning butcher.
He looks up mid-swing, blade gleaming, grin bigger. “You’re still up,” he says, way too loud for the hour. “Figured I’d whip us up somethin’ special. Nothing says post-orgy bonding like roasted boar.”
My eye twitches.
He slams the cleaver down again. “You want ribs or loin?”
I don’t answer. Because the haze is gone now. The heat, the high. And what’s left behind is cold, ugly, and territorial. He touched her. He kissed her. She moaned for both of us.
I grit my teeth and lean against the counter. “Keep your voice down. Elle’s sleeping.”
“Yeah, probably worn out.” Stanley wipes his hands on a rag like he didn’t just turn the countertop into a crime scene. “Probably dreaming about you. Or me.” He tosses me a wink. “But let’s be real, probably both.”
My fingers form into fists. Stanley either doesn’t notice or pretends not to. Probably the latter. That’s his game. He can’t let anything have weight—not even this.
He stabs a knife into a slab of meat and spins it lazily. “You’re quiet, Silver. Regretting it already?”
I say nothing. Because I do regret it. But not Elle. Not her soft sighs or the way she came apart in my arms.
But him. Letting him near her. Letting him watch. Letting him touch. Hell, he did more than that. Kissed her. Had her mouth. Her throat. Her warmth. Muffled her moans. Felt it from her lips. Connected to his—
Ugh. God.
Stanley cuts through a tendon with an unnecessary flourish, whistling low. “Man, this thing’s got muscle. Boar, I mean.” He throws me a glance. “Like you, all taut and tense. Means I’m the fun one. Obviously.”
Still, I say nothing.
He keeps cutting, sawing through bone. “Look, I get it,” he says more casually now. “You’re stewing in your own moody silence, thinking I’m the asshole who pushed things too far. But you’re not stupid, Sterling. You know she wanted it.”
“I know what she wanted,” I growl before I can stop myself.
Stanley’s eyes land on mine. That smirk slips off for a second. Then it’s back. “Good.” He plants the cleaver into the cutting board. “Because I don’t think she’d survive the two of us ripping each other apart. Especially over something she wanted.”
He’s right, but I glare at him anyway.
He studies me. Takes a good, hard look at me. We have the same stupid eyes. And the same woman in mind. That’s about the only two things we have in common. I narrow my eyes, frowning. Then he sighs. “Look, she’s safe now. That’s what matters, right?”
My jaw locks.
He gestures toward the door behind me with a bloodied thumb. “She’s sleeping, breathing, alive, which means it’s time we stop playing house and start figuring out what the hell we’re doing next.”
The shift in him is subtle, but there. Stanley’s always been all jokes and bravado. But I’ve known him long enough to see when he’s being serious.
“I have some pieces,” he continues. “Bits of what Clo’s up to. She’s not just licking her wounds. She’s planning something. And it’s big.”
I exhale slowly. Finally, he’s talking sense instead of his usual nonsense.
“We compare what we know,” he says, standing straighter. “We start from there. No more secrets. No more solo missions. Not if we want to keep Elle safe.”
I glance at the door again. Where Elle is. Sleeping. Recovering. Trusting me. And now I have to trust him.
I hate this. But I nod. “Fine. We make a plan.”
Stanley grins again, his fingers drumming against the counter like this is all a game. “Great. But first, for real this time, ribs or loin?”
I don’t answer. Because my stomach’s full of fiery rage, not hunger.
***
The firepit crackles under the open sky, sparks flying upward. The boar—what’s left of it—is skewered and slowly turning over the flames, fat hissing into the embers.
I sit with a beer I don’t really want in my hand. The taste is bitter. Or maybe that’s just me.
Stanley crouches nearby, bare-chested and puffed up, flipping meat with a carved stick. There’s blood still dried on his wrist from earlier, and he hasn’t washed off the red on his tattoo either. That big cursive E on his left pec.
“Smell that?” he says, beaming like a lunatic. “That’s the smell of a perfect medium-rare.”
I grunt, scrubbing a hand down my face.
He jabs the stick at me like it’s a pointer. “You’re in a mood.”
“Because you’re insufferable.”
“Because we shared Elle.”
The stick snaps in his hand. I turn sharply, jaw tight, but he just shrugs like it’s no big deal.
“I mean, come on, Silver. She’s safe. She’s sleeping. We just survived orgygate. Let’s not pretend we’re gonna unsee any of that.”
“You’re fucking unbelievable,” I mutter, slamming the beer can down.
He points at me again. “And let’s not forget, charming as fuck.”
Silence stretches. Stanley’s grin fades, his brows furrow, and then he speaks, more seriously this time.
“So…you gonna fill me in or what?”
I glance sideways at him, nodding slowly. “You first. What do you know?”
Stanley rakes a hand through his hair. “Bits and pieces. I ran a job for Clo before I bailed, ‘cause I came home to a mansion without my future missus in it since someone took her.” I choose to let that comment slide, but I almost groan. “It was some high-level errand. Delivery to someone called Lix. Weird setup. The guy’s name kept popping up in the past year. I tried digging but hit nothing. The dude’s a mystery, I’ll give ‘em that.”
I frown, staring at the fire. “I asked my contact about Lix. He said there’s no paper trails, digital records, or any clues. He’s a goddamn ghost.”
Stanley nods. “The weird thing is, I found something buried in Clo’s files. The same name. Lix.” He puts more meat on his skewer. “I’m thinkin’ he’s either one of her errand killers like me, or worse, her right-hand man.”
“Likely,” I say. “And if he is, then Clo’s most likely tracking Elle through him, or using him to find her, which means she’s not done.”
Stanley chews, mouth open. “Why hasn’t she made a move then? She’s had time.”
I stare into the fire. “She’s rebuilding.”
He frowns, kissing his teeth. “Yup. Our lovely mother doesn’t like to lose.”
“Knowing her, she’s not focusing on getting Elle back,” I say, piecing it together aloud. “Not so soon after a failed attempt. She had her chance. She blew it. And since I disappeared with Elle, Clo’s more likely focused on getting her Kys operations up and running again.”
Stanley frowns deeper, tossing the stick into the flames. “So she gets her empire back, then comes after Elle.”
I nod, gazing at the fire blazing as it turns the stick into ash.
“Shit,” he mutters. “This means we’ve only got a window of time. Maybe a small one.”
I look at the cabin behind us, at the small light spilling out from behind the curtain. “We have a chance to act. But I’m not leaving her side.”
Stanley’s quiet for a few seconds. Then he sighs. “Yeah. I get it. Trust me.”
I glance at him. He doesn’t elaborate. I don’t ask. I don’t wanna fucking know. Especially if this is about Elle and how he feels about her. I can’t hear that shit again without risking the urge to pummel him into the ground again.
“But that doesn’t mean we just sit here and wait,” Stanley says, standing and stretching. “You’ve got eyes. Use them.”
I raise a brow. “You volunteering?”
“Hell no. I’ve got the subtlety of a brick. But your guy on the computer can track her.”
I take my phone out, scrolling through encrypted contacts until I find the one I want.
“Don’t tell ‘em anything about the threesome,” Stanley adds, dead serious.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“It’s too juicy.”
I sigh, ignoring Stanley, and hit call.
The meat crackles on the fire as I wait.
Stanley’s already flipping ribs like we’re at some damn backyard barbecue and not plotting against one of the most sinister women in the world.
But this is how it always was with him. He’s all idiotic chaos, dark jokes, and glistening knives buried under his smug grin.
The line clicks. A familiar voice answers. “Oh, hey there, rookie. I was wondering when you’d call again.”
“Track someone for me,” I say. “Clo.”
Silence passes for a second, but then, the contact says, “The queen? Oh, we’re going there. How exciting for us, rookie.”
“Tell me everything you find.”
“I always do.” The contact keeps talking when I’m about to hang up. “You sound moody. Is this a bad time? Am I interrupting a—”
Yeah, I’m hanging up.
Stanley laughs, holding up a rib in toast. “To mommy issues and our messed-up lives.”
I glower at the fire. “To whatever comes next.”
***