Chapter 4 Theodore #3
“Well, isn’t this cosy?” he drawled, long, sharp nails tapping against the doorframe.
“Marley informed me they permitted entry to one Detective Inspector Maxwell and Rory Thorne this evening.” His gaze swept over the dishevelled state of the room, my split lip, Brody’s rumpled clothes.
“I decided to allow it, as a professional courtesy. But now you’re harassing my patrons. ”
“This isn’t—”
“I don’t particularly care what it is, darling.” Dominic’s voice dripped with disdain. “You’re upsetting my customers, and that simply won’t do.” He turned his attention to Brody. “Run along now, sweet thing.”
Brody didn’t need to be told twice. He scampered past Dominic, disappearing into the corridor without a backward glance.
“You’ve got five minutes to collect the puppy and leave,” Dominic snarled. “Get out of here. And don’t come back.”
Heart hammering against my ribs, I nodded, briskly passing him, heading straight down the corridor. As soon as I reached the dance floor, the migraine that had been threatening all night pulsed behind my eyes, intensified by the strobe lights and pounding bass.
The room had transformed since I’d left. Bodies packed together, writhing in time to music that seemed to physically assault my senses. The air hung heavy—a perfume of midnight desires and abandoned inhibitions.
I scanned the crowd, squinting against the flashing lights. And then I saw them.
Rory, flushed and laughing, swaying to the music with a purple cocktail clutched in one hand.
Fury bubbled up inside me. Another drink.
Really? Wrapped around him like a second skin was Bradley, with that ridiculous man bun that made him look like he’d stepped out of some hipster coffee shop commercial.
Bradley’s hands rested on Rory’s hips, fingers splayed possessively.
As I watched, those hands slid lower, dipping beneath the waistband of Rory’s jeans.
Rory stumbled, nearly spilling his drink, and Bradley caught him, using the opportunity to pull him closer, whispering something in his ear that made Rory beam up at him.
My head pounded harder, each flash of the strobe lights like hammers against my skull.
Fragments of thoughts from the crowd crashed against my already battered mental shields—lust, want, need—a cacophony of desire that mixed with my own churning emotions until I couldn’t tell what belonged to me anymore.
The careful control I prided myself on was cracking, piece by piece.
Rory’s loud laugh drifted over the music, carefree and bright, and something horrible twisted inside me. I’d never heard him laugh quite like that.
And the way he was looking at Bradley right now, like he was the centre of his universe…
Something inside me snapped.
Before I realised what was happening, I was cutting through the dance floor, shoving dancers aside with no apologies. Heat surged through my veins—something wild, something primal.
I reached them just as Bradley’s hands slipped even lower, cupping Rory’s ass beneath his jeans. Rory’s eyes were glazed, his movements uncoordinated.
“Get your hands off him! He’s drunk out of his mind!” I shouted over the music.
Bradley looked at me, confusion crossing his features. “What?”
My last thread of control shattered. The headache, the crowd’s emotions bleeding through my broken shields, the sight of Rory being manhandled—it all crashed together into a mess of fury I couldn’t untangle.
But watching Bradley’s hands roam over him while he was too drunk to properly consent triggered something primitive in me, something that had nothing to do with police protocol and everything to do with an instinct I didn’t want to examine.
“I said, he’s mine!”
The words hung between us, shocking even me. My face flushed hot, but I didn’t back down. It was easier this way—easier than explaining duty of care, or that Dominic had kicked the pair of us out.
Bradley’s eyes widened as he took in my height, my stance, the fury radiating from me. His gaze flicked between Rory and me, and understanding dawned on his face.
“Oh!” He raised his hands and stepped back, sending Rory stumbling so violently I had to catch him. “Not my fault, dude. He practically threw himself at me!”
I fought the sudden, violent urge to grab that pretentious man bun and yank it right off his head. Luckily for him, after one more grimace in our direction, he twisted, disappearing into the crowd. Hopefully, by the time Brody found him, we’d be gone.
My brain took a moment to register that Rory was now fully leaning against me, his hands fisting the fabric of my shirt. The pain pulsing behind my eyes made everything feel slightly surreal, like I was watching the scene unfold from a distance.
Rory’s face lit up with recognition, as if he’d just realised who I was. “Teddy!” he exclaimed, blinking up at me.
I placed my hands around Rory’s waist to steady him—and immediately regretted it. My fingers found bare skin through the gaps in that ridiculous mesh shirt he was wearing. The contact sent a shiver up my arms, making me acutely aware of how warm he felt, how solid his smaller frame was.
“We need to go,” I said, trying to pry him off me while keeping him upright. “Dominic’s kicked us out.”
Rory didn’t seem to register my words. Instead, he reached up, fingers gently tracing over my cheekbone, sending pleasant tingles dancing across my skin. “Where are your glasses?” he asked, his voice laced with genuine confusion.
“What?” I said, thrown by the question. “I’m wearing contacts. Have been all night.”
Rory’s brow furrowed as he processed this information, swaying slightly in my grip. His thumb slipped, rasping against my stubble in a gesture that felt almost tender.
“For fuck’s sake, Rory,” I snapped. “How many more drinks did you manage to consume in the ten minutes I left you?” Clearly his inebriation had reached dire levels, if Rory Thorne was stroking my face.
Instead of answering, Rory’s attention shifted to my mouth. “You’re hurt!” he exclaimed, his expression morphing into one of genuine concern. His fingers moved to my split lip, touching it with surprising gentleness. “What happened?”
The unexpected care in his voice caught me off guard. In the time I’d known Rory Thorne, I’d seen him angry, defiant, sarcastic, even frightened, but never this openly concerned. Especially not for me. It was… disturbing.
“It’s nothing,” I said, removing his hand from my face and putting slight distance between us. “Just a disagreement with our friend Brody. While you’ve been drinking like a fish, I’ve actually been gathering information.”
Rory’s face hardened, his concern vanishing. He pulled away from me, swaying slightly.
“I was working as well,” he insisted, voice sharp despite the slight slur. “What, you think I was just having fun? Bradley bought me that drink. I had to accept it or blow my cover.”
“Your cover,” I repeated flatly. “As what? The most enthusiastic dance partner in London?”
…why does he always think I’m so bloody stupid…
“As someone interested in him!” Rory shot back, crossing his arms defensively. “You can’t just openly interrogate people. Some of us have to be subtle.”
I massaged my forehead, feeling the migraine intensify. “Fine. Did your ‘subtle approach’ yield any useful information about Dev?”
Rory’s defiance crumbled slightly. He looked away, shoulders slumping. “No,” he admitted. “We didn’t quite get to Dev. He just kept suggesting we head back to his place.”
“Fantastic,” I muttered, grabbing his arm. “Let’s go, before Dominic has our heads on a plate.”
I steered him toward the stairs, my hand firmly on his elbow to keep him from stumbling. The throbbing bass seemed to match the pounding in my skull, each beat driving the pain deeper, like a hammer striking the same tender nerve with metronome precision.
A hand clamped down on my arm. A female bartender stared at me with undisguised annoyance.
“Your friend hasn’t paid his tab.”
I turned to Rory, who blinked owlishly at us both.
“Your tab?” I prompted.
His face lit up. “Oops!” He patted his pockets before producing a battered wallet. “Got it right—”
The wallet slipped from his fingers, contents spilling across the sticky floor. I closed my eyes briefly, summoning patience.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, staggering as he bent down.
“Don’t.” I collected the scattered cards, receipts, and Chinese takeaway fortunes, locating his bank card and tapping it against the machine.
The machine beeped. PAYMENT DECLINED.
Of fucking course.
“One minute, I’ll just move some money around,” Rory slurred, fumbling for his phone. He jabbed at the black screen repeatedly.
“It’s dead,” he announced, turning to me with wide, helpless eyes and parted lips.
The look was nothing short of pathetic—part puppy dog, part genuine distress.
“Unbelievable,” I muttered, already reaching for my wallet. I’d be damned if I’d admit how quickly I’d capitulated to that look.
I stared at the total, my stomach dropping.
“You’re paying me back,” I said, pocketing the receipt. “Every. Single. Penny.”
Rory grinned up at me with that infuriating smile that made his eyes crinkle. “Do you accept interpretive dance as payment? I’ve been told my moonlit wolf ballet is quite moving.”
I didn’t respond, pushing him toward the stairs.
Rory stumbled on the first step. I lunged forward, catching him before he tumbled, wrapping my arm around his waist and half carrying him up.
“I can walk,” he protested, leaning heavily against me.
“Evidence suggests otherwise.”
We reached the main floor where Marley sat focused on their ledger, not looking up as we left.
When the cool night air hit us, Rory immediately tensed, breaking away to wrap his arms around himself, shoulders hunched as he shivered violently.