Chapter Nine #2
I catch her around the waist before she makes it two feet.
“Dagger—”
Then I’m lifting her clean off the floor.
Blair lets out a sharp yelp immediately as I throw her over my shoulder.
“Oh my god!” She smacks the middle of my back. “Absolutely not. Put me down right now, you emotionally damaged caveman!”
Noir watches the entire thing silently from the kitchen island, completely unhelpful.
Traitor.
I carry her straight toward the couch while she keeps protesting the entire way.
“This is kidnapping!”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m literally over your shoulder!”
“You’ll survive.”
“I hate both of you.”
“No you don’t.”
“That feels presumptuous for someone currently abducting me in sweatpants!”
I drop her onto the couch cushions a second later.
Blair immediately glares up at me while fixing the oversized hoodie riding halfway up her thighs now.
Her split pink and purple hair’s completely disheveled again from being hauled around like luggage, freckles flushed from anger while she crosses her arms aggressively.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re staying.”
She opens her mouth immediately.
Then pauses.
Looks toward the apartment door.
Toward Noir calmly scrolling through messages in the kitchen.
Back toward me standing directly in front of the couch.
And I literally watch the exact moment she realizes fighting both of us physically is probably a losing battle right now.
Blair exhales sharply through her nose before dramatically throwing herself backward across the cushions.
“This is the worst day of my life.”
Noir doesn’t even look up from his phone.
“That feels statistically unlikely.”
“Don’t use logic against me right now,” she mutters into the couch cushions. “I’m being oppressed. There’s been no movement because you’re both being dramatic. Dante probably doesn’t even care if I’m back.”
Noir laughs softly once under his breath.
Not amused.
“That’s not how this works.”
“Oh my god,” she groans dramatically. “You two act like this man is the fucking boogeyman.”
“He’s worse,” I say flatly.
Silence follows immediately after.
Blair’s expression shifts slightly.
Less playful now.
“Then explain it.”
I glance toward Noir briefly.
He looks exhausted already.
Neither of us want to unpack Dante right now because Dante means unpacking too much else too.
The crews and drugs.
The violence.
Brynn.
Everything that happened after her death. Noir leans back against the counter quietly.
“Dante doesn’t forget people connected to us.”
“I’m not connected to you.”
Bullshit.
Every person in this room knows it too.
My jaw tightens before I finally look at her directly.
“Dante killed your sister, Blair.”
The teasing dies instantly.
“He also tried to kill you.”
Silence settles hard enough the entire apartment seems to still around it.
Blair’s grip tightens slightly on the couch pillow.
I keep going anyway.
“If you’d stayed gone, he would’ve assumed you died after the hospital. That would’ve been the end of it.”
Her eyes flick toward me slowly.
“But now he knows you’re alive,” I say flatly. “Which means eventually he’ll come for you again.”
The color drains slightly from her face despite how hard she tries hiding it.
Noir steps in quieter.
Blair looks away first.
Bad sign.
“He knows you matter to us, little relapse,” I mutter.
That lands harder than everything else.
I see it immediately in the way her expression shifts.
Tiny.
But there.
Because suddenly this stops sounding like paranoia.
Stops sounding like control.
And starts sounding exactly like what it really is.
Fear.
She pushes up off the couch and starts pacing barefoot across the concrete floors while ocean wind drifts through the balcony doors.
Restless energy practically vibrates off her now.
I notice immediately.
So does Noir.
The twitchiness.
The pacing.
The way she keeps rubbing at her fingers absentmindedly.
Withdrawal.
Not full physical withdrawal yet.
But the craving’s there.
Building.
“Great, so I’m just stuck in this is prison,” she announces.
“You have snacks and WiFi,” Noir replies calmly.
“Sorry, luxury prison.” She groans violently into the couch cushions. “You two are literally killing my vibe.”
“You almost killed yourself.”
“Allegedly.”
I throw a bottle cap at her head.
She catches it midair smugly.
Little menace.
Her eyes drag slowly across my tattoos.
The chain around my neck.
Then lower.
Problematic.
“Hypothetically,” she says casually from where she’s sprawled across my couch, “if I kissed one of you very nicely, would it improve my current hostage situation at all?”
“No,” me and Noir answer at the exact same time.
She gasps dramatically.
“Wow. Rejected by two emotionally constipated criminals in under three seconds. Character building honestly.”
“You’re restless,” Noir says calmly from the kitchen.
“I’m hot.”
“You’re craving.”
“I’m charming.”
“You’re deflecting.”
Blair narrows her eyes immediately.
“Okay, first of all? Rude. Second, I didn’t realize mandatory therapy sessions came included with the kidnapping.”
Noir ignores that completely.
“You don’t need more drugs right now.”
“I need dopamine.”
“You need sleep.”
“I slept.”
“You passed out.”
She points aggressively from the couch.
“That still counts medically and spiritually.”
I walk past and hand her another water bottle.
Blair looks down at it like I personally handed her a live grenade.
“You two are obsessed with hydration.”
“You’re dehydrated.”
“I’m being persecuted.”
“You’re being babysat because your decision-making skills are horrific.”
“Counterpoint,” she says smugly, twisting the cap open. “I’m very fun.”
Despite her usual attitude, and mouthiness, she drifts closer instead of farther.
Closer to both of us.
Like some part of her craves this attention more than she wants to admit.
That realization should scare the absolute shit out of me.
Instead it settles somewhere deep and ugly inside my chest.
Because I know exactly how fucked this whole situation is.
Me.
Noir.
Blair trapped between us while both of us hover around her like overprotective psychos pretending this is temporary when none of us really believe that anymore.
It’s toxic.
Controlling.
Codependent in ways that would probably horrify normal people.
And I don’t fucking care.
Because keeping her close means keeping her alive.
Keeping her where me and Noir can see her, protect her, drag her back when she starts sprinting toward danger like she’s trying to outrun herself.
Together, we can keep her safe.
And after last night?
After carrying her unconscious body upstairs from Noir’s car while panic hollowed me out from the inside?
I’d rather cage her beside us than risk losing her too.
Maybe that makes me a bad person.
Maybe it makes both of us completely fucked in the head.
Doesn’t matter.
Because I already know none of us are walking away from this clean anymore.