23. Chapter 23 #2
"I want to know why a substantial portion of the club's revenue— our money, Mads—is being funnelled into the very place that gave us both nightmares for a decade," I spit, shoving the chair back and standing up.
My eyes are burning, the lack of sleep and the sudden rush of betrayal making my vision blur.
"The same place where they—" I stop, the memory of the cold concrete and the screams of that place choking me. I can’t voice it. "Why are you funding the people who hurt us?" I whisper, feeling the hard lump of emotion clogging up my throat.
"Just slow down for a minute, Ry," Maddox says. His voice is low and even, a deliberate counter to the heat rising in my chest. He sets his glass down on the desk and walks toward me, slow and steady, the way one would approach a wild animal caught in a trap. "It’s not what you think."
"Oh, it's exactly what I think," I snarl, throwing my hands up, the bank statement fluttering to the floor. "You act like you don't use your money to control people, but you're giving it to an organisation that practically institutionalised abuse! Are you trying to buy a clear conscience?"
He flinches, but he doesn't back away. He keeps coming until he’s right in my space.
"I'm an investor, Rylen. Not a donor," he clarifies, stepping close enough that I’m forced to look him in the eye. "And I don't give them money; I buy leverage."
My head is spinning. The anger is still there, but it’s being crowded out by confusion. "Leverage? What the hell are you talking about?"
"When you become a large enough financial contributor, you get a seat on the board.
You get a say in how things are run," he explains.
His voice is heavy, laced with a gravity that makes my breath hitch.
He reaches out, his thumb gently tracing the faint, old scar just above my eyebrow—the one I got when I was fifteen and tried to fight back. I don't pull away. I can't.
"I didn't give them money to feel good, Ry. I gave them money so that I could look the staff in the eye and say, 'If you dare touch one of those kids the way you touched him, I will personally dismantle this place brick by brick, with you all inside.'"
The air in the office goes dead silent, goosebumps break out across my flesh. I want to speak, but it's like my mouth has forgotten how to.
"I have oversight, Rylen. I insisted on new regulations, mandatory third-party checks. I made sure the kids who are in there now have options we never did. They have career counsellors, college prep, job training. I'm making sure 'Bright Futures' lives up to it's name."
My eyes are wide, wet, and searching his face for the lie. I want to find one. I want to keep being angry because it’s safer than feeling this.
"You... you did all this in secret? Why?
" I ask, dumbfounded. "I don't need praise for it, I just…
I needed to fix what I couldn't protect you from back then.
" He pauses, his hand dropping from my face, and for a second he looks like that kid again—the one who used to share his rations with me in the dark.
"Do you remember the guard? Henderson? The one who gave you that scar below your eye?"
I give a single, violent twitch of my head in acknowledgement. I can still feel the weight of that man’s boots pressed against my ribcage.
"He's been gone for well over a year," Maddox states.
His voice is flat, infused with a cold, ironclad conviction.
"It took me months of manoeuvring through the board and tracking down old records.
But I found the paper trail. I found the complaints.
I had him fired, love. No pension, nothing. He can never work with minors again."
I stand there in a stunned silence, my walls collapsing around me like a house hit by a wrecking ball. The rage is gone, replaced by a devastating, beautiful shock that leaves me hollow. A single tear slides down my cheek, tracing the path of the scar he just touched.
"You risked everything we built," I whisper. It sounds like an accusation, but it feels like awe.
"I’d risk everything I have for you every day," he counters, the emotional dam finally breaking. "This has always been about us. It was about giving back what was stolen, and proving to you that I'm not that helpless kid anymore.”
His eyes drop to my lips, and I see him catch himself, pulling his gaze back up to mine.
His own eyes are shimmering. “I can protect you now.
I can protect what's left of our past," he says confidently, and takes a final, trembling step forward, closing the last inch of space between us.
"Now, are you going to finally admit that you're just as terrified of being alone as I am, so we can stop this bickering? "
I don't speak. I can't. My lips part, my breath hitching as the last of my defenses crumble into the expensive rug beneath our feet. I’m wide open, and for the first time, I don't want to run.
I don't give myself the chance to pull away or second-guess anything; I reach out, my fingers tangling in the silk of his tie, and pull him down until our mouths collide.
It’s not like the kiss in the kitchen—there’s no fighting here, just a desperate, crushing need to show that I hear what he's saying. He’s my best friend.
He’s the only person who truly knows what’s under my skin, and he’s been out there quietly hunting down the ghosts that haunt my sleep while I was busy worrying we were drifting apart.
He didn't just buy a seat at a board table; he went back into the fiery depths of Hell, for me.
I groan into his mouth, my hands coming up to frame his face, my thumbs catching the heat of his skin. I’m vibrating, a mess of adrenaline and a raw, aching gratitude that I don't have words for yet. I want to tell him he’s a lunatic for risking the club. I want to tell him thank you.
Before I can say anything, a sharp, rhythmic rap of knuckles against the oak door makes us both jump, and a muffled voice floats in from behind the wood.
"Boss?"
Maddox pulls back, his lips wet and his eyes still dark with everything we haven't finished. He takes a staggering breath, smoothing his hair back with a hand that isn't quite steady, while I frantically turn toward the desk, wiping my face and trying to find my professional mask.
"One minute," Maddox calls out, his voice instantly shifting back into that smooth, authoritative baritone.
He looks at me, his gaze lingering on my mouth for a fraction of a second, before he nods toward the door.
The businessman facade is trying to slide back into place, only, I can see the cracks and the kid who shared his rations with me.
"Team meeting time," I rasp, slipping the bank statement into my tactical vest and praying my eyes aren't as red as they feel.
"Team meeting…" he repeats, a small, private smile tugging at the corner of his mouth and he looks at the fading hickey poking out from under my shirt. My eyes glower at him, but there’s no heat in it. I fix the fabric, take a deep breath to settle the riot in my chest, and nod.
Maddox walks over and reaches for the door handle, swinging it open. His ice-blonde hair catches the overhead light as he lets the team in, his fingers trailing momentarily over the door handle—a restless twitch I only recognise because I know the heat of his skin better than my own.
Standing there are the three newest recruits, looking stiff and expectant—with Nathyn, Colson and Philzy at the front.
They've been on the payroll long enough to know the rhythm of the place, but this is the first time I’ve had to look them in the eyes since Maddox and I. .. well, since everything changed.
I square my shoulders, forcing my face into the flat, unreadable mask of the Head of Security. I’m supposed to be the one in control here, not the guy who was just falling apart over a bank statement.
Nathyn isn't standing at attention like the other guys. He’s leaning against the doorframe, his thumbs looped into his belt.
He has this way of looking at you that feels like he’s reading the fine print on a contract.
He doesn't wait for an invite. He strolls in, slumping onto the leather couch, his legs splayed, a smirk playing on his lips that make my knuckles ache.
I look at him, my instinct for trouble prickling, though I can't put my finger on exactly why. Maybe it’s just the leftover adrenaline from earlier, but the way Nathyn’s eyes flick between me and Maddox—almost like he's searching for a crack in the professional facade—makes my jaw tighten and a defensive fire travel through my chest. I instinctively take a step closer to Maddox.
"Nice office," Nathyn says, his voice a casual drawl that grates against the silence. "Always feels a bit... intimate in here, doesn't it?"
Next to the couch, Colson and Philzy shift their weight, exchanging a glance that screams abort mission. They know the rules. They know the hierarchy. They can see that Nathyn is playing a different game tonight.
Standing near the back of the room is Vance—one of the new ex-military hires—who's a statue of disciplined fury. His eyes are fixed on Nathyn’s slouching form, his jaw set so tight I can almost hear his teeth grinding. Special Forces know a breach in the chain of command when they see one.
"What's wrong boss? You're looking a little tense," Nathyn says with a smirk, picking something out of his teeth with bitten-down fingernails.
I feel the bank statement crinkle against my chest, hidden under my vest. It’s a physical reminder of the man Maddox actually is—the one who’s been quietly bleeding his own bank account to kill off the ghosts that still haunt my nightmares.
And here's Nathyn, acting like he’s found a leak when he doesn’t know the first fucking thing about us.
He thinks he’s playing with fire, what he doesn't realise is he's sitting in a goddamn furnace.