Chapter 28 Nyx
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” she shrieks as I carry her over my shoulder, up the ramp.
At the last minute, I decided The Santa Rosa—our yacht, named after Jaxon’s mom—would be our best bet tonight. Tiá Rosalinda really was a saint; may her soul rest in peace. But right now, not even the remembrance of that beloved woman can stop my threadbare patience from snapping.
I stalk into the interior sitting room and drop her onto her feet, my face inches from hers. “For one goddamn second, woman,” I whisper. “Would you shut the fuck up?”
She blinks, her scowl deepening, mascara streaking her cheeks, but I don’t give her the chance to spit venom back at me.
As Cade and Xay trail in, I shove past them, flicking a hand to signal them toward the sun deck.
Behind me, the bags they’re carrying hit the floor with a dull thud.
Xay whispers something low to Naomi, then his footsteps follow.
Who the fuck said I could handle this?
We’re a unit—me and my brothers. Where I’m weak, they’re strong, and when they're falling, I do my damnedest to catch them. Even if it almost kills me. But this? I can’t do this shit alone.
My earpiece rings in my ear as I call Kaios for the fourth time, still no fucking answer.
Just that hollow ringing, a sharp reminder that I’m still in the dark.
Nothing.
I end the call with a growl, firing off a text to Jarvis, our captain, telling him to pull the ramp before the insufferable woman tries to make a break for it. Taking a sharp left, I climb the stairs to the open deck, Cade and Xay close behind me. I don’t even let them settle before I start.
“I have to go back.”
“I know you are freaking out, man, but I don’t think that’s the best idea,” Xay responds, rubbing the back of his neck.
“When the fuck did I ask you for your thoughts or opinions?” I snap. My words come out sharp and biting; his jaw tightens. Xay works with us in different capacities. So, he’s seen me at my worst, but I’m in rare form tonight. “When the fuck did I ask you to speak?”
“You know what, Nyx? Imma let that slide.” Xay steps closer, his eyes narrowing as he stares me down. “Only because I know your head’s fucked tonight.”
He’s not wrong. Xay doesn’t waste words or throw empty threats, and any smart man would back off. The man is almost as lethal as Kaios. But I’m not in my right mind, and I won’t be until I hear from them. He knows it.
“All right, enough,” Cade cuts in, wedging himself between us and pushing us apart.
His voice is steady, calm. You’d never know he is the youngest of us.
“Let’s think this through, clear our heads a bit.
Is this helpful?” He swivels his head toward me, his tone firm.
“Is this smart?” Then he turns to Xay, pointedly.
Xay raises a brow, keeping his eyes locked on mine. “I don’t know. I’m waiting on him to decide for us.”
“Fuck,” I bite out, turning away. My fist collides into the wooden cabinet next to the stairs, the crack echoing like a bone breaking clean. “FUCK!”
They don’t crowd me; that’s not what I need right now. They both stand in silence, watching me pace across the floor.
“I don’t know what I’m gonna do if they—”
“No.” Xay cuts me off, his voice a low growl. “Don’t you fucking go there. They’re fine. They’re both fine.”
“I could’ve made sure,” I mutter, sinking onto one of the benches that line the top floor. My head drops into my hands, the weight of it all pressing down on me. “I could’ve at least made sure he was breathing.”
The anger doesn’t just rise—it detonates inside me, ripping through every nerve like shrapnel.
We’ve been in shootouts before—hell, it’s part of the job.
Adrenaline, chaos, gunpowder in the air.
But we always walked away. Maybe bleeding, maybe limping, but together.
Alive. Breathing. Cracking jokes afterward like we were invincible.
“We had to go,” Cade says, his boots appearing in my downcast line of sight. His hand lands on my shoulder, heavy but grounding. “We had to get Naomi out of there. This isn’t on you, man.”
“No, that’s the job.” I stand abruptly, making my way to the stairs. “And now both of my brothers could be dead.”
“Where are you going?” Xay calls out as I’m almost halfway down the stairs.
“To get a fucking drink.”
Naomi-Fucking-Blaine.
Her angelic voice rips me out of the thoughts racing through my brain. “Nyx?”
I stomp past her, curled up on the couch in the sitting room, heading for the outdoor bar at the stern of the boat.
“Nyx...?” she says again, but I don’t look back even as she pads after me like a lost puppy.
The cabinets creak as I yank them open, grabbing a shot glass and the first bottle I see—tequila.
Not my drink of choice, but tonight, it’ll do.
Anything will do to drown out the noise.
My hands feel too steady, too controlled for what’s thrumming inside me.
And one thing is clear; I’m in annihilation mode.
The first shot goes down in one quick motion, the burn barely registering.
“Please talk to me...” she whispers, and it hits something deep inside me because I know she is hurting.
She has no idea where her family is, or if her friends made it out okay. And Jaxon, the way she cried for him, the way she screamed his name, you can’t fake that shit. She loves him, even if she won’t admit it.
That is the part that makes me even more heated with her; she won’t even love the man who would die for her. What kind of heartless shit is that?
“What? What, Naomi?” I growl, lifting my eyes to meet hers. “What more can you possibly want?”
“I–”
“Yes, you.” I cut her off, pouring another shot. “It’s always you, isn’t it? Always about you?”
“That’s not fair,” she says, her voice steady but trembling at the edges. She tosses her clutch onto the couch and takes a step closer. But I give her a look that stops her cold.
“I don’t care,” I snap, my words slicing through the air. “Life isn’t fucking fair, now is it? If it were, Jaxon would be here. Not you.”
I immediately regret the words as they tumble out of me.
Pain flashes for a moment in her eyes, instantly making me regret what I said.
“You’re hurt.” Tears gleam on the rim of her bottom lids before she sniffles, saying the mantra over again as if reminding herself that we are all on the deep end tonight. “You’re hurt, so you want to hurt me too. I get it—hurt people, hurt people.”
She’s smart, so fucking smart, and as I look at her babydoll face—smooth skin, big, brown doe eyes—I don’t think she could begin to fathom all of the ways I want to make her hurt, all the thoughts that race through my mind.
I don’t hate her; I couldn’t even if I tried. But if I look at her any longer, the only thing I’ll want is to tie her to my bed, gag her, and take every piece of my agony out on her pretty ass, hate fuck her until our thoughts collide, spiraling into the void that is our shared pain, giving in.
So, I do the only thing that makes sense…
“Aw, are you going to cry?” I taunt, closing the distance between us, my voice dripping with mockery. “Go on then, let me see those pretty tears.”
Make her hate me.
Her eyes narrow, barely masking hurt. “I was right about you.”
I cock my head, letting her words roll around in my mind, a slow smirk curling my lips. If I can’t lose myself in my usual brand of release, I’ll settle for making her squirm.
“How so?”
“All you do is play games,” she says, her voice shaking as a tear slips down her cheek. “You’re a brute and a murderer.”
“I am.” I tug her flush against me, savoring her sharp inhale as my tongue trails along the path of her tear.
“And I’d fucking do it again without blinking,” I rasp, the taste of her overwhelming my senses.
With most of her makeup smudged on Xay’s shirt—for some reason, that thought annoys the hell out of me—it’s just her.
Salt, sweat, and anger. Her in its purest form. It’s intoxicating.
Her eyes widen, and I’m not sure if she’s more surprised by my admission or my actions, but either way, it makes my dick hard.
“What the fu—” she starts, pushing me away.
“What the hell were you expecting exactly?” I growl, gripping her tighter, the heat of my anger simmering just below the surface. “I was assigned to protect you. When bullets started flying, what the fuck did you think I was going to do, Dollface—run?”
“Stop calling me that!” she barks, her voice cracking with frustration.
I smirk, but it’s bitter, humorless. “You should be grateful you haven’t seen everything I’m capable of.”
Her gasp is sharp, and I revel in the brief flicker of fear in her eyes. My grin twists into something darker as I run my tongue over my bottom lip, watching her gaze drop to the glint of metal piercing through it.
I’m acutely aware of the whispered desire in her stare. But if I fuck her, I’d never stop, not until she was spent seven ways to hell, and still my anger would be barely under control.
My hold on her loosens, and she stumbles back as I finish a half-filled shot from the counter, the fucking bottle, now painfully empty. I place my palms on the cool marble surface to gather myself. The solid counter beneath my hands is the only thing keeping me grounded while my mind spirals.
I don’t want to blame her—some part of me knows it isn’t her fault—but every time I look at her, I see my brother.
The image of Jaxon going down flashes in my head—screams, blood seeping out of him into a thick pool—and the fear I’ve been swallowing claws up my throat. And I can’t sit here, trapped with her, while my brothers might be bleeding out somewhere.
“I know it’s your job to protect me,” she murmurs, her voice softer now, gently reeling me out of my thoughts. “But at what cost?”