Chapter 31 #3
The gala hums along, but my mind snags on something I overhear near one of the bars.
Everett is near a man I don’t know, and his voice is low. “Davenport’s mess needs cleaning up. The escort ring’s unraveling—too many loose ends.”
Davenport?
As in my father?
My stomach drops. Escort ring? Afraid of dropping my champagne, I clench the stem so hard that my knuckles whiten.
Before I can ask questions, my attention is claimed by some new arrivals, and I do my best to pretend I’m interested in what they have to say .
As the night winds down, guests begin to leave. Dorian and Brennan find me near the champagne fountain, their eyes softening as they take in my flushed cheeks, my slightly mussed hair. “Let’s get you upstairs.”
On our way out, we stop to say goodbye to several other people, and Irving wishes us a pleasant evening.
Back at home, my heels click against the marble floor as Dorian and Brennan guide me through the dim glow of the living room, their hands warm against me.
I’m still buzzing from the gala, my body humming with the promise of their touch after that heated moment with Dorian on the rooftop.
When we’re in the bedroom, Brennan’s fingers find the zipper of my dress, his calluses grazing my spine as he eases it down, slow and deliberate, sending shivers racing across my skin.
I lean into him, expecting his lips to trail down my neck, to claim me like they always do, but he stops.
“Let me get your bath started.”
With that, he leaves us. I frown. Generally he’ll do that after one of our vigorous lovemaking sessions.
Puzzled, I look at Dorian.
His steel-gray eyes are dark and distant.
He cups my face, his thumb brushing my cheek, and presses a lingering kiss to my temple. “Rest, little one.” His lips are warm, but his words are clipped, like he’s holding something back. “We’ll be back soon. We’ve got some things to handle.”
My stomach flutters. “Things to handle? Now?” I expected that we’d be tangled in bed, their hands erasing the night’s chaos.
But when Brennan returns, my men share a quick glance and promise they’ll be back soon.
In moments, the door clicks shut behind them, leaving me alone with the hum of the city beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. My skin prickles, not just from the cool air but from the weight of their absence.
I shimmy out of the dress, letting it pool on the marble at my feet. Uncertain, I’m standing there in my lace lingerie, my heart thudding with a mix of longing and unease.
The bath Brennan ran waits, the steam curling with lavender, the tub a deep, inviting pool.
I slip out of my undergarments, letting them gently fall to the marble floor. Then I sink into the hot water, sighing as I’m wrapped in the warmth and essential oils.
My muscles loosen, but my mind races, replaying the night. Moretti’s words— ”Keep your husband sharp ”—cut like a blade, his cold smile hinting at secrets I don’t know about.
Like a wave, the things I overheard Everett say return. He mentioned my father and an escort ring. Though I have little love for the man and I question his morals, surely he can’t be involved in something so vile?
My stomach churns.
And now with the way Dorian and Brennan are acting, I’m upset, concerned, and I need to know what’s going on.
Even though I sink deeper, I can’t make the questions disappear.
My heart racing, I finally give in to the need to know what’s going on.
Determinedly I step out of the tub to towel off.
Instead of dressing in lingerie or pajamas, I slip into my silk dressing gown. Then I cinch the belt tight, as if it can hold me together.
In the bedroom, I see a light blinking on my phone, so I pick it up.
There’s a text from an unknown number.
Adrenaline spikes in my system.
I shouldn’t look, but I have to .
You were a vision in blue tonight, Mrs. Vale. But even stars flicker when the wolves begin to circle.
My breath catches, my fingers trembling. It’s too personal, like someone was watching me, closer than Marcella’s lens. My pulse accelerates even faster as fear and anger tangle in my chest.
I refuse to live my life in the dark, in fear.
There is absolutely no doubt my men are hiding something, and I’m determined not to stop until I get the answers I need.
Most evenings, I don’t think twice about the office.
They disappear inside, retreating behind closed doors like kings in their war room.
It’s a masculine space, dark and moody, paneled in rich mahogany with blackout shades that keep the world at bay.
A single desk lamp usually casts a low amber glow, and the air smells of aged leather, old secrets, and expensive whiskey—Bonds, I think.
Usually, I let them go without question, sinking into my bath or working in the cozy room they gave me—the one they called mine without asking if I wanted it.
Sometimes I work on my syllabi. Sometimes I fall asleep curled up with Calypso on the velvet settee, the television murmuring soft romantic lies I pretend to believe.
But they always leave after.
After lovemaking, when I’m too tired or too pliant to ask what they’re up to, when my body is still humming and my heart dazed enough to ignore the click of the door locking behind them.
But tonight is different. Despite their earlier passion for me and the way Dorian backed me into an alcove in a public space, they didn’t peel my dress off and fuck me ragged.
And then there’s the text.
While part of me wants to retreat, to bury my head beneath the covers and pretend none of this is happening, I can’t.
So I step into the hallway barefoot, still damp from the bath, the silk robe clinging to my skin. Determinedly I walk toward the office—their office—for the first time, pulse thudding louder with each step.
Down the hallway, I see the door is closed.
Of course it is.
A fortress, just like Brennan wanted.
Refusing to back down, I continue on, the marble cool under my bare feet, the city’s lights glinting through the windows.
Behind the massive, reinforced door, their voices are low and tense.
I grab the knob and give it a decisive twist. Then I push my way in.
Dorian’s behind his desk, whiskey in hand, his tie loose, his hair mussed like he’s been raking his fingers through it.
Brennan leans against a bookshelf, his navy jacket off, sleeves rolled up, exposing his corded forearms.
As I enter, they look in my direction, their gazes sharpening.
“Little one.” Dorian sets down his glass, his gaze raking over me, lingering on my collar, my ring. “You were incredible tonight.”
Brennan moves closer, his hand brushing my arm, his touch grounding. “Dorian’s right. You were spectacular.”
I know what they’re doing. Trying to distract me like they usually do. Now I recognize how often they do this.
This time, I refuse to allow their tactics to work.
My throat tight, I hold up my phone. “I got another text.”
“Fuck.” Dorian’s response is quick and lethal.
“Someone was watching me. ”
Brennan extends his arm, silently asking for the device, but I refuse to turn it over.
Then, even though my voice shakes, I go on. “And I overheard Everett talking to another man who was saying my father has an escort ring. I want answers. Now.”
Dorian clenches his jaw, and his eyes darken.
Brennan drops his hand and forms it into a fist.
Between us, silence hangs, supercharged, like the air before a storm.
Brennan flicks his gaze to Dorian, and silent communication passes between them. I notice the hesitation, the weight of whatever they’re holding back.
Do I really, really want to know?
And is that really the question?
As much as I’d like to pretend this isn’t happening, I can’t help but remember that afternoon on the yacht where they confessed they’d done things they weren’t proud of.
I’d always known their world was dark, and now I’ve been sucked into their abyss.
“Isla…” Brennan’s voice is rough, as if he’s dragging the words out. He takes a step toward me, then he stops and forces out a breath. “There’s shit we don’t want you touching. It’s…ugly.”
“You’ve said as much.” Unsatisfied, I bring my chin up higher. “Yet here I am.”
The two men exchange glances.
Brennan’s eyes soften, but there’s a haunted pain there, raw and deep. “I did time, years back.”
My knees threaten to fold.
Dark, dangerous energy pulses between them before he goes on. “I kept Dorian’s name clean.” With resolve, he folds his arms. “I regret nothing. I’d do it again—for him. For you.” His confession hits me like a wave, awe at his loyalty warring with anger that they hid this from me .
I’m swimming through a pool of horror and disbelief. “You went to prison?” There has to be more to the story.
Dorian stands and rounds the desk, his presence a storm, all heat and control, but there’s a crack in his armor—a flicker of reluctance. “Isla, the dossier…” He pauses, choosing his words like they’re knives. “It’s leverage. On rivals, on your father. His debts are deep.”
My breath hitches, Everett’s words echoing.
“Debts? An escort ring?” The words taste like poison, my voice rising.
“My father? You knew about this and didn’t tell me?
” My hands tremble, anger surging, but beneath it, fear coils tight.
I think of my father’s too-smooth laugh, his evasions, and my stomach twists.
Is this the “side business” Moretti meant?
Dorian’s reaches for my cheek, but I step back, my heart pounding.
“Don’t,” I snap, my voice cracking. “You don’t get to touch me and make this okay. You’ve been lying to me.”
Brennan’s eyes flash with pain, his voice low. “We’re not lying, Isla. We’re protecting you.” He steps closer, his hand hovering, like he’s afraid I’ll bolt.
Dorian is insistent. “Your father’s mess is not yours to carry.”
“We’ll keep it from touching you.”
I shake my head. “You two really think you’re protecting me?
” I swing my gaze from one to the other.
“By keeping me in the dark? That’s not possible.
” My voice breaks, aching with hurt, and I hate how vulnerable I sound, but I can’t stop.
“I heard Everett. I got that text. Someone’s watching, and I deserve to know why. ”
Dorian’s eyes darken, his jaw working. He glances at Brennan again, a silent argument passing between them. Finally he exhales, his voice low, strained. “We’re not proud of everything we’ve done, little one. We already told you that. But it’s how we survive in this world. ”
Brennan exhales. “Trust us to handle everything.”
“It’s too late for that.” I scoff, wiping my tears. “I’m scared, Dorian. For you, for Brennan, for me.”
Brennan’s hand finds mine, tentative, his touch warm but cautious. “You’re not alone, Isla,” he says, his voice steady despite the storm in his eyes. “We’re in this together.”
I want to pull away, to scream, but their eyes—Dorian’s fierce, Brennan’s pleading—hold me. My anger wavers, a fragile trust clawing its way through the hurt.
They’re still not telling me everything, and it stings, but I feel their love, their need to shield me, even if it’s misguided. I’m theirs, and they’re mine, but this secret—this darkness—terrifies me.
This evening had started out so wonderfully, and a few hours ago, my life looked bright.
“No more lies.” I take a shaky breath. “No more vague answers. Tell me what I need to know.”