CHAPTER TEN
RENA
M y eyes peek open to a dim room. The blackout curtains are drawn, but a sliver of sunlight streams in. Midday, if I had to guess. Mornings are rough for me. Sometimes, my limbs are so heavy, my head so foggy, I can’t find the will to crawl out of bed. Everything seems too much. Even when life is going famously, my mind views it like a house of cards. Until I concoct a scheme to smother the phantom affliction ailing me.
No one really understands that part of me. Except Jax.
Freedom doesn’t belong to either of us.
We hold each other accountable, fighting off this web of depression together. My chest cracks open, pain lancing through my sternum. He’s probably wrecked, high, lost. Drowning. I’m his anchor. And despite how untethered he is, he’s mine. That’s why his part in the tracker conspiracy hurt so much. He was supposed to be on my side first.
As the bleary haze begins to dissipate, I catch sight of toned calf muscles angled on the floor. Ty. Curling my frame so that I’m nearly in a C-shape, I find him doing sit-ups.
Shirtless. Tatted. Sweat drenched.
Holy. Hell.
I’ve rarely seen Ty out of a button-up, other than the few times I’ve glimpsed him in a fitted tee when I was hanging with Ivy and Celeste at their house. Those were fleeting sightings though, not affording me the opportunity to properly gape. And last night, it was too dark to make out any specifics.
Since he’s unaware I’m awake, I give in to a scrupulous ogle. At first glance, his ink seems disorganized, but upon further inspection, it melds together for a meticulous narrative. His smooth tawny-brown skin is illuminated by the sliver of daylight, shimmery beads of sweat lending a 3D skew to the art etched onto his upper body. On the bulging bicep nearest to me, there’s a Chinese dragon, scaly and fierce, coiling around it and onto his chest. It appears to be nipping at a kraken fisting tridents on the opposite pec. I can’t make out the images on his other shoulder, his back, or his stomach, but he’s covered. Everywhere a shirt touches.
“Good morning,” he croons without peering my way. Not as oblivious to my ogling as I hoped.
“How long have you been working out?” I ask as he flips to a push-up stance.
A mound of skulls is tattooed on his lower back. Out of them, a massive tree sprouts up his spine, adorning his shoulder blades with beefy branches, while the roots weave through the cavities—sprouting from the mouths and eye sockets. Beauty planted in the soil of ruins.
“About three hours.” He barks that answer while clapping his hands in the air three times. Chest. Back. Chest. Ground. Again. And again. And again.
Well, all righty then.
I scrunch the sheet up to hide my unhinged jaw and any drool that may escape. “You’ve been working out in the room while I was sleeping for three hours?”
“Yeah. It’s noon.” He switches to a one-handed push-up—equally awe-inspiring—as the cords of his muscles and pulsing veins bait me further. “I considered waiting for you to wake up, but got antsy.”
“There’s a gym,” I mumble, simply to keep the conversation flowing so I can keep admiring.
“Nah,” he grits out while he maintains his aggressive pace. Three. Hours. Into. A workout.
Way to go, Navy SEALs.
Visions of last night swarm me. He’s … talented. Gifted really. Those long, lean fingers are impressive and skilled. I’d never come so hard in my life. Ty Reynolds bringing me to orgasm has happened hundreds of times, but that was the first time he was present and an active participant at that. My heart wants that to mean he’s mine. But he put it all in perspective when he prefaced it with me using him for the night. He didn’t even allow himself to come, so despite my satiated libido, my heart has little to latch on to.
For now, I’ll keep things light and see where the day takes us. “I slept till noon because somebody faked a bad dream so they could feel me up. Tell a guy about your porn-star nipples and he’s all”—I adopt a suave, manly bravado—“ Baby, use me. Make me suffer .”
He flattens to the floor and howls his booming laughter—that symphonic tune could be the sole track on a platinum album. “Is that how I sound to you?”
I bite back the immense pleasure his joy bestows and smirk. “Yep. I bet you thought you had a deep, husky rasp. A sexy, drop-your-panties bedroom tenor. I apologize for thrusting you into utter disillusionment.”
“Good thing I don’t. That could get us in trouble.” He delivers that with every drop of deep and smooth, husky and raspy, what fantasies-sound-like precision. It’s reminiscent of his filthy mouth last night, and he was holding back, so …
My thighs clench beneath the sheet as I choke back my parched desire. “Speaking of getting in trouble, what are we doing today?”
He catapults off the floor, looming at the end of the bed like one of those Greek or Roman sculptures—chiseled and rigid. His gym shorts rest low on his hips. Some of those etched designs come into focus atop his eight rippled abs—compasses and swallows and the skeleton of a tree frog. Beads of perspiration trickle down between his pecs, sailing all the way to the indented V, directing my attention to—
“Rena, eyes up here, baby girl.”
“What?” I wheeze.
He chuckles. “I asked you to tell me how you’re feeling.”
Planting my gaze firmly on his golden-brown eyes, I shake my distraction away. “About?”
“Everything. Or start with nothing.” He rubs a towel all over himself and strolls to the coffeepot to make a cup—adding a heap of sugar and a single creamer, which is how I take it too. “Tell me something I don’t know. Like what you want to be when you grow up. That’s the question you threw at me.”
I wrap the sheet around me more snugly so I can attempt to focus. A challenge with both of us half naked. “Mine was regarding when you were a kid. Yours is present tense. So, when I grow up and become an old person, like thirty?”
“Yeah. When you’re ancient, like me.” He stirs the hot drink, saunters over, sets the coffee cup beside my mess on the nightstand, and plops into the wingback chair, his pearly whites dazzling me. “Although I’m actually thirty-one, as of last month.”
“Oh, I didn’t know when your—”
“You couldn’t have. We don’t celebrate. But now you’re clear on … how ancient I am.” He seems hesitant with that, worried about our age difference maybe.
“Ivy is twenty-four. How old is Wells?” I ask.
“Thirty-three.” He chuckles, clearly seeing where I’m headed since age difference isn’t an issue with them. “He had another trip around the sun recently too. Enough deflecting. We were talking about your aspirations.”
Lying straight again, I drag a pillow on top of me for security. “Can’t do it.”
“I gotta tell ya, I had more invasive inquiries I could’ve started with. I thought this was dipping our toes into the getting-to-know-one-another-better pond. Why the hell did you already freeze me out?”
He knows how to make my coffee and wants to get to know me better. That’s got to be good.
Keeping the pillow as a physical barrier between us to shield my flushing skin, I blow out a breath. “Because Ivy is obviously a mob boss or something. I know that’s probably classified , but whatever. People think I’m ditzy or deaf, maybe, and don’t hide things from me as well as they think they do. And Celeste runs the shelter for you.”
“Okay,” he says with amusement threading the word. “I’m lost as to why that means you won’t tell me what you want to do. If it’s because you want to be a singer, I think that’s amazing. You were magical up there.”
Fuck. He’s doing something to me. As much with his answers as with his glistening warrior physique. Even the few guys I’ve dated didn’t want to really know me. All they wanted was an inside peek at the Noires. But that made it easier somehow. I knew what I was getting. This is a mystery I’m not in the mood for.
If Ty breaks my heart, I might have to kill him.
The ceiling fan whirs like a taunt as I form my answer. “I don’t want to do that either. I mean, I enjoy playing guitar and singing. But not for an everyday career. Even a whole night can make my brain hurt. A lifetime isn’t appealing.”
He flops onto the bed—the whole mattress relenting to his formidable stature—and rips the pillow away from me. “Enough dancing. Why is this such a hard question?”
“If I say it out loud, it might make my dream seem small. And it’s never felt small. ”
His whole face twists with compassion. “Nothing you do could ever be small, Little Moon. Simply because you did it. Everything you touch shines.”
Yep. He’s falling in love with me or getting buried. That’s all there is to it.
I lick my lips and glance away, far more nervous than I’d like to be. I’ve never told anyone other than Jax this. “You know I lost my parents young. It was especially hard, growing up without my mom. I adore my brothers. They gave me an incredible life, but what I want more than anything is to be a wife and mom and be present every single minute.”
His fingers clamp on to my jaw, angling my face toward him, and I catch an indiscernible glint in his cognac orbs. “There’s nothing small about that. It’s …” A sigh tumbles past his lips—not a relieving one, a lamenting exasperation. He sweeps his knuckles across my cheek before leaping off the bed. “There’s no job more important. Ivy, Celeste, my whole family would echo that. And you’ll be an amazing mom.”
All my insecurities about not really knowing what that role entails creep up, but I don’t want to fish, so I hang on to his, “Everything you touch shines,” sentiment and stay quiet.
After taking a seat back in the chair—one arm slung over the side and his toned legs spread wide—he glides his thumb over his lower lip as he stares at me. “How’d your parents pass away?”
I’m not sure why that surprises me. It’s a logical follow-up question. It’s just not an event our family typically shares. But I’m still swooning over the no-job-is-more-important viewpoint and the getting-to-know-each-other-better request, so I spill.
“Our house burned down.” That’s the simplistic explanation, but it doesn’t feel like it lends an adequate slant of devastation to the night that shaped me.
“Only your parents were home?” he asks, his tone so serene that it lulls me into a trip back there.
“Axel took us all to our lake house without my parents. He did a lot of stuff like that with us. It was late, so we were supposed to be settling down. Jax and I were in our pajamas on the bed while Cash was flipping channels and caught the news report. It was a massive fire, but Maddox was the one who noticed it was our house and made Cash stop. My first thought was that my stuff was burning. It was all I cared about. My dolls and toys. My six-year-old world. Most of it wasn’t important, except Mom’s guitar that she’d let me strum with her help. I still think about that.”
I clear my throat and shimmy upright to rest against the headboard, keeping myself covered while I indulge in a quick sip of the sweetened coffee. “Anyway, the reporter announced that they’d found people inside. I couldn’t make sense of it. Mom was supposed to be meeting us at the lake. So, maybe it was only Dad—still devastating, but different. Maddox started cussing, something about Dad having one of his whores at our house. I’d heard them use the word before, but didn’t really understand. Cash insisted that Dad had the whole resort, the club, that he’d never bring a woman home. But that reporter kept saying bodies. Two bodies had been found inside. ”
The memory slithers around me, a chill escorting it as the ill-fitting pieces try to jam together. “I’m not sure how it all happened. Or how long we watched the coverage. My memories are likely mixed up and distorted. But the four of us were mesmerized by the flames until Ryker busted into the room, cussing and shutting off the television. He swept me into his arms, and as I cried against his neck and Jax hugged his waist, he kept promising that he and Axel would always take care of us. That’s all I remember.”
“I’m sorry you all endured that,” Ty coos, pulling me back to him. “Childhood trauma never really leaves us. I’m sure that’s been hard to work through.”
Other than some time on a therapist’s couch because Axel was obsessed with me being scarred by the loss and unhappy with my coping mechanisms, I’ve never discussed this with anyone outside my family. But Ty is no stranger to trauma.
“We had each other,” I say and immediately regret it because that is clearly not his story. “I mean … it was hard … the image never completely fades, but we’ve done okay, managed to grow from it.”
“You’ve done better than okay.” He pauses for a minute, his chest rising and falling. “Where was Axel that night?”
It’s the same thing I was wondering, but Ty asking it knots me into suspicion. He’s hunting for what I know. Which means he’s privy to the fact that there’s more to this story. And he’s here, what, under the guise of getting to know me? No. I’ve felt his genuine emotions, but he isn’t being transparent with his motives. Maybe he’s withholding answers, like everyone else.
Spotting my tank top, I grab it and slide it over my head while keeping the sheet over my chest. “Like I said, my memory is spotty at best. Probably in the other room.”
“That makes sense,” he allows.
“Besides,” I go on, “after Ryker set me down, I sprinted for the lake and dove off the dock.”
“You dove into the lake, fully clothed, in the dark. Why?” His lips twitch with mirth, which pleases me because my art of diversion is masterful.
My reasoning for that dive isn’t all that funny, I guess, but it served its purpose.
When I was tucked in Ryker’s embrace that night, I wished I hadn’t seen that damn news report, that I could’ve had even ten more minutes to pretend my parents were alive and that our family was whole. That my mother’s arms would still rock me, that her music would be my daily song. But since that wasn’t an option, I jumped into the lake with my pajamas on, wreaking a few moments of havoc so everyone had to put their grief on hold.
On the day my parents burned to ashes, I learned three things—not that I could have verbalized them at the age of six, but the seeds were planted nevertheless.
The first was that you were only guaranteed the moment you were in, which was both liberating and terrifying. Things left unsaid, undone, might forever be unsaid and undone, so why hold back ?
That revelation led me to my second ingrained truth: Spending that lone snippet of time to confront something painful could only return pain. No other side of that pain was ensured, so wallowing must be limited.
And finally, my big takeaway arrived with an oomph. My mantra. Freedom could be found in both forgetting and leaping. Which is why I ended up splashing in the lake in the black of night, breaking our chains, if only for a few minutes.
I’ve honed those theories, grown through therapy, wrestled my demons, hopefully matured. But those are the ghosts of my childhood that linger like a cat with ninety-nine lives.
No sense in disclosing all of that though. We aren’t quite there yet. So, all I say is, “It seemed like the best way to douse the flames.”
He nods, his gaze solemn and intense, like he’s experiencing it all for himself, which only makes me crave his story more. If he’s honestly interested in building something here, he’ll offer up some of his own skeletons, aside from those that accompany his warning label.
“What happened to your sisters?” I probe while snatching a rubber band from the nightstand and twirling my hair into a messy bun.
A heavy exhale billows past his lips. “You were so open with me, and I’m grateful to have that piece of you. But let’s not get into that today. It was a rough one last night.”
The truth of that resonates because I’ve never witnessed anything so terrifying in my life. He was someone else in that nightmare, shouting orders and commands. Oscillating between terror and rage and despondency. Thrashing. And wild.
But I’m not sure that’s why he won’t share with me. I’m not even sure why he’s here.
“Did they look like you?” I try. If he wasn’t Tytan Reynolds back then, I want to have a firmer grasp on who Andrew Michaels was.
He huffs a little chuckle, wrenching the cap off a bottle of water. “Not really. Genes are weird. Our dad was black. Mom was white. My eye color is close to Dad’s, but I got Mom’s soft brown curls and a skin color in between. Audrey had a paler complexion and blue eyes, like Mom, but Dad’s dark brown hair. And Ella had dirty-blonde hair, but Dad’s brown eyes and a skin color close to his. At a glance, we looked like misfits.”
That strikes me to my core. In part because Ty’s eyes are glossy simply at the mention of his family, which I’m guessing is because he referred to them all in past tense. No wonder he’s haunted. He lost everyone. I can’t imagine having lost my brothers too.
But also because I never really thought about the physical characteristics of my brothers and me. The four oldest have various shades of blue eyes while Jax and I have hazel. Blue peeks through, but … someone donated another gene to muddy it. More proof. More reason to find this Balzano guy.
“Sounds like a beautiful family.” I push past the staggering hollowness blanketing me and switch gears. “So, now that we’ve shared, let’s get back to our plans for the day.”
“What have you been doing?” he volleys.
Excited at the prospect of being his tour guide, I spill. “Aside from the nightclub, I went to a few shows—a subpar magician and a version of Cirque du Soleil that was a bit like an acid trip but incorporated water, which La Lune Noire has never ventured into, so that was impressive. I also frequented several restaurants and the shops at The Venetian—there are gondola rides with singing men there, but it’s a little weird ’cause you’re in the middle of the mall, so I say we skip that.”
“You did all that while hiding out?”
“Yeah, you only live once. I slapped a wig and sunglasses on, gathered my wad of cash and prepaid Visa card, and went on my way. What’s it gonna be?”
He swigs a guzzle of his water, astonished eyes never veering from mine. “Staying in until dark. Then leaving.”
My spine snaps ramrod straight. “Leaving? ”
“Yes.” He rises and plucks some clothes from his bag. “We’re moving to a house.”
I’m grateful he didn’t suggest hauling me back to NOLA, but still not happy. “Why?”
“Because we can’t stay here.” His response is edgy, baffling me as to what he’s suddenly upset about, until he adds, “And we need to inform your brothers that you’re safe soon.”
I jump to my feet. “Tell me you didn’t—”
He raises his palm to me in one of those calm-down gestures that never helps anyone calm down. “I haven’t called them yet. We can take a day or two. But they’re my friends. I can’t—”
“Well, they’re my brothers, and I can. This is complicated, and they … I shouldn’t have dragged you into this.”
“If it’s so complicated, fill me in,” he starts, but whatever he sees on my face has him promptly switching gears. “Don’t start being a brat this early.” He smiles with all the cocky charm he can muster—it’s a lofty amount. If I wasn’t leaning toward the killing-him option, I’d be melting. His brown eyes twinkle in a valiant attempt to cast his spell on me. “There are worse fates than me taking you to a beautiful home that overlooks the city and mountains so we can enjoy a different view together.”
To prove to myself that he’s handling me—here for my brothers and not for me—I poke. “It’s not the house. I don’t like to be cooped up. You stay here. I’ll go explore and either meet you back here or at the house.”
He squares his broad shoulders to me, his folded arms and towering six-two height conveying intimidation as his jaw pulses. “No.”
I cackle and imitate his pose. “Why the hell not?”
His features soften. “Because I want to spend the day with you.”
God, he’s fucking good. He says all the right things, even in domineering alphahole mode. Are they lines?
“Aww. So sweet.” I raise my fingertips to my lips for my best cutesy pose. “Then come with me, sexy sailor.”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “It’s not safe. Your brothers are looking for you, scouring every camera across the country. If you keep going out, they’ll find you.”
Shrugging, I throw my arms out wide. “Color me confused. And that’s bad? You just said we should tell them where I am. Plus, you wanted to get to know me better. This is me. Seizing the moment. Living. We’re in freaking Vegas. We might as well have a little fun first.”
We’re a sight. Him on one side of the bed. Me on the other. Mean-mugging game faces and scanty attire. All of it laced with a hint of humor because I think he feels as alive in this moment as I do. Even in my irritation, I know fighting with Tytan Reynolds would be a lifetime of exhilarating thrills.
“No.” He drops the clothes he was holding and scrubs his hands over his scruff in a barely-hanging-on kind of hand tantrum—maybe he’s having less fun than me. “I’m not risking it. This is shitty enough. I’m not parading you around the city so that when they find us, it looks like I don’t give a shit. They’re flipping out, Rena. Sick about your safety. If you need time to work things out, I’ll give you that. But you’re not leaving here.”
I am over fucking orders and threats. Wishy-washy feelings and half-truths.
The majority of that is served daily at La Lune Noire.
“We’ll see about that,” I hiss.
He leans forward, as if there isn’t a king-size bed between us. Obstinate determination wrinkles his forehead. “I’ll cuff you to the fucking bed if I have to.”
Gone is easygoing, well-mannered Ty.
God, he’s sexy like this.
So, yes, I want to crawl across this bed and lick the beads of sweat still freckling his skin. Trail my tongue along every crevice of his sculpted abs. Slink to the floor and take those gym shorts with me. Unveil his most vital classified unit and devour him until his vision is spotty and his speech is nonsensical.
But not now because he has met his freaking match .
My brows dart for the sky as I thrust my wrists out in front of me in a cuff-me dare. “More empty promises, Reynolds. Like how your cock is going to stretch me out and steal the breath from my lungs when we both know you’ll never have the guts to do it. So it’ll be someone else filling me up. A man my brothers approve of. That’s the goal, right? Someone else erasing all the emptiness that came before him .”
He stalks around the bed, pupils blown as he prowls toward me with a steel jaw. Hunger and wrath appear to be battling it out for dominance, so I back up a few steps on instinct. He’s untamed and edgy, an imperious shadow of his former self.
But, fuck, am I here for it.
When he reaches me, he forms a cage around my dwarfed frame. He’s all long limbs and savage alarm bells. Shimmery sex appeal. His forearm rests above my head as my back thumps into the wall and the air whooshes out of my lungs. Even his sweat is intoxicating. A musk full of obscene promise.
As his fingers brush over the thrumming pulse point in my neck, his darkened eyes meander all over my flushed face, and his voice is raw and eerily serene. “I am hanging on by a severely tattered thread. Some might say that thread has already snapped, and yet I’m keeping it together. For you. But you are not making it easy.”
Maybe my thread is tattered, too, because all I can think about is how much fun we could have snapping together.
“I don’t want easy, Ty. Where’s the fun in that? If I did, I wouldn’t be propositioning the guy my brothers told me to stay away from. And certainly not one who’s haunted. Your scars don’t frighten me.”
“They should.” His breath fans over my heaving chest, and the heat of his body waves off him like a furnace, coiling around me to set my every pore ablaze. “You’re going to push me too far and unleash the ugliness I’m tamping down,” he warns. “But then it will be too late, Little Moon. There will be no way out of this.”
Is he giving me the space to run or himself? I’ve been planning my future with Ty since before it was legal. If all I have to do is push, he should’ve spoken up sooner.
“Well, I do enjoy living on the edge. So, unleash the monster, sailor. I’ll hold on to the headboard like a good girl.”
For a full minute, neither of us budges. We’re a frenetic typhoon of erratic heartbeats, crashing breaths, and magnetic tethering. I couldn’t move if my life depended on it.
His bare chest grazes my covered one, and anguish coasts over his features. That’s the second every dream I’ve ever held crashes around me. The man I’ve always wanted wants me back. But it’s torturing him.
He curls his fingers into a fist, forcing them against his mouth as he begins pacing and ranting. “I swear to Christ, you’re going to be the death of me. I am between a rock and Hell , Rena. Fiery. Fucking. Hell. I am trying here—”
“Yeah. Well, you’re not the only one trekking through Hell, Ty. And I am more than willing to burn with you.” My words yank him back to me.
He halts his frenzied strides, gripping my chin. “Never. I could never allow anything to … Let me in. You’re suffering. I came here to help you, not make it harder.”
“I’d love to. I want that. But you have to decide. You’re either here for my brothers or you’re here for me.”
I don’t know what I want from him. That’s not true. I know exactly what I want. All of him. Not his help. Him. His laughter and smiles. His demons and pain—not to be the cause, but the carrier. It’s unreasonable that I should expect that all to transpire in a day. I’m aware of the bratty-princess attitude enveloping me.
But he was a someday wish that became never, which I accepted. Until he went and flirted and nicknamed me and told me I hadn’t imagined any of the heat between us. He answered my texts and flew to find me. He kissed me and made me feel things and brought stars to my eyes. I’ve been in love with this man for years, but it was fictious love that could have been tucked away. He breathed new life into it.
A month ago, I would have afforded him room to waltz around his feelings, hoping they’d solidify with time. But frankly, I’m over shit. And I don’t care if it’s reasonable.
My heart is already shattered at the thought of not being a Noire. Whether Ty meant to or not, he dangled the idea of being his in front of me. If he snatches it away because of my brothers, I’ll freaking lose it.
He’s not the only one harboring a crazed side of themselves. And when people have nothing left to lose, they’re either free or insane.
Based on how I’m currently feeling, I’m betting on the latter for myself.
Stepping back, he throws some space between us, staring at me with a cocktail of confusion and conviction. “I can’t be here and be concerned for all of you? You love them. Would you really respect someone who claimed to be their friend and cared nothing about how they were tormented over you missing?”
He’s not feeding me lines. They’re bits of wisdom. Ty sees the world in stark clarity, cataloging everyone’s pain and absorbing it. There’s no winning here.
“No, I wouldn’t.” I drop to the bed, swipe a butterscotch candy off the nightstand, and rub my thumb over the foil wrapper. Tears prick my eyes because I get it now—hurting them hurts me, and it’s all a convoluted mess in his head. “It really does make whatever this is between us more complicated than I realized. Take your shower. I won’t leave.”
He exhales sharply, hands on his hips as he turns away from me. “I can’t.”
“I will not leave this room while you’re showering. I’m not in the habit of making promises I don’t keep. And not showering isn’t an option after three hours of working out.” I peer at him beneath the fringe of my lashes, hoping to conceal the heartbreak I’m nursing. “Leave the door open if you don’t trust me. I’ll stay in bed.”
When he twists back to me, his Adam’s apple bobs on a swallow that is equal measures of burning desire and apprehension. So, to sweeten the deal, I climb under the covers and pull a pillow over my face, drifting off a few minutes later to the melody of the battering water.