Chapter 6 Ronan
Ronan
“I thought you said this was going to be a game night.”
My lip twitched up at the exasperation in my husband’s voice.
I didn’t turn around right away, choosing to focus on finishing my current task.
The knife moved in steady, even strokes through a block of sharp white cheddar, the rhythm familiar and calming.
Outside the wall of glass windows, the woods were darkening as evening settled over the property, the last gray light filtering through a sea of towering pines.
It would be fully dark by the time everyone arrived.
Perfect atmosphere.
“It is,” I replied mildly, sliding the slices into a neat fan on the charcuterie board.
Behind me, I heard Wes sigh the way a man sighs when he already knows he isn’t going to like the answer he’s about to get.
“Well then,” he said carefully, “why are there two men tied up in our dining room?”
I finally turned around.
Wes stood at the kitchen entrance in a crisp white button-down and a pair of khaki pants that hugged his thighs obscenely.
His shirt was rolled up to his elbows, offering a perfect view of his thick, hairy forearms and strong hands.
His salt-and-pepper hair was combed back, his expression caught somewhere between tired patience and deep concern.
God, I loved that man.
I popped a slice of cheese into my mouth and chewed thoughtfully.
“Because,” I said, “it’s game night.”
Wes stared at me. “Babydoll.”
“Yes, darling?”
“There are two adult men bound to chairs in our dining room.”
“Mhm.”
“With duct tape.”
“Yes. Is there a problem?”
He dragged a hand down his face.
I turned back to the counter, reaching for the grapes. Presentation mattered. Just because the evening’s entertainment involved mild torture didn’t mean the snacks couldn’t be elegant. I took my job of being an uncle and de facto party planner very seriously.
“You told me we were hosting a normal game night,” Wes said as he stepped behind me and wrapped himself around my waist.
I snorted.
“Wesley.” I glanced at him over my shoulder. “Do you honestly believe your nephews would be satisfied with charades?”
Wes sighed.
Greyson might tolerate a board game for Lane’s sake, but Hayes and Hudson would last approximately four minutes before someone lost a finger.
And that was before alcohol.
The only person I could see genuinely enjoying a “normal” family game night was Josh, and he wasn’t even technically a part of the family.
Although, he and Dorian were close enough, and were the only couple who I could count on for showing up to every Sunday dinner I hosted.
The others were a hit or miss, hence my creation of family game nights.
I’d threatened each nephew and bribed each of their partners in order to ensure they all attended the inaugural event, but once they realized what my games entailed, they’d be eager for more.
“I thought maybe Monopoly,” Wes muttered weakly.
I laughed outright at that. “Your family commits homicide for fun.”
“That is a gross exaggeration.”
“It’s not good to be in denial, babe,” I chimed, leaning back against his chest.
Wes hugged my midsection tighter, groaning. “I’d like to pretend I didn’t raise fucking hellspawn for just one night…”
I shook my head, placing a small bowl of olives onto the tray. The spread was shaping up nicely—cheeses, meats, fruit, and crackers. I’d even made spinach dip.
Family bonding was important.
Having a family was everything.
Wes watched me in silence for a moment before speaking again.
“Are they dangerous?” he asked.
I considered the question, recognizing that he was inquiring about the men in the dining room, not his obviously deranged nephews.
“Hm. Not particularly, no.”
His eyebrow rose. “Ro.”
“They’re accountants.”
“…That does not answer my question.”
“Can’t you just wait for our guests to get here? I was planning on making introductions then.”
I carried the tray past him toward the dining room.
Wes followed.
The dining room looked beautiful, if I said so myself. The long walnut table gleamed under the soft pendant lights, and the modern architecture was all clean lines. The view of the trees surrounding us was very nice too.
At the center of the room sat two men duct-taped to dining chairs.
They were placed opposite each other like dinner guests.
One had tear tracks streaking down his face. The other was trying very hard to hyperventilate through the tape over his mouth.
I set the tray down between them.
“There,” I said approvingly. “Perfect.”
Wes pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Doll…”
“Yes?”
“You kidnapped two accountants.”
“Yep.”
“For what?”
I smiled, but before I could answer, headlights swept across the tall windows as a car turned up the long gravel drive.
Right on time.
“Oh, good,” I said, clapping my hands once. “They’re here.”
A sleek black sedan rolled to a stop outside the front of the house. Through the windows, I watched the driver’s door open.
Greyson stepped out. Tall, thick, and dressed in a charcoal coat that probably cost more than the average person’s monthly rent, he looked more like a hot English Lit professor with old money than a therapist who’d kidnapped his patient.
Lane climbed out of the passenger side a moment later.
Where Greyson was controlled, Lane was as fluid as water. I didn’t agree with the way their relationship had started, but I could admit that they were honestly perfect for each other.
I hadn’t known Greyson before he’d had Lane, but Wes had shared enough stories that I got the idea. Greyson may have kidnapped Lane, but Lane was the one who had him wrapped around his finger. To be blunt about it—Wes’s eldest nephew was a simp.
The Greyson Wes described before Lane was in the picture was someone much harsher than the man who catered to his love’s every whim, dropping thousands whenever Lane so much as glanced at a shop window.
He did the same for Lane’s cat, I’d heard.
The two of them were pampered house pets, captive, maybe, but exactly where they wanted to be.
Lane glanced up toward the house, a small smile already forming on plush, glossed lips. His long red hair was curled loosely, bouncing softly against his white puffer jacket as he walked up the drive beside Greyson.
Greyson’s eyes jumped from window to window as the couple started up the walkway, until they locked on Wes and me through the glass.
He immediately slowed.
“He can see the chairs,” Wes said flatly.
“Yes, but not the occupants yet.”
Greyson’s gaze flicked behind me, then he smiled.
“See?” I said. “He’s excited.”
The front door opened a moment later.
“Hello?” Lane called as they stepped inside.
“In the dining room!” I chirped.
A minute later, they’d climbed the stairs to the second level and found us in the formal dining room.
Lane appeared first, shrugging out of his jacket to reveal a shimmering blue shift dress, his expression warm and curious.
Greyson stepped in behind him, looking from the charcuterie board to the two duct-taped men sitting rigidly at the table.
One of the accountants made a muffled, panicked noise through the tape.
Greyson blinked once, then nodded. “Game night?” he asked calmly.
“Yes!” I beamed before turning to elbow Wes. “Told you they’d like it.”
Wes just looked up toward the ceiling as if seeking divine intervention.
Meanwhile, Lane finally caught sight of what had his husband so interested.
“Oh,” he said. “Somehow this makes more sense than what I was imagining.”
Greyson folded his arms. “What are the rules?”
Wes threw his hands up. “Why are you asking that like it’s a normal question?!”
Before I could answer, the low roar of a motorcycle echoed up the gravel drive.
Lane happily walked to the windows, bypassing the duct-taped men without a care. “It’s nice you invited Dorian and Josh,” he called over his shoulder. “But don’t you think Josh might be a bit too… well, for lack of a better word, nice for what you have planned?”
The bike came into view seconds later, purring as it rolled to a stop near Greyson’s car.
Dorian swung one leg off first.
Even from inside, his presence felt intense. He moved like a predator who had learned how to mimic human behavior well enough to pass in public. Tattoos covering most of his body, dark-haired, eyes sharp as knives.
I addressed Lane, “Maybe, but he knows what his partner is. I didn’t want to leave him out.”
Josh climbed off behind Dorian, pulling off his helmet and stretching his back.
Dorian watched with invested interest, then once Josh straightened back up, he grabbed the collar of his shirt and tugged him close to meet his lips in a deep kiss.
Josh melted into him, panting softly as Dorian pulled away. When he noticed us watching, his face turned red, and he said something to Dorian. Dorian laughed, took his hand, and dragged him up the drive.
The front door opened again, and soon after, I heard a pair of footsteps climbing the stairs.
Josh walked in first, cheeks still tinged pink, although a bit lighter now. “Hi, guys. Thanks for having us—” He stopped mid-sentence. “Why are there people tied up?”
Behind him, Dorian stepped into the room.
His eyes landed on the accountants.
He tilted his head slightly, then an amused expression took over his face. Looking at me, he said, “Looks fun.”
Josh slowly turned to look at Dorian. “I thought you said this was a game night,” he whispered harshly.
“I said the same thing, kid,” Wes griped.
Dorian’s eyes flicked back to the men in the chairs.
One of them had started crying again, his shoulders shaking in small, helpless tremors. The other had gone very still, staring at all of us like a rabbit that had just realized the foxes were discussing dinner plans.
Dorian studied them for a moment, then looked at me. “So,” he said casually, “can we start?”
Wes made a strangled noise.
“No,” I said brightly, before my husband could have a coronary. “We’re still missing people.”
Dorian’s gaze shifted toward the windows. “The twins?”