Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Trey
Iam not exactly used to being the center of negative press. To having an organized mob out wishing me ill…sure, there have been a few moments where I’ve been tangled up in a scandal, but this? This is different. These people are holding up images of my face on the news with devil horns.
I mean…don’t fucking tempt me. You can get shit like that done with piercings or body mods.
I dated…well, dated is a strong word. I fucked a girl with blacked-out eyes and a forked tongue, subdermal implants ridging her forehead.
She thought it looked cool. I thought her tongue felt cool when she was sucking my cock…
Part of me wishes we’d signed on with pseudonyms and costumes so we could move around without the risk of getting bum-rushed, but nah—fuck it. I can be attention-seeking at times. Same as every other celeb, I guess.
No press is bad press.
Yeah. Because that’s exactly what we need…more press about the shit going on. Wait until they find out who Chace really is…
Fucking Al Capone on drums.
My hands slide around Sera’s waist, one of my favorite spots for casual displays of affection, as I press my front to her back.
I wouldn’t mind staying in Vegas a little longer.
I made a lot of money and didn’t get lost in booze, clubs, and casinos this time.
Huge personal growth. Clearly the evolution of a mature grown-up male.
100% grass-fed beef. But staying in a state where people can casually access motherfucking Vulcan miniguns and other scarier shit, and being in a tower sixty-odd floors up, starts to feel like standing on top of a house of cards.
Nope.
My gut is telling me two things. One: I didn’t take a leak after getting up this morning. Two: get the hell out of Dodge.
“We’re leaving,” I say, my voice low but carrying, cutting through the room without me needing to raise it. “back to my place in LA.” Behind us, there’s a beat of silence before Niko answers.
“Is good place as any, not too far. Likely to draw Gideon out.” His tone is clipped, efficient, his attention snapping fully into place as he turns to his men.
“We mobilize immediately. Secure transport, full detail. I want eyes on every route in and out. No gaps.” A chorus of quiet confirmations follows as his team moves into action.
I press a brief kiss to Sera’s temple, letting my lips linger just long enough to feel her there, to make sure she’s still with me, before I force myself to step away, my hand dragging reluctantly from her stomach as I turn back toward the others.
Toward my family. They’re all watching me.
Mac is on the edge of the sofa, Logan standing near the TV with the remote still clutched in his hand, Sam half-leaning against the table, Chace by the door—his posture loose, but if the guy were any more wound tight, he’d probably be as bald as Sam.I hate what I have to say next.
The bullshit speech. The one that sounds like I’ve got it together.
Distract them. You need a diversion.
Oh yeah? With what? Jump out the window?
Nah. Get your cock out. Make it dance. I exhale through my nose, forcing the stupid thought out with the breath before it can turn into something worse.
“This isn’t your fight,” I tell them, my voice steady even as something tight coils in my chest. “You don’t have to come with us.
” My gaze moves between them, holding each of them in turn.
“Gideon’s already taken his shot at me. He’s already—” I exhale, jaw tightening.
“He’s already killed me once. I’m not giving him the chance to take any of you--” Then Logan starts shaking his head before I’ve even finished, like the idea itself offends him.
“Brother, you don’t get to choose.” He cuts me off completely, stepping forward, his expression hardening. “That’s not how this works, Trey. Not now. Not ever.” I open my mouth to argue, but he doesn’t let me.
“You’re our little fuckup,” he continues, his voice rising just enough to carry over the background noise, over the hum of movement and the muted chaos from the TV. “We’re a family…and family doesn’t scatter when things get ugly—” He steps closer, his gaze locking with mine, unyielding.
“You don’t get to decide to carry this alone just because it’s dangerous. That’s exactly what that psycho wants. To isolate you, to fracture us, to make us easier to pick off.” His jaw tightens. “I’m not giving him that. I’m not letting him win by tearing us apart.”
Then Sam pushes off the table with a quiet nod.
“Besides, even if I give him your gate codes and shit, he’d probably still fucking waste me. This isn’t gonna be clean.”
“Sam!” Mac gasps, throwing a teaspoon from her coffee at him.
“I mean, yeah, what the knight in Hispanic armor said. Guy sounded like a conquistador before exploring the New World or some shit,” Sam laughs.
“True, that’s hard to follow…bet he’s got Mac ovulating,” Chace smirks.
“Don’t give my angel ideas…” Logan says, half-serious, half-amused.
Fucking Mac ovulating…I think I am?
I exhale a quiet laugh despite myself.
I fucking love these idiots so much.
I look at them—all of them.
They’re not leaving.
And the truth is… I never wanted them to.
No fucking shit. The room fractures into motion the second the decision is made, everyone peeling away with purpose—doors opening, bags being dragged, voices low and efficient as Niko’s men coordinate exits and routes—until the space that felt too full a moment ago suddenly empties around us.
And just like that, it’s quiet again.
I find Seraphina in the bedroom, standing near the mirror like she’s not entirely sure how she got there.
I somehow manage a moment of not coming onto her, or whispering a sweet nothing, or something stupid.
I just watch her.
The way the morning light catches in her hair. The way her shoulders rise and fall with each breath, like she’s forcing herself to stay steady. The way her hand drifts, almost unconsciously, to her stomach.
That alone nearly brings me to my knees all over again.
I step in behind her slowly, my eyes meeting hers in the mirror, searching, checking, needing to see her there.
“Hey,” I murmur, my voice quieter now, stripped of everything but her.
Her gaze flicks to mine in the reflection.
“We’ll get through this,” I tell her, not because it’s easy, not because I’m certain of anything beyond the fact that I will tear the world apart if I have to, but because she needs something to hold onto, and I will always give her that. “Together. Always.”
Her lashes lower slightly, her breath catching, and I don’t push, don’t demand more than she can give right now.
Instead, I press a slow kiss to her shoulder and then step back, dragging a hand through my hair as I move toward the closet, because the world is waiting outside that door, and I don’t get to meet it as anything less than what they expect me to be.
What I need to be.
I strip quickly, trading my sweaters for dark jeans that sit low on my hips, worn boots that hit the floor with a solid, heavy weight, a black t-shirt that clings to my chest. The leather jacket comes last, heavy and familiar as I shrug it on.
Rings slide onto my fingers one by one, silver catching the light as I flex my hands, grounding myself in the ritual of it, in the transformation.
By the time I look up, I barely recognize the man staring back at me.
Hair still messy, like I’ve just rolled out of bed, jaw shadowed, eyes sharper than they’ve ever been.
A rockstar.
A husband. A father to be.
A man with everything to lose.
But it’s not me I’m looking at.
It’s her.
I cross the room, reaching for her hand and lifting it between us, my gaze dropping to the ring on her finger—the one I just purchased for a cool fortune. I would cover every inch of her in diamonds if it brought her happiness.
It catches the light as I tilt her hand, the stone flashing.
I bring it to my lips, pressing a slow kiss against it.
“My wife,” I murmur against her knuckles, possessive and unwavering.
Her breath stutters softly, her eyes search mine.
“I don’t deserve you.”
I step closer, my hand sliding to her jaw, my thumb brushing lightly over her cheek.
“Yeah, you got some shit luck ending up with me. You must have taken candy from babies.” She giggles, the sound chimes like the tinkling of bells.
I need to get my fucking ears tested.
“Whatever happens out there,” I tell her quietly, holding her gaze, making sure she hears every word, “they don’t get to touch you. Not really. Not where it matters.”
Are you… are you talking about her pussy? If one of them yells grab her by the pussy we got other problems, bro.
No, no, don’t touch me there…this is my no, no, square.
Fuck me, I need to drink bleach or something to cleanse these fucking thoughts.
Her lips part slightly, and I lean in just enough that my forehead brushes hers, the contact brief.
“Let them look. Let them talk. Let them fucking choke on their words. It means nothing to us.”
Outside, the noise is already building.
The storm is waiting.
And we’re walking straight into it.
Dicks swinging in a hurricane.
The second the suite door opens, we move.
Niko’s men are already in position, forming a solid wall of black suits and earpieces, their bodies creating a corridor down the hallway and into the private elevator like we’re walking through a tunnel carved from muscle and intent.
I don’t release Sera’s hand. I don’t even loosen my grip.
My fingers stay threaded with hers, my thumb dragging slow, steady strokes across her knuckles because I can feel the tremor she’s trying to hide.
The elevator doors close.
“Remember everyone. They are going to be saying all kinds of things to provoke a reaction. Nobody say anything stupid.” I say with a nod.
All eyes in the lift are on me. Jaws, slightly agape, even my wife.
Shit, even Igor looked fucking dumbstruck, like they walked in on their dog reading a newspaper.
“What? Have I got something on my face?” I ask confused.
“I not known you long, but you remind me of rabbit and polite moose. Is surprise.” A few of the other guards start to laugh.
“Rabbit and polite moose?” I ask.
“You don’t want to hear it, bro.” Chace says, something between a smile and grimace in place.
Now I do… I look at him expectantly. Wanting to know the joke I am part of.
“I will…tone it down. Shit, not really sure I can? So, the Rabbit was at Bear's place. It got very late in the evening, and he decided to go home.
"Don't", the Bear said, "the Polite Moose will rape you".
"It’s okay, I will put a carrot in my ass" the Rabbit answered, "and run fast."
So, he did. But as he was running through the forest, the sun set and darkness fell. The Rabbit was nervous, slowed and decided to hide in a bush. He sat there, trembling using his big ears to listen to the nights call, the crickets, the owl hooting, wind rustling the leaves.
POP. Chace stuck his fucking finger in his mouth, pressing it against his cheek making a loud popping sound…
"Good evening, sir."
The Russian guards roar in laughter. I feel dumbstruck. It was funny…I think? Either way, when a box full of six-foot, heavily armed Russians starts laughing, you don’t question it—you just join in.
I still don’t get how I am the rabbit…
Silence settles for all of three seconds before the noise begins to bleed through the walls as we descend. It starts as a low vibration. Then it grows, swelling beneath our feet.
By the time the doors open into the lower level, I know exactly what’s waiting for us outside.
Chaos.
Las Vegas in February greets us with bright, merciless daylight. The sky is a hard, endless blue, the desert air cool but sharp in my lungs as we step out.
The hotel’s blue-glass exterior gleams like it’s reflecting something cleaner than what’s gathered at its base. Our suite was so high up it turned the world into ants—blurred, unreal, like tilt-shift photography. Down here, it feels like the city has come to drag us into the street.
The noise hits.
Cameras erupt in rapid-fire bursts. Microphones are shoved forward. News vans line the curb, satellite dishes angled toward the sky. Reporters shout over one another, desperate to be heard, to be first, to be the one who catches me slipping.
“Did you corrupt Seraphina?”
“Are the accusations true?”
“Did you manipulate her?”
I don’t give them an inch. I don’t twitch. I stay steady, even as my brain is still stuck on that ridiculous image of a rabbit shoving a carrot up its own ass.I hear bitter calls.
“You are fallen!”
“Repent!”
“Come back to the Lord!”
The Children of the Cross have shown up in numbers.
They’re clustered beyond the press line, signs raised high with scripture painted in violent strokes.
Words like SIN and DAMNATION and REDEEM HER scream up at us from cardboard and wood.
Their rhetoric cuts through the media noise with a kind of sharpened zeal that makes something dark twist in my chest.
I feel it the second Sera does.
Her fingers tighten in mine. A hitch in her step. Almost imperceptible to anyone else. Not to me.
I shift without breaking stride, angling my body slightly in front of hers, blocking what I can from her view. Shielding. Always shielding.
The SUV is waiting. Engine running. Door open. Ten steps away.
Ten steps through this quagmire of acid.
“Did you brainwash her?” someone shouts.
Yeah, bro, a good dicking does that.
I glance over, smile widening just enough to look effortless.
“People in glass houses, shouldn’t be throwing stones.”
A ripple moves through the crowd—laughter, outrage, more flashes.
That was positively biblical.
“What you are doing is a crime!” I hear a woman say.
That one earns a snort of derision from me.
Motherfucking madman stabs me in a basement and I’m the one committing crime? Yeah. Fucking right.
“If loving my wife is a crime,” I say lightly, tightening my hold on Sera’s hand as I guide her forward, “then call me guilty. Here’s an idea—go touch grass.”
More chaos. More noise.
The Children of the Cross begin shouting scripture at Sera directly. At my wife.
“Jezebel!”
“She’s been led astray!”
My smile never drops. Not once.
But inside, something violent uncoils.
Security closes rank tighter as we reach the SUV. I guide Sera in first, my hand never leaving hers. Only then do I duck in after her, pulling the door shut behind me.
The sound cuts the outside world off in one solid, definitive thud.
The shouting dulls instantly, reduced to muffled vibrations through tinted glass. Cameras flash uselessly against the windows.
I exhale slowly.
My jaw aches from how hard I’ve been clenching it.
I turn toward her. The mask slips a fraction.
“You okay?” I ask quietly.
I don’t let go.
I won’t.