Chapter Twelve
Trey
Love The Hell Out Of You – Lewis Capaldi
The noise is louder than it should be. The lights harsher. The openness of the space too exposed for my liking.
Instinctively, I move closer to Sera, my hand settling at the small of her back, my palm warm against her spine, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breath beneath the fabric of her top.
She is here. She is solid. She is within reach.
That little nap with my Dove has done me wonders. A familiar ache lingers in my knuckles and elbows where bone had met bone, but that was familiar. Welcome. The whole “I have-a-hole-in-me” situation still felt like hot shit… but I was not out of breath.
Just on edge.
Chace walks several paces ahead of us, his posture relaxed but his attention anything but.
Klause and Artemis flank him with quiet precision, their movements fluid and alert, ears twitching at sounds no one else would register.
Niko remains behind us, and as we cross the gaming floor, six more men fall into formation from different corners of the room.
They aren’t Igor… Chace doesn’t seem concerned about their presence. Shit, does he know everyone? That must be a nightmare, keeping track of staff.
Should we be paying attention to them?
You mean the whole us-getting-jumped-by-rando-cultists thing, so recognizing thugs A through F might be helpful?
Yes?
Ignorant of my inner monologue, they move without drawing attention to themselves, each one dressed sharply enough to blend with the high-roller clientele, yet their eyes never stop scanning.
I make a note to try and familiarize every face.
I thought I had been wound tight, but these guys are constantly sweeping—checking entry points, sightlines, reflections in mirrored columns. Anyone lingering too long. Anyone reaching into a jacket pocket. Anyone whose gaze lingers on my wife.
They’re like Klause and Artemis, but in human form…
Just before I start making mental nicknames and backstories for them, Sera’s fingers curl lightly into the pocket of my jacket—subtle enough that most would miss it, but I feel the tension in that small grip.
I lower my head just enough that my mouth brushes near her temple.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur quietly.
Yes, more caveman next time. Try and say it with a growl.
Unga-bunga-fuck-you-a. The elevator to the underground parking arrives, its doors opening. I position Sera in front of me as we step inside, my body shielding her from the doors, my hand never leaving her.
Even in a controlled environment, I do not relax.
I cannot.
Not anymore.
When the doors open, cooler air greets us, carrying the scent of warm concrete and gasoline. The underground level is quieter, the hum of engines idling somewhere in the distance echoing faintly off the pillars.
An SUV waits near the far column, engine running, tinted windows concealing the interior. It is positioned for a fast exit, angled cleanly toward the ramp.
Chace reaches it first, scanning the lot before opening the rear door. He holds it there for us without a word.
Bootsteps echo across the concrete before I can guide Sera inside.
I recognize the cadence before I see the man.
Captain Dune emerges from the shadow of a support column, his uniform crisp, his expression steady.
“I’m glad to see you both together and in one piece,” he says, and there is something beneath the professionalism in his tone—something personal.
I extend my hand. His grip is firm, unhesitating.
“Thank you,” I reply, and the gratitude is not hollow.
His attention shifts to Sera, and I see the regret flicker briefly across his features.
“I apologize for not getting to you sooner, Mrs. Baker.”
Sera glances at me, confusion softening her expression as she tries to place him in the blur of that night.
“I’ve come to take the dogs back to your home,” he continues. “Get them settled somewhere familiar.”
He gives a low whistle. Klause responds immediately, Artemis following without hesitation.
Watching them move toward him, disciplined and obedient, eases something in Sera’s expression.
I hadn’t realized how much comfort their presence provided her until I see that small change.
Shit, should I ask them to stay with us?
We are in Vegas and you are still a little fucked up—getting them back to LA isn’t a terrible idea…
Hah. Fuck you, guidance counselor. I do have a voice of reason after all.
Dune gives me one last look—one that carries more weight than words—before turning and calling the dogs to heel. Within moments, they disappear into the dim stretch of the garage.
Why do I want to fucking cry? It’s not goodbye forever.
Stupid fucking super-soldier woofers.
“Come on,” I say to Sera, trying to reassure her with a smile that wavers.
I guide her into the SUV, my hand firm at her waist, and slide in beside her.
“Why did Captain Dune take Artemis and Klause?” she asks.
“I can honestly tell you, I don’t really know… but I do know that Chace has us going to a different venue in Vegas. Maybe they have a no-superdog rule? Scared they’re going to hunt down and eat a bus full of tourists. Well… Klause, anyway, because he is not right in the head.”
She chuckles, and it fills me with renewed warmth.
“Klause is a darling.”
“He’s a darling that I find stares at my balls a little too much.”
There it is again—an amused sigh as she leans into me, the slight pressure niggling my former puncture wound.
The door shuts with a solid thud as Chace closes it, sealing us inside. Niko takes the front passenger seat, and in the side mirror I watch the second vehicle adjust into position behind us as the remaining men redistribute.
Engines shift. Tires roll. We pull out smoothly.
Only once we are moving do I allow my shoulders to ease by a fraction.
Sera turns toward me, her voice quiet but searching.
“What did he mean when he apologized for not making it to me sooner?”
I study her face in the dim interior light.
“He was there,” I tell her gently. “The night they came for us.”
Her eyes widen slightly.
“He was part of the team that went in. Everyone felt like they failed you when my dad—when Johnathon took you.”
The words taste bitter.
I do not add the rest.
That I felt it more than any of them. That I felt frantic when I could barely hold a thought together. That not knowing where she was nearly broke something in me.
Her hand slides into mine, fingers lacing with quiet certainty.
“You didn’t fail me.”
I hold her gaze for a moment before looking away, my jaw tightening.
“I let him get close,” I say. “That’s on me.”
She shakes her head softly.
The city lights streak past the tinted windows as we ascend the ramp and merge into evening traffic.
I draw her closer, my arm sliding around her shoulders until she fits against my side. I lower my mouth to her hair, breathing her in as though reaffirming, again and again, that she is here.
“I won’t let it happen again,” I murmur against her temple.
Not Johnathon. Not Gideon. Not anyone.
The Strip unfolds before us in a blaze of light and glass, every surface reflecting excess and illusion.
And yet—as our convoy approaches another towering structure, something twists in my gut.
The Fontainebleau.
I thought this place was abandoned.
Wasn’t this place supposed to be haunted?
Panic slips in—just a niggle, a frayed edge of worry.
Don’t look at Chace.
Don’t look at that smug fucking prick. I bet he’s gleaming—bastard grinning from ear to ear like he contracted that “Smile” virus.
Shit film. Horrible.
Nope. Fuck this. Fuck Chace.
Or is it Valentingly.
FUCK VAL, brO.
Valets approach, but our driver never fully relinquishes the wheel.
Good man. Grip it tight. Put your foot down and keep moving.
I want to call out to Chace—to object—but my throat constricts. The memory hits…waking with tubes down my throat, pissing pipes out like a cyborg.
The hair rises on the back of my neck.
I feel queasy.
Was that Casper throat-fucking me just then?
“Trey, what’s wrong? You look pale.”
Sera… my dove, my fucking angel from above… grounds me instantly.
“We look good. Let’s move. And yeah, brother, what’s wrong?” Chace adds.
“This place is Fontainebleau, right?”
“It certainly is. Finished a few years back. Tallest hotel in Vegas. Height of luxury. Family owned. Why do you ask?”
“It’s, uh…” I struggle, refusing to look like a bitch in front of Sera. “This place was abandoned. Reports of hauntings, right?”
“What? No. It was called a ghost hotel because it was vacant for almost twenty years.”
“Oh.”
Relief floods through me.
Thank fuck for that.
I was about to ask to stay in the fucking car.
Pussy.
Fuck off—you’re me. Your asshole is puckered too.
We start to unload from the vehicle. I step out, offering my hand to Sera.
Chace leans in beside me and whispers, “Besides, if you really think about it—every hotel has deaths. Which means every place is haunted. Way more than those little tunnels that fucked you up.”
“Eat shit, motherfucker… I fucking hate you sometimes.”
“Love you too, bro.”
I push the negativity away, take a steadying breath, and focus on the woman beside me.
My hand firms at Sera’s waist as her feet meet smooth stone.
The hotel lights catch in her hair, and for a moment the world narrows again to the simple fact that she is here.
Inside, the lobby gleams—light fixtures inset in concentric circles, modern wealth whispered through marble and glass. Floors like carved stone, black swirls and patterns I don’t have the patience to interpret. Displays of gaudy jewelry, oversized gold fixtures overflowing with red roses.
We bypass the main desk. Niko has already handled everything.
“The penthouse-level suite is secured,” he says as we move toward the private elevators. “Valentino and I are next door. Two men on the hallway. Two in the lobby. Additional rotation downstairs. With the amount spent on CCTV… there is no safer place.”