CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
RENA
T y still has me pressed against the wall, his face nestled in my hair, uneven breaths tumbling over my skin. And his cock buried so deep inside me that I’m convinced it’s spearing my spleen.
I’ve heard you don’t really need that organ, so we’re good.
That was a freaking moment.
Fervor and vulnerability dancing a volatile rumba.
He was cradling me like fine china while simultaneously shattering me to pieces.
Soul-searing slivers. Jagged and scathing, but so sharp that they sliced clean through, carving into the essence of everything I am.
Every time he touches me, he etches himself deeper, bores into my marrow more than I imagined was possible. But this was a detonation that blasted me to another realm.
Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually.
I will worship at the altar of Ty motherfucking Reynolds. In part because he is so damn talented. And that was a whole lot of extra.
But mostly because he’s an idyllic blend of rough and tender. Punishing and compassionate.
And his heart …
His heart is big, but so broken. And although I told him I can’t be his healing, I yearn to escort it.
Ty needs to be loved so relentlessly that all the demons inside him cower and scurry for the hills. Love is healing, triumphant, and the one thing wickedness can’t steal. No boundary or bondage or persecution can prevent a heart from loving another. It’s the paragon of freedom.
And what Ty doesn’t see is that at the root of his shame isn’t an evil act of not protecting his sisters. It’s that little-boy desire to be a good man; he believes he massacred it one choice at a time. When, in fact, he’s the victim of the massacre. He made an honorable move as a kid that a deranged monster annihilated, robbing him of everything he held dear, including his self-worth. But I can’t tell him that. Using the word victim would surely send him reeling.
So, I’ll show him. And I’ll stay. Because I’m in love with this man. Not that I’d divulge that.
Cash has been drilling it into me since my preteen years that I should never tell a man I love him first. He claims it’s too risky because men are preconditioned to chase, so it’s vital that they set the pace in said pursuit and determine when the prey has been caught. I’m not sure that applies here since I fucked up that hunting theory when I told Ty that I’d wanted him for years, and he already hitched us for life, but it’s ingrained in me either way.
I do think Ty might be in love with me—another reason I won’t be leaving—which is mind-boggling after my years of unrequited pining.
I’m still not sure how we got here. To this intense connection, passion, predicament. I prefer not to focus on the latter.
The predicament—my brothers, this bizarre KORT organization that apparently owns all of us, and the fact that I’m not who I thought I was, in name anyway—is all so much.
I’d like to pretend none of that is happening and just bask in the sweltering beauty of my husband, who is filling my spleen with every drop of his cum.
“Not enough,” he rasps. “More.”
That arrives more like caveman mutterings than logical sentences. For a second, I consider grunting in response. Maybe we’re doing a thing.
The untamed meshing of soul and spirit is only enhanced when his lips collide with mine. It’s a kiss far more feral than he’s lavished upon me before.
Wild and possessive.
Tongue and teeth and panting breaths.
Carnal and crazed.
My nails scrape along his taut back muscles, scoring the skin in my own act of branding. That only enlivens him more. He groans into my mouth, swallowing my moans in return.
“Mine. All mine,” he rasps, pulling back so his golden-brown embers dance over my face with unabashed devotion to the cadence of an ’80s love song that happens to be another one of my favorites—every song so far has been. It seems he has a Rena playlist.
God, he makes me feel adored.
With his eyes. Words. Gifts. Unspoken gestures.
“I’ve been collecting little pieces of you for years—gems I’ve pocketed away.”
Nodding, I whisper my response to his claiming, a lump in my throat straining my words. “Yours, Ty.”
Where most see the release as an ending, he views it as an invigorating beginning.
It’s always in the after with him. A never-done passion.
That point is furthered when he lays me down on the table—still buried inside me—disregarding the laundry that I attempted to fold, and splays me out like a filthy feast. “Pinch your nipples for me, baby girl. Hard.”
I obey, perplexed but complaisant and enjoying the stinging pressure. These instances of whiplash with him are beginning to feel like home. His all-over-the-place moods suit me.
Flourishing and floundering from one moment to the next.
“You like that little bit of pain, don’t you?” he observes, surveying me with a slow perusal. “Fuck, I can’t wait to deliver one fantasy after another to you. If you haven’t noticed, I’m obsessed. With you. With making you come. With seeing your smile.”
Obsessed? That’s new. Or maybe it isn’t. But I like it.
He glides his cock out with a guttural hum and quickly replaces it with his fingers, pushing them in and out. Lifting my legs so my heels rest on the ledge, he inspects my pussy or whatever the hell he’s doing down there.
After several strokes, he presents me with his glistening fingers. “Taste.” He shoves them in my mouth like he’s done before, but his voice is husky, thick with emotion. “We’re so fucking good together.”
I suck and purr, my pupils blowing wide in agreement—we are good together. “Heaven.”
“Fucking heaven,” he heaves before kneeling on the floor and descending upon my core like a lost and starved man, searching for the meal that will fill him. Body, mind, and soul.
His tongue laves over me, devouring our cum cocktail with a throaty warble of satisfaction. And my heart thrashes in harmony. This really is a glorious cage.
I’m so swollen, so sensitive—twitchy zaps of rhapsody ripping through me to whiz up my spine—but no less willing to let him inhale me. The languid caresses of his tongue are so soothing, almost like aftercare in and of itself. Each swipe is both enthralling and sanative.
His hands trail all over my legs, kneading, massaging, scratching, all while he gently delivers ecstasy through velvety swirls on my clit .
The muscles in my thighs and chest and abdomen tighten so much that a tremble scampers through me.
“I’m close, Ty. So close.” The declaration stumbles out in a clumsy, airy mess just as pounding thumps crash into the door.
“Rena? Get the fuck out here!” Ryker yells, his thundering tenor rattling the entirety of the small space.
Mood killer.
While the sound ricochets through my brain, shocking me into returning to the predicament, Ty is unfazed. Zeroed in on his work.
“My brothers are outside the door,” I whisper-yell. “Let’s resume later.”
“Fuck them,” he mutters, barely coming up for air. “I’m eating.” His eyes lift to mine, creased with haughty mirth, as his lips feather against my clit. “It’s rude to spoil someone’s dessert.”
Valid point. Dessert should be savored. And I can’t deny this is one hell of a treat.
The knocks continue.
Ty smiles against me with a stilted chuckle that fans warmth over my center and my thighs, sprouting bumps on my stomach and limbs. And as I lift up onto my elbows to see him better, it’s clear his grin is partly demented, which, for some reason, is an absolute turn-on.
He’s more complex than I realized. And a little unhinged.
His scruff scrapes over my skin with a titillating bristle. “Tell them you’ll be coming in a minute.”
Lick. Lap. Whirl.
Ignoring the innuendo and the mind-numbing pleasure, I dive into the most important aspect of his snack. “Ty, seriously. They’re going to kill you. Maybe it is rude to interrupt, but this shouldn’t be your last meal. I don’t want to become a widow after dessert.”
Replacing his tongue with his thumb, he peers at me. And the shadow of his gaze is both dark and light in a way I can’t quite describe—a shading of something that wasn’t there before. It’s so startling, so stunningly captivating, that it seizes the air in my lungs. That and the divine rhythm on my clit that is keeping me in a haze.
“I’m not done. Tell them, or I will. Right now, all that matters is you. Us.” His intense eyes rake over my minimal curves, and he licks his lips. “Spoiling my wife. Remember?”
I bob my head—entranced because there really is an us and I really am his wife—and shout a breathy, “I’ll be coming … out soon,” at the incessant pounding.
That’s met with a razzing, “Chicken,” from my smirking sailor and some disgruntled expletives from at least one raging Noire, but it seems no one will be kicking the door down.
And while I’m relieved and enamored by this intoxicating plight for another orgasm, it feels like choosing. Since Ty informed me that this marriage endangers my brothers, there is no other way to view it. I don’t know what to do with that.
I always knew the two of us together would be challenging. But this … this morphs my most coveted fantasy into my most unfathomable nightmare.
Everything inside me wants to shove it into a corner, pretend it isn’t happening, avoid the predicament and the pain. So, I do. Surrendering to the bliss that my husband is delivering.
“Eyes on me, baby girl,” Ty orders, and I realize I shut them in an effort to disappear. “That’s my girl,” he praises when my lids flick open. “You and me, escaping together. True fucking north.”
Nothing left to lose. Blueberry fields and rain. True north.
“It doesn’t matter who the fuck is on the other side of the door. You. Are. Mine. This cunt is mine.” His cheeks hike up in another depiction of that crazed side, sending a horde of flutters into my stomach right before he grazes his teeth over my clit with a euphoric stinging tingle. “You can pretend you don’t like the audience, but you crave being claimed like this as much as I’m desperate to remind everyone whose you are.”
There’s a split second when my stubborn side considers refuting that assessment .
But as we lock gazes and his fingers and mouth continue their exhilarating tempo, I succumb to the rapture. Allowing myself to spin and fly and revel in the unraveling only this man can bestow. My teeth sink into my lip to keep my screams at bay even though a part of me yearns to let them rip.
So, yeah, I’m freaking depraved. A zealous little slut for Tytan Reynolds.
And true to form, when I’ve gasped his name and plummeted off the blissful edge and shaken through the aftershocks, he scoops me up, moves to the bench with me in his lap, and sprinkles me with kisses, ogling my face as though it’s the first time he’s ever glimpsed me.
The scents of sex and mountain-breeze fabric softener mingle with his secret-desires musk, rendering me even more stupefied than my already-relaxed state.
“Fuck,” he hisses. “I don’t want to go out there. I want to carry you to our room and lock us in there indefinitely.” He pets my head, smoothing his hand over my matted hair. “You’re probably sore. You need a bath and a massage.”
Wow. I could get used to the spoiling, but not now.
“Well,” I begin, ripping myself from my sated fog and wiggling to touch my feet to the cool, tiled floor, “that sounds amazing. It’s a date later. But it would be avoidance now.”
“Avoidance,” he parrots, probably wondering why I’d be against that. It’s one hundred percent my style, but the wrath awaiting us is imminent regardless.
So, I keep us on track, standing before him. “Let’s just take it one task at a time. Right now, all we’re doing is getting dressed.”
He chuckles, releasing his hold on me to deliver one more jostling tweak to the bars in my nipples. “Are you handling me, Little Moon?”
“ Handling isn’t the right word.” I grab my bikini top from between the washer and dryer where it fell and peer at him as I tie it on. “I’m loving this possessive vibe. It’s very gangster of you. But I have five other possessive, testosterone-pumping egos to contend with, and I’m trying to wrap my mind around how volatile that’s going to be when we emerge together after clearly doing”—I gesture to the scene of the climaxes as I pluck my shorts and bikini bottoms from the floor—“that. So, getting dressed is an imperative step.”
“That’s what married people do. What the fuck can they say?” he snarls, squaring his shoulders. Combat ready.
This is all so much to absorb. His confession. His possessiveness. My brothers’ murderous rage.
“Great,” I deadpan, overwhelmed and exhausted. “When they stop wanting to kill you, I’ll explain the ins and outs of marital relations.”
His eyes soften, and although he speaks with a sternness, a pall of shame and insecurity ghosts across his features. “You just need to go out there and tell them this is what you want. They’ll accept it.”
After throwing on my bottoms, I toss him his shirt and fix my hair. “You are without a doubt what I want and what I deserve.”
His whole demeanor sinks, heaviness cloaking him—eyelids, shoulders, neck. I’m confident he wants me now, but it’s like what I realized when he first showed up in Vegas—it tortures him.
That’s less personally gutting than it was before though. Now, I see it as his self-inflicted punishment, convincing himself he isn’t worthy of being loved, not simply the conflict he felt about my brothers.
Once we’re both dressed, I brush my fingers gently over the bruise on his scruffy jaw, wishing that his battered soul could mend as seamlessly as this tender contusion will. “They’ll accept this marriage, Ty, because they want the best for me. And even though they’re angry, they know you’re the best there is. We’ll figure this out.”
He bobs his head, towing me against him by the waist of my shorts, and stuns me with his response. “You’re a Noire. And you’re a Reynolds. But names mean very little. I’ve had several. No matter which one we extend to others, I’ll always be yours, and you’ll always be mine.”
His thumb dusts over my cheekbone, eyes frolicking all over my face. “When you confront Axel, don’t confuse bloodline with roots. You are you, no matter the lineage. The girl who lights up every room, who fills their lives with music, who is smart and clever and capable. And that’s who they love.”
God, I needed to freaking hear that. My heart swells with the insight laced into his perspective. He’s so good at that—seeing the battles others are waging. Probably because he’s fought the worst of them.
“Are there other questions I should ask Axel?” That’s my roundabout way of fishing to see if he knows more.
“Yes,” he says without expounding.
I could interrogate him or even fault him for not telling me what he knows. But our time has been fleeting and jam-packed, and the agent of the information is in this house, so I’ll start there and press Ty if that doesn’t pan out.
As I peck his nose, our eyes lock for a beat in understanding before I head for the door, the urgency of my queries suddenly igniting like wildfire in my bones.
The first steps into the hallway emit a disjointed sensation—dizzying, like a low gas leak, the scent of danger trickling toward me, but the source of the impending explosion is not yet identified. I mean, it’s not unidentified . It comes in the form of five raging Noire brothers.
Well, four.
Jax is on my side, whatever side that is. The second we breached the threshold of the master bedroom earlier, he apologized, told me that life doesn’t work without me, and that he’d show up for me however I needed him to. The bags under his eyes shouted how distraught he’d been. So, I told him that all was forgiven, and that if Ty viewed me as a burden, I’d require either a lobotomy or a sedative strong enough to comatose me .
Dramatic? Yes.
But that’s how he and I cope—jumping off the ledge is always a lingering possibility, but never one we’d actually entertain. He hugged me and told me he’d take care of everything before starting to pack my clothes.
The other four would kill Ty for my broken heart and sympathize with me later.
I follow the din of voices, Ty’s footsteps melding with mine. The second I round the corner into the family room, Ryker accosts me, sweeping me into his arms. And even though I can’t see it, I’m certain he’s casting a stony death glare on Ty. His spine is wooden despite him enveloping me in his warmth.
So, I steer him back to me. “I’m so sorry, Ryker. I know I scared—”
“Scared us?” he scoffs. “We’ve been out of our goddamn minds. You should’ve fucking talked to us. How did you expect me to carry on without my little pest?”
Ahh. Ryker. He feels everything more intensely. It leaves him rigid and grumpy. And often unbearable. But he also loves harder. Gain his loyalty and respect, and you have the strength of an entire army in a single man. Once you’re his, you’re always his. So, the important part about the moniker he assigns me isn’t pest . It’s my .
Which is why every emotion about my brothers billows out against his neck, like it did the day my parents died. “I heard you guys in the conference room, and I wanted to understand who I was, and then I found out about the tracking.”
“You’re ours,” he insists, and his head snaps up—no doubt he’s leering at my husband again, who I can sense is hovering. “That’s all that fucking matters.”
“And Ty’s,” I retort because we need to deal with that first and foremost.
A low rumble roars from Ryker’s throat as Axel sidles up to us, kissing my hair and rubbing my back.
“We need to chat,” he says. “About a lot of things. ”
Nodding against Ryker’s chest, I give him one more squeeze before detangling myself and granting Axel my attention. That’s short-lived though because Maddox, Cash, and Jax all join us for their own greetings, swinging me around and assuaging the dour ambience a bit.
When we’ve finished our reunion, Liam winks at me from across the room, casual stance with Modelo in hand. I’d say he played a strong role in defusing the situation while Ty and I were locked in the laundry room. I’m sure they all did. Something transpired because while the aura is solemn, it isn’t homicidal.
It’s still such a mess though. Wells and his crew have always been the only group my brothers truly trusted. They’ve been a bit like family to us over the years. More so since Ivy married Wells. She made them all softer—her men and mine.
So, this—the stifling tension, the dank air creating invisible walls between the two families—is catastrophic. I love them all. I’ll either unite them again or they’ll tear me apart.
“Why don’t we go talk somewhere private, Rena?” Axel suggests. “We’ll answer all your questions, and you can fill us in on what’s going on with you.”
I glance at all the faces currently glued to this turbulent bubble I’m stuck in and make a decision. “I think we should all sit down together. Our family and Ty’s. That way, everything will be out in the open.”
Wells peers over at me with so much pride in his eyes that my glands feel heavy, which is only augmented by Gage’s encouraging head bob. It’s gratifying to please them, much like it is with my brothers.
“Fine.” Axel blows out a heavy breath and follows me to the kitchen.
Everyone crowds around the twelve-person table—a perfect fit. It’s poetic. Ryker grunts when Ty snags the seat beside me, but thankfully, he doesn’t make it a huge ordeal.
The space is so charged, so staticky with explosive angst, that as Wells pours scotch for all the guys and Celeste passes Ivy and me wine, not a word is spoken. It’s as though we all sense that simple speech could trigger a no-turning-back decimation.
So, with Axel, the man who raised me, on one side and Ty, the man I married, on the other, I grab each of their hands and study the gathering of people who mean the world to me. “I won’t do this fighting. You all think you can control me, but we’ve seen how far that got you. So, this is how things are going to work with us. I will not choose. I love you all. Ty is my husband. That’s done. You’re all my family. And you all care about and respect each other, so get over it.”
“It’s not that simple,” Axel barks, more venom seeping into his words than he traditionally permits. “Do you have any idea what they’ve gotten you mixed up in?”
Although Ty told me KORT intel was a death-sentence secret, Axel has alluded to the fact that he’s knowledgeable about the organization.
But I don’t think all my brothers are, so I simply say, “Yes, I’m aware. I knew before our vows.”
No sense in sharing that the vows were merely fluff after the paperwork was already finalized.
If I had any doubt about Ryker’s awareness, it’s eradicated by his jagged exhale. It would appear that he’s privy to the death-sentence part of this union as well.
But Cash? Not so much. “I’d like to be fucking clued in here,” he snipes.
“I second that,” Maddox chimes. “What the hell—”
“Leave it,” Ryker commands, and both back down, so I hitch a ride on that train.
“Let’s move on. What’s done is done,” I say as I glance at Jax. “Do you know about …”
He flicks his unruly blue hair from his eyes, grasping the unspoken of my question. “I found out after you left.”
That instantly softens the reality of my heritage because Jax and I are in it together .
“Okay,” I sigh. “So …”
Suddenly, it occurs to me that I do need to talk to Axel alone because while Ty’s family is mine now, they are also bound by KORT, which means their allegiance could have restraints.
“You know, I think I would like a moment alone with Axel,” I announce, pumping Ty’s hand a few times before rising, but he doesn’t let go.
His eyes bounce between Axel, Wells, and me until he finally settles on something. “A few minutes.”
I’m not sure what that means, but it reads like an extension of this KORT business, and as I flit my eyes to Ivy and Celeste, it’s clear that is what’s going on. Ivy is biting her lip, like she’s preventing herself from intervening. And Celeste has an eyebrow arched, her glass dangling from her fingers, as though she’s all too familiar and toasting my quandary.
Leaning down, I plant a quick kiss on Ty’s lips. He doesn’t shy away from returning the gesture, but he also doesn’t overdo it like he did with his family this morning. Wisdom. Other than Jax, who I catch smiling in my peripheral vision, my brothers aren’t ready.
The instinct to assure Ty with a kiss was so natural that it startles me.
“I didn’t even think about it,” I whisper, resting my forehead against his.
He palms my head, and his grin could illuminate the darkest night. “That’s another thing married people do, Little Moon.”
Yep. We’re freaking married. And doing married-people shit.
Determining not to make eye contact with any of my brothers, I lead the way to the lanai so Axel and I can address the various issues between us, a small smile still twitching on my lips from that sweet encounter. It’s no surprise when I turn to find Ryker has followed us too. I don’t even bother to tell him to go. He’d just dig his heels in.
Before I can get a word in, Axel surveys my face. “What’s that faint bruise on your cheek from? ”
“One of the guys that Ty took out,” I supply, knowing full well that answer will garner some immediate accolades for my husband.
Axel swallows, his eyes glued to mine, conveying exactly what I anticipated—gratefulness for Ty protecting me. “Do you love him? Or—”
“Yes.” Noting that he and Ryker are still conflicted, I add to my simple response, “I’ve wanted to be with him for a long time, but I was afraid to strain the relationships between our families. Please don’t make that fear a reality. Ty will be good to me.”
Ryker shocks the hell out of me when he piggybacks on that with a sigh. “He will be.”
With that, he swills every drop of his scotch. I’m guessing that has something to do with Mercy. He’ll never forget how quickly Ty got her to safety.
“If this is what you want …” Axel trails off, searching but resigned. “Well, like you said, it’s done. I can’t believe I didn’t get to walk you down the aisle. But as long as you know there’s nothing more important to us than you—”
“I know,” I whisper, bile coating my throat for what we both missed. “This doesn’t change anything. Nothing could.” Those words have me eager to embark on the inquiries I’ve been dismissing but desperately need to know. “So, I need you to tell me the truth. Were you involved somehow with the fire that killed Mom and Dad?”
He doesn’t meet my eyes. “Yes,” he says, hedging with a hoarse bleat, “I set it.”
“You set it,” I parrot because that is unfathomable and knocks the wind right out of my lungs. My hand presses into my sternum, like it can somehow enable me to ingest this absurd reality, while my other arm coils around my queasy stomach.
But Ryker immediately interjects his own tidbit. “He didn’t know Mom was there.”
That makes a little more sense. Axel adored our mother. But there’s still something missing.
“You intended to kill Dad though?” I probe, unsure how I even feel about that. Axel was a far bigger influence in my world, even when my father was alive, even before he knew I wasn’t his. But it’s still … a line. Right?
Axel scrubs his hand over his face with a groan. “He was making threats about you, Jax, and Mom. He … it was the only way. Believe me when I tell you that I tried … The threats were substantiated by plans.”
“What did he threaten?” I ask, my heart breaking with the inquiry. It’s already evident that the despicable verdict my father spewed at me over kettle corn was just the prelude to the real horrors.
Axel can’t even utter the words, his sapphire eyes brimming with so much sorrow that it wrecks me.
So, Ryker spits it out. “He said he’d kill the three of you if Mom didn’t disappear with you both.”
“Okay.” I choke back the immense devastation that slams into my chest, but my eyes sting, and my nose burns. “And Mom … if you didn’t think she was home, how did she end up …”
“Balzano,” Ryker hisses. “You know that name? Who that is?” he verifies, and when I nod my confirmation, he continues, “She went to him and pleaded for him to take her back. We knew she was going to do that. Their affair had been on and off for years. But she must’ve also told him that we had a plan to get rid of Dad. Axel had wanted to calm her fears and ensure she wouldn’t be home at that time, so he filled her in on the plan. She hoped with Dad gone, Balzano would choose her, you guys, all of us.”
My hand crawls up to my throat at the visual of my mother chasing her blueberries and rain, only to be among the crops lost to the burn. “But he didn’t agree to that, obviously.”
“No.” Axel tucks me into his side, kissing my hair and sounding so hollow. “He knocked her out and planted her in the house. I’m so sorry. I didn’t …”
“Motherfucker,” I utter as the anguish drips down my face, and I do my best to swipe it away .
“Yeah,” Ryker mumbles, staring at me with apprehension, likely worried about my mental state.
“And”—I lick a salty tear from my lips—“he just went back to living his life?”
The real questions skulk in the space between us. Why didn’t you kill him? Why didn’t he suffer?
Axel clears his throat, centering himself. “I didn’t know at the time. I thought I’d fucked up somehow or that she’d given up and … not that it would’ve mattered. I was the one who’d set the fire. When I confronted Balzano about his last conversation with Mom, trying to figure out what the hell had gone wrong, he was livid and claimed he had evidence about what I’d done. That if I reported their relationship or if anything happened to him, it would be released, and you’d all be taken away from me. I wasn’t willing to risk it. Plus, he threatened to kill you and Jax if anyone found out the two of you were his, so I swore I’d never mention a word about him to anyone. And I …”
“He did what was necessary to keep us safe.” Ryker’s loyalty laces through that.
He’s always stood by Axel. I’m guessing it’s in large part due to the two of them enduring this tragedy and having their lives upended as a result.
It takes a hot minute for me to digest that, but I’m still confused. “How did you find out that Balzano hid Mom in there?”
“There was a judge,” Axel begins. “A few months before all hell broke loose about the paternity results for you and Jax, I’d heard through the grapevine at La Lune Noire that this judge liked owning people—something I understood since that’s how Dad operated. Turned out, he hated Dad. So, when Dad started threatening Mom, I got myself a meeting with the guy. I granted him a lifetime of liberties at our resort, which also gained him a ton of corruption intel—his favorite commodity—in return for him to use his resources to cover up my involvement in the fire when the time came. Before I figured out Mom was in the house, it looked like everything went as planned. Dad took his sleeping pills, passed out, the fire was made to look like an accident, and the judge and I had a deal.”
He stalls there and his vexation over the matter is written all over his features. “But,” he sighs, “what I didn’t know was that the crooked judge also had strong ties to Balzano. The details aren’t spelled out, but it appears that the judge discovered Balzano’s involvement, and he covered up his part too.”
As the harrowing picture comes into focus, I yearn for more details. “So, you just learned that Balzano killed Mom?”
Ryker takes that, filling in the holes. “The judge kept records of all his deals—armed himself with enough dirt to throw the country into mayhem. It’s been several years since he died, but the documents were just recovered. Wells alerted us.”
My head spins as I attempt to absorb everything. And it isn’t the tangled web or the injustice that finally sinks in.
“So, both the man who thought he was my father and my birth father wanted me dead.” As my voice quavers through that acknowledgment, Axel enwraps me tighter.
“None of that matters,” he grits out. “Neither of them deserves even one of your tears. I raised you. I love you. We all do.”
“I love you too. So, what now?” I’m not even sure what I’m referring to.
“I’m taking care of Balzano,” Axel supplies. “Now that you’re … I’ve already said too much. I’m handling it.”
“No, Axel.” I shake my head, terror rocketing through me. “You can’t. Do you understand who he—”
“We know,” Ryker interrupts, his icy-blue eyes grim. “Don’t say a goddamn word. It’ll get you fucking killed. Don’t worry about it.”
As I’m about to launch a follow-up interrogation, Ty approaches. A brief, silent conversation transpires between the three of them.
Eventually, Axel extends his hand to Ty. “She comes first. Before everything. ”
Ty accepts the peace offering with a promised, “Always,” as they share a heartfelt shake.
“And if you hurt her, we don’t give a fuck who you are; we’ll kill you.” A phantom smile hikes up Ryker’s cheeks, and he smacks Ty on the back, which is about as close to a welcome as I’ve ever witnessed from him.
Axel chuckles, and Ty receives the threat with a nonchalant air. It’s the same air that all my beloved wicked men possess. The darkness that is home.
“That’s what I’d do,” Ty quips as he drags me into his arms, cupping my face and kissing my forehead. “You okay, baby girl?”
I’m not sure how to answer that. I’m in the arms of the man of my dreams, but life is whipping around me like a cyclone intent on ripping me to shreds. Torn between two worlds.
The dissension settling is of no relevance anymore. Who cares if they’re getting along at this point?
“Does this marriage keep my brothers safe?”
“No.”
The harrowing truth of Ty’s cryptic admission from earlier rings in my ears as I process what Axel was hinting at. It sounds like my brothers are going after Balzano—a KORT chair—and if my husband finds out, he might have no choice but to kill them. Or be killed for not reporting them.
“There are rules. We agreed to bylaws, and there’s no going back. Anything that puts the organization at risk is punishable by death.”