4. Chapter 4
Rylen
I'm lounging on my couch with some of the guys from work, one foot slung over the other knee, absentmindedly tapping.
Nathyn calls it a security team meeting, when really we’re just kicking back drinking beer, playing Mario Kart and eating our weight in pizza before our shift starts.
He’s sitting next to me with his arm slung over the back of the couch chatting away with Colson about all the positions he’d have Cass in, if only she’d give him a second date.
I roll my eyes and take a swig of my beer, when my gaze flicks up to where Bry sits across the lounge. His long strawberry blonde hair is haphazardly tied back into a top knot, and he’s smiling at me flirtatiously. My brows crease while taking in this information.
Bry isn’t one of the guys on the team, he’s one of Nathyn’s roommates—the singer—but since moving in with Nath two months ago he's spent enough time with us that he might as well be.
Even so, why would he openly be giving me the signal in a room full of straight men?
I shift uncomfortably clearing my throat, using my beer bottle as a distraction from the heavy eye contact .
“Ohhh, sucked in loser!” Philzy cheers as he successfully hits Bry with a red shell.
“Get good or get fucked,” he gloats. “Guess I’m getting fucked then,” Bry smirks, his gaze slowly roaming over my body.
Heat creeps up my chest, blooming at my jawline where a small smile is begging to be set free.
"Oh fuck off. Just because you're in a band doesn't mean you're drowning in pussy," Philzy snorts, clearly jealous. The guys all laugh but Bry ignores the comment; he still hasn't taken his eyes off me and I shift uncomfortably as they roam over the ridges of my exposed arms.
The front door slams and we all turn in unison to see Maddox looming in the walkway, a murderous look cutting his features, pointed directly towards the group. The usual sapphire of his eyes has been swallowed by a pit of darkness.
The laidback energy in the room is quickly eviscerated, replaced with a sickening tension that threads into the men’s spines, making them sit up straighter.
The entire room seemingly holding its breath as its occupants brace themselves for what comes next.
Maddox leers at them like a general commanding his army, and they all bend to his will.
Philzy clears his throat, eyes cast downward. No one utters a word.
My jaw ticks as I observe the cowardice of each of my colleagues.
Nathyn isn’t as tense as the other boys, though I can tell that he’s trying not to garner unnecessary attention.
The only ones indifferent to it are myself and Bry, who hasn’t met Maddox before, and as he’s not an employee, I suppose it makes sense that he doesn’t fear him the way everyone else seems to.
Maddox drags his eyes away from the men and fixes them right at me; the draw of his gaze pulling at me like a magnet. Something has upset him and I’m desperate to know what. A strange fluttering sensation moves around in my gut, but I quickly squash it.
If the others weren’t here I would have torn away from the couch the moment his feet stepped over the threshold. That kind of public weakness is something that was beaten out of us in the old crew, still my hand twitches at the way his nostrils flare and his masseter muscles protrude.
To the rest of the world he would just appear angry, but I know Maddox—something has deeply hurt him and that knowledge thickens the saliva in my throat knowing that there’s nothing I can do about it, because by the time we’re alone his walls will be built up so high that not even a jackhammer could dislodge a single brick.
Maddox turns sharply without a word and stalks down the hall to his bedroom, nearly tripping over Gremlin who lunges out of the darkness to attack his feet. Bry stifles a snort and Philzy backhands his knee in a mix of terror and disbelief.
It’s Colson who speaks first. “Alright boys, time to call it a night," he announces, palms slapping his thighs as he rises off the couch.
I try not to let the disappointment and irritation show as they all begin to scatter like rats, grabbing their belongings and making excuses to leave.
I'm probably doing a shit job at it because they all look guilty as hell, walking towards the door like dogs dragging their tails between their legs.
"C'mon Bry, we should head home too," Nathyn agrees, nodding towards the door. "Yeah I'll meet you at the car," Bry says, staring intently at his housemate. Something is communicated through the exchange of looks they throw one another, though I can't quite catch the meaning before it disappears.
"Yeah—okay," Nathyn smirks at Bry who's hovering near where I'm sitting on the couch, then turns to leave. He winks at me before pulling the front door closed behind him. I scowl at the spot where he stood, slowly dragging the bottle of lager to my lips.
There's an awkward kind of silence as Bry shifts his weight. "So, your housemate, is he always such a crowd pleaser?" His tone is light but there's a slight edge to it.
"You have no idea," I murmur around my beer, taking another sip. There's another awkward pause, and I stare at the rug beneath my feet, tracing the patterns with my eyes. I've never been alone with Bry before, and it's kind of strange that we are now.
"You know that I'm gay, right?" He says it so abruptly that my head snaps up, causing the muscles to constrict uncomfortably.
" What? No? Why would I know that?" I stammer.
My face flushes and my words come out harsher than I mean them to.
I stand, starting to gather the empty beer bottles for something to occupy my hands.
Bry runs a finger along the slope of his brow in frustration. "God, you really are clueless," he mumbles before taking my face in his hands and pressing a hard kiss to my lips. I drop the bottles in my hands, vaguely aware of them breaking as they crash to the floor.
"Ry, are you o—" Maddox cuts himself off at the same time I break away from the kiss.
He's standing in his bedroom doorway, one hand clenched around the handle while the other is in a fist at his sides.
There's a hardened look of steel stretched across his features, his icy blue eyes are barely more than slits as he looks at Bry like he just stole Maddox's favourite sweater and dropped spaghetti sauce on it.
The electricity in the air is palpable, it's sending dangerous warning signals throughout my entire body.
I need to do something to defuse the situation.
"It's fine. I'll get it cleaned up. Bry was just leaving," I announce, unable to make eye contact with him as the shame of being caught in a vulnerable situation threads unease through my gut; like serpents slithering through my intestines .
The tension in the air amplifies as the men stare each other down, locked in some sort of pissing contest that I have no interest in refereeing.
In this moment they couldn't be more opposite; Maddox with his features twisted into a look of pure disgust, and Bry with his carefree, sunshine and rainbows energy.
I clear my throat bluntly trying to stop whatever the fuck this is from escalating any further.
"Riiiight… okay, yeah. Um, I'll, see you later. Text me some time," Bry says, awkwardly stepping over the mess and closing the apartment door behind him. I glance over at Maddox but his eyes are locked on the floor in front of him, looking utterly exhausted and devoid of anything comprehensible.
I take a step towards him but he retreats into the darkness of his room, closing the door firmly.
I sigh and take a slow steadying breath before cleaning up the mess and staggering into my own room, collapsing on the mattress.
As if things weren't already strained enough between us since last weekend, now I've gotta add this bullshit into the mix?
I scoff, throwing an arm over my eyes, desperate to block out reality.
Nine hours later, I'm down in the lowest floor of Velvet.
The air conditioning is always set too high down here, a deliberate chill to keep both the expensive hardware and the security team sharp.
I settle into my chair behind the six-foot wall of monitors whose glowing screens paint the quiet office in a shifting wash of low-light blues and reds.
Every shaded corner, every VIP booth, every privileged patron in our exclusive club is currently under my eye.
Nathyn was already here when I arrived, leaning against the doorframe.
He has that lazy smirk on his face, one that always meant he was about to needle me, but Nathyn’s barbs rarely had malice.
They were just his way of warming you up.
He's currently running a microfiber cloth over the lenses of a pair of high-powered binoculars—total theatrics, the man acts like he's in a fucking spy movie. I suppress the urge to roll my eyes.
“Didn’t think you’d crawl out of your hole boss-man,” he drawls, pushing off the frame to amble over to a side screen. “I figured you’d still be cleaning up broken glass and swooning over rockstars.”
I hit the ENTER key, pulling up the exterior logs. “Drop it, Nathyn. It was just a kiss, and it sounds like you've already heard the entire dramatic monologue anyway," I growl.
“Monologue? Mate, it was a bloody gospel reading,” he scoffs, coiling a spare headset wire with an unnecessary level of precision as he speaks.
"I got half-way to the car when the man nearly knocks me over in the hall, face flushed, eyes looking like he's just won the lottery, going on and on about the way you kiss.
" Nathyn's nose crinkles up as he recounts the event, before continuing.
"He was spouting some shit about how he ‘ didn't even know a man could have lips that soft.’ His words, not mine!” he laughs, hands raised in mock surrender. "But, seriously, what was that about? Because he was… gushing . Like, really gushing. Felt weird seeing Bry all starry-eyed. He’s usually only that focused on a decent riff or a free meal.” Nathyn's animated eyes bulge theatrically as he does.
“I don’t know what you want me to say… I was caught off guard,” I admit, leaning back in my chair. I rub my eyes, the memory of Maddox’s raw, wounded expression flashing in my mind. “Maddox walked in right after. It was… a mess.”
Nathyn’s expression shifts, the playful malice receding slightly, replaced by a cold, appraising look that was gone before I could really focus on it. “Ah. Bad timing then."
A small, unwelcome smile threatens to crack the stern mask I wear at work. Bry's definitely dramatic, but the warmth of his gushing is hard to ignore. “Bry… he's, a little much, isn’t he?” I grumble, just needing to say it out loud.
“He's The Loud Team’s lead singer, Ry. Muchness is kind of his brand,” Nathyn's body language tells me that he's protective of his friend, though his tone stays light. “Seriously, though. You know the score here. The clientele, the things they expect—they have a vested interest in our discretion. And Bry, he’s… public. If you two so much as share a drink in the same zip code, it’ll be on the rumour mill. Just…be careful.”
He taps the nearest monitor, showing a feed of the dimly lit VIP lounge where the patrons are staring in awe of the aerial artist, Amelia, performing in the centre of the room.
“We keep their secrets locked down, but those same people are the best in the world at uncovering ours.
They're like sharks, smelling blood in the water.
And any weakness you show will come down on Maddox too," he muses.
His caution feels genuine, the kind of professional warning that came from working for Maddox in this bizarre ecosystem. Nevertheless, there was something about the delivery; a cold, clinical note beneath the housemate concern, that didn't sit right with me.
“I know what my job is, Nathyn. And what my focus is on,” I state, pointing to the wall of screens. “Which reminds me. Did you get that frame rate issue fixed on the fourth-floor west wing? It’s been glitching for two days.”
Nathyn waves a hand, dismissing the issue entirely. “Oh, that? It’s just a software hiccup boss-man. Ancient cables or something. Happens all the time." He gives me a breezy, confident smile. "I ran a diagnostic this afternoon and flushed the recent logs. It's all good, stress less."
He knows I hate when he clears the logs, even for minor issues, because it takes away our forensic history.
“I’m hitting the floor,” he announces, pivoting toward the door.
“The Duke of Atherton’s party just arrived.
Try not to cause an international scandal while I'm gone. And for the love of God, don’t give Bry any more material for an album—he's already threatening to write a song about your jawline, and I don’t think my ears can handle that level of sappy indie-pop,” he winks, the easy charm sliding back in place, and pivots out the door.
The instant he leaves, I feel the familiar tension return.
It's all good, stress less. The easy reassurance felt off. It was a simple, normal sentence, however in the context of our job, where a glitch meant a blind spot, and a blind spot meant disaster—it was completely insufficient. I expect more from my staff. That kind of frame-rate drop wasn’t a standard glitch, and Nathyn knew it.
I resist the urge to pull up the system history and see which logs he had so casually flushed.
Instead, I drag the troubled camera feed to the main focus screen.
The image is perfectly fine now, yet the sense of something amiss, a professional paranoia I rarely ignore, settles deep in my gut.
I shake my head despite myself. I was letting the tension with Maddox and the shock of Bry’s kiss make me paranoid. That's all it is.
I force myself to refocus on the feeds, but a small, persistent doubt about the flickering image on the fourth-floor feed lingers at the back of my mind.