Chapter 7 Nyx
When my brothers call, I’m there. No questions asked. They’re my family—and the only reason I’m not dead, an addict, or worse.
Growing up, my mother worked as a housekeeper at Verrin Hall, the Knox’s family home, so Jaxon and I were practically inseparable.
We were always together. Our mothers made sure of it.
They raised us to be close, tied together by an unspoken oath to take care of each other, even though our fathers hated the very idea.
Our mothers might have acted like sisters, but “cousins” wasn’t evocative enough to describe the bond they had forged between us.
Blood didn’t matter, not to us. So, we started calling each other brothers.
At first, it was a joke—something two na?ve kids said to give each other an anchor in the chaos happening around us.
But the more we grew, the more that word became a truth we couldn’t deny.
Brotherhood wasn’t just a title; it was a trial. Over and over, the world tested us, tried to break us. And every time, we chose each other. Above everything. Above everyone.
For years, it was just me and Jaxon, fighting to keep our sanity, to stay whole.
I know; poor little rich boys, right? What could they possibly know about struggle?
My answer…More than you could ever fathom.
But when we finally brought Kaios home from Russia, something had shifted.
He didn’t just fit in—he completed us. For the first time, we weren’t just two kids clinging to an idea of family.
We were a unit. Unshakable. Unstoppable.
We've faced the impossible together, and for them, I'd ride through hell a thousand times over without hesitation.
The first thing I do when I slide into my Mustang is exhale. It’s a ritual—purging the night’s stress before I even think about driving off. My night ended early, thanks to an impromptu meeting, but that doesn’t mean I’ll skip the routine.
I hit the button to drop the top and then turn on the radio, letting the warm, golden light of the rising sun sink into my skin.
Between the liquor, the patrons, and the never-ending cleanup, closing shop can feel like a war zone some nights.
Thank fuck for reliable employees. With Xayvion and Mark-Anthony holding it down, I know the place won’t burn to the ground in my absence.
They are cousins who work with us in different capacities, but they feel like our family, too.
My real issue is delegating. I don’t trust anyone else to do things the way I want them done, except for, maybe, my brothers. They know my level of OCD better than anyone.
That’s why my management style looks different to most people. I won’t sit on my ass barking orders. I roll up my sleeves and dive into the work alongside my crew. Maybe that’s why they respect me—or perhaps it’s because I don’t pretend that I’m better than anyone else here.
The engine roars to life, and I pull out of the lot. As expected, traffic is light at this time of day, so I make it to Verrin Hall in no time. Backing into the garage, I kill the engine and head straight for the kitchen. Water first, then an energy drink.
I let out a long sigh, tilting my head back to drip eye drops into my burning eyes. “Fuck,” I mumble.
The eye drops burn like acid when they hit my corneas, but I'll take that searing pain over the sensation of industrial-grade sandpaper grinding against my eyeballs that's plagued me since dawn.
I blink rapidly, tears mixing with medication, before dabbing the excess from my lower lids with my knuckle.
Squeak.
“What the—”
My boot slams down on something soft, rubbery, and way too loud for this hour. I stumble forward, half-blind and cursing under my breath. The stupid toy squeaks again when I miss my footing and almost trip over it.
"Son of a—" My palm slaps the counter edge—pulse hammers in my throat.
From the doorway, Caesar watches me—head tilted, tail wagging as if I’m comedic relief.
"Enjoying the show?" I kick the mangled rubber bone toward him. "Next time I find one of these death traps, I’m gonna throw every last one in the incinerator.”
The damn Doberman seems to chuckle before scampering out of the doorway. It’s easy to tell our two Dobermans apart. Caesar is the calm, the observant one, while his brother, Titan, is a chaotic storm—he would have probably knocked me over for good measure.
The smell of strong café cubano wafts through the kitchen, making my shoulders tense. If Jaxon’s got coffee brewing, this meeting is going to drag.
I try to recall what he said about it—who or what this is about—but my brain is fried. If the meeting’s coffee-approved, it’s got to be serious.
Before I can give it too much thought, Kaios trudges into the kitchen, whistling something that sounds like the opening ringtone of an iPhone.
Then he transitions into “Closer,” a song by The Chainsmokers, and fully commits to the performance.
He doesn’t even appear to notice me from my spot next to the pantry across the spacious kitchen.
He gathers the essentials for a sandwich from the refrigerator, still twirling his imaginary drumsticks. After the second twirl in under a minute, I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be able to hold back the chuckle stirring in my chest much longer.
I clear my throat and lean back against the marble countertop, coffee cup in hand. “You want to tell me what Jaxon wants to meet about??” I ask, cocking a brow as I take a slow sip, watching him over the rim.
He spins on his heel, finally noticing me. At least he’s not as jumpy as he used to be. “Shit, Nyx. I didn’t know you came in after me,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, looking vaguely embarrassed.
“Oh no, brother,” I smirk. “I’ve been here the whole time. Caught the whole performance.” I take another sip. “Down to the last drumstick twirl.”
“You fucker.” Kaios fires a balled-up napkin at my head. I shift slightly, and it narrowly misses me. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
I chuckle, shrugging. “You looked like you were in your element. Didn’t want to ruin the magic.” I sip my coffee, savoring it for effect. “Anyway, what’s got you in such a good mood, rockstar?
The only thing that gets Kaios this hyped this early is either the release of some fancy tech he swears will change his life or the thrill of disposing of a fresh body.
Not that he actually hacks them up—that implies there’s a carelessness to what he does.
What he’s good at is dismemberment. Says it calms him.
Morbid as hell, but I’m not one to judge.
The shit that I do is not much better. And if a job has to be done, better it be done right.
Given the mud on his boots, I’m betting on the latter.
“Shut up,” he mutters, shooting me a glare that could kill.
Before I can push him further, Jaxon materializes in the doorway like the goddamn grim reaper. “Hey, you two chatty Kathys coming or what? I’ve got shit to do. Tick-tock,” he says, tapping the face of his Jacob & Co. watch.
I’m thirty-eight to his thirty-four. Kaios is the baby at twenty-seven.
Kaios takes a bite of his sandwich, and my stomach growls. I lean closer, voice low, just in case Jaxon lurks in the hallway. “Hey, make me one of those. I’m starving.”
“I’m not making you shit. Do it yourself,” Kaios fires back, stuffing another bite into his mouth. Then, with a smirk, he adds, “But you heard King. Tick-tock.”
The asshole saunters out, leaving the countertop a goddamn crime scene of sandwich ingredients.
I sigh, resigning to just my coffee. The mess he left stares at me like it’s daring me to walk away.
The truth is, the cleaning staff would probably handle it before the meeting’s over.
But my OCD won’t let it go. It’d haunt me the entire time, pulling my focus like a splinter under my skin.
So, I clean it. Fast. Toss the crumbs, wipe the counter, pour another mug of coffee, and finally make my way to the library.
“It’s about damn time,” Jaxon growls the second I step through the threshold. “What the hell took you so long?”
I drop into a chair next to Kaios, setting my mug on the table between us. “Don’t look at me. Ask your baby brother.”
Jaxon’s gaze shifts to Kaios. “What did you do?”
Kaios glares at me. “Don’t blame me for his brand of crazy.”
“You left the kitchen a mess again, didn’t you?” Jaxon snaps.
Kaios shrugs, chewing obnoxiously loud. “Would’ve gotten to it after.”
“But you knew he wouldn’t be able to leave it like that,” Jaxon says, tone razor-sharp.
“Not my problem.”
“Grow the fuck up,” Jaxon growls, thumping his fist on the desk.
“Bite me,” Kaios shoots back, his glare cutting across the room.
“All right, all right, you two. Jesus, fuck. We’ve got a whole meeting to get through,” I say, grabbing my coffee off the table and finishing the last sip of my second mug. “I cleaned it. It’s done. Water under the bridge. Can we move the fuck on? I’m tired as hell.”
For as long as I can remember, my brothers have been like this. They can’t help but clash.
And sometimes, that frustration spills out—like today. Especially when Kaios is wound too tight, and Jaxon can’t sit straight. They glare at each other across the desk like schoolgirls fighting over a boy, and my patience is running dangerously thin.
“Okay, King,” I say, locking eyes with Jaxon. Calling him out is the only way this is going to end. “What the fuck is your problem?” That last part comes out sharper than I mean it to, but honestly, I’m running on fumes. Whatever sensitivity I had left, I gave it to my crew an hour ago.
Jaxon finally blinks, his jaw tightening. “Nothing,” he mutters, the word dragging out of him like it’s painful.
“Good. So, kiss and make up,” I say flatly, leaning back in my chair. We don’t move on without an apology. Ever. Hell, I run my crew the same way—accountability is non-negotiable.
“Sorry, King,” Kaios grumbles, his voice barely audible.
“Sorry, Mouse,” Jaxon mumbles right back.