Chapter 32 #2
Different this time.
Short-lived.
I push myself up from the bed and follow Sera into the closet.
She’s already moving toward the shelves, clearly looking for something to change into.
I don’t say anything.
I cross the space, opening one of the drawers and pulling out something for myself, my movements slower than they need to be.
My home is filled to capacity, ready to ride out the storm around us…
The doors slide open and the California heat rolls over me—warm, bright, relentless in that way only Los Angeles knows how to be.
The pool stretches out ahead like something ripped from a luxury magazine.
Endless blue, the kind of water so clear it almost looks unreal.
The marble underfoot gleams, pale and expensive, reflecting the midday sun.
Loungers are set out in perfect symmetry, white cushions untouched, shaded cabanas drifting in the light breeze. Palm trees sway.
I barely get two steps in before I’m hit with a blur of movement.
Klause and Artemis.
They’re on me instantly.
I drop down without thinking, bracing as Klause barrels into me first, solid muscle, while Artemis circles before launching in, knocking me back onto the warm stone.
“Jesus! Alright, alright—”
I grab Klause in a loose headlock, dragging him in as he huffs and wriggles, while Artemis plants herself square on my chest, a low growl rumbling as she bares her teeth right in my face.
Missed you too, girl, please don’t rip off my balls.
Niko laughs.
Actually laughs.
“Baker, you’re out of your fucking mind.”
Across the table, Logan and Sam look like they’re one wrong move away from bolting.
“You’re a crazy motherfucker,” Sam mutters. “Those things could rip your throat out.”
Artemis lets out another growl, teeth still on display, and I just grin up at her, reaching up to grab her instead as I release Klause.
“Nah,” I say, breathless, dragging her in as she immediately shifts, all aggression melting away. “ it’s my balls that I worried for, these fucking beauties are ball pickers.”
I scratch behind her ears, pressing my forehead briefly to hers. “They’re just my pretty babies, aren’t you?”
Klause nudges back in, demanding equal attention.
Then I shove them off gently, pushing myself up, brushing my hands down my shirt as I move toward the table.
I drop into the seat, still slightly out of breath, glancing between them all.
The mood’s different.
Too still.
Too tight.
I lean back, resting my arms along the chair, eyes flicking between Niko, Chace, Logan, and Sam.
“So,” I say, voice steady, cutting straight through it, “give it to me straight…”
I pause.
“I’m guessing you didn’t want Sera hearing whatever it is you’ve got to tell me?” Chace doesn’t speak at first.
He just reaches forward, sliding his iPad across the table toward me in one smooth motion.
Black screen.
His sunglasses are on, obscuring most of his expression, but the rest of him says enough—relaxed posture, blonde hair loose around his shoulders. I take the iPad.
On the screen is a live post.
Children of the Cross.
My jaw tightens before I even read it properly.
Gideon’s face stares back from a staged image beneath it.
A mass gathering.
A sanctioned awakening.
Thousands expected.
A revival-style sermon. A public assembly on a scale meant to pull bodies, cameras, attention. Right here in Los Angeles. My grip tightens on the edge of the device.
Of course it is.
For fuck sake, can we not get five minutes? I look up slowly, eyes cutting from the screen to Chace.
Chace leans back slightly, hands loosely clasped, sunglasses hiding most of what he’s thinking.
I exhale through my nose, setting the iPad down on the table between us.
“So,” I say quietly, eyes still on the screen, “that didn’t take him long.”
Chace gives a small, almost imperceptible nod. Niko speaks first, his Russian accent cutting clean through the heat.
“In four days, Gideon will hold this gathering,” he says. “That gives us four days to plan.”
He leans forward slightly, eyes hard.
“This is going to be dangerous. Not like before.” A pause. “The men protecting Gideon are trained to kill. Not just his flock—” his mouth twists faintly at the word, “—his followers, his congregation… whatever you call them. Galina’s men will be there too.”
Chace shifts beside him, finally speaking.
“I’m going to contact her,” he says calmly. “Galina. Try and get her to meet. If I can find out what she wants, we might be able to strike a deal—”
“No.”
Niko cuts him off instantly.
His gaze doesn’t move from the table.
“I will kill her,” he says evenly. “No negotiation. No mercy.”
Then, quieter.
“They call me теневой принц.” coming out, it sounds like tenevoy prints
The Russian rolls off his tongue.
“Shadow Prince.”
Logan and Sam shift uncomfortably, the tension tightening around the table like a drawn wire.
“The women stay here. Stay safe,” Niko says, taking control without effort, like it’s already been decided and we’re just catching up.
There’s a pause—brief, but absolute.
“I will go on a hunt.”
His mouth curves into something dark as he pushes back from the table and rises. The chair legs scrape softly against the stone.
He looks to Chace.
“You will not contact Galina. You will stay here until I am ready. Then I will extract the Preacher from among his herd and deliver him at your gates. His fate will be in your hands. You will not let him get away again, yes?”
He inclines his head toward me—small, deliberate acknowledgment—then turns away and walks toward one of his men stationed at the edge of the poolside, already moving like the decision was never in question.
No one speaks right away.
Chace lets out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s trying to hold something together behind his eyes.
“Fuck.”
Sam exhales through his teeth, shifting in his seat. Logan doesn’t move at all—just watches Niko walk away, expression tight.
“So…” Sam starts carefully. “When he says he’s going on a hunt…”
Chace drops his hand, staring after Niko.
“He’s going on a fucking killing spree.”
“Right,” I say quietly, eyes still tracking Niko at the edge of the pool.
Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool. Coolio. Cool. Understood… Fucking Shadow Prince sounds like he should be in a fantasy novel with fairies and witches.
Still, thank fuck he didn’t say he was the boogeyman or I wouldn’t be able to look at him without thinking of John Wick.
He looks so much like Chace it’s almost disorienting. Same posture. Same stillness when everything else is moving. Just…older. Harder around the edges. Shorter hair, a different kind of weight to him.
My gaze drifts back to Chace.
A frown pulls at my brow before I can stop it.
Is that who Chace is shaping to be? The thought sits there longer than I like, unsettled.
“Is there no better plans we can come up with?” I say to Chace. He shrugs.
“Always plans and backups…My uncle is very…direct. Someone hides in a building? He knocks it down.”
“Ah, so Uncle Niko is the big bad wolf. Cool. Hell of a blow job. Blow jobber?”
“Trey…don’t get distracted.” Logan says.
“Police are a no go, right?” Sam asks.
“Right. This is all tied tightly to Chace…” Logan reasons.
“Yeah, that’s a hard no.” Chace grimaces.
“But it’s all so fucking public…is there no way of knowing what the lady, you said Galina, was after, right?” Sam queries.
“Not for sure, no…it’s why I wanted to get a meeting.” Sam is reaching out for a drink, when I see movement, small. About the size of a quarter.
“Sam…” I say, eyes going wide.
He looks at me expectantly. “What?”
“Spider.”
I say it like it’s a medical diagnosis, not a tiny eight-legged horror story.
Instantly, goosebumps climb the back of my neck.
Sam looks down just in time to see it crawling onto his hand.
He flinches so hard he nearly redecorates the patio with his entire body.
Chace loses it—head tipped back, like he’s been waiting his whole life for Sam to be personally violated.
Logan, meanwhile, calmly stands, scoops the spider into his hands like it’s nothing more than an inconvenience, and walks it over to the shade by the pool house. Into the orange bushes. Done. Dusts his hands off like nothing happened.
“What…what if that was venomous?” I ask, genuinely more shaken by that than our ongoing life-threatening situation.
“Then I would suck it out…and go to the ER. No big deal.”
What the fucking shit.
I would suck it out.
That sentence should come with warning labels.
I don’t even get to properly roast him for it because my brain is too busy spinning out.
“O-okay…cool…” I manage.
A warm breeze moves through the yard, the sun absolutely unbothered.
I stare up at the sky for a second.
“Boys,” I say slowly, thinking too hard.
“Where can a spider or snake bite you…and you have to suck the venom out…before it becomes gay?”
Three sets of eyes slowly turn toward me. “Because think about it,” I continue, warming to my own terrible logic. “Arm? Fine. Manly even. You save your bro, you’re basically a hero.”
I gesture vaguely.
“But what if it’s your balls or shaft?”
Chace is shaking head, laughing. Sam is staring at me. Logan’s mouth twitches.
“Alright, that’s obvious, right? That’s too far. But what about the palm of your hand? That’s like…emotionally intimate.”
“I would suck it out myself,” Sam says instantly, arms folded.
“No, no—” I point at him. “You’re unconscious. You’ve fainted. Bam. Emergency scenario. So where is the line? Where does it become too gay?”
“It’s not gay if it’s saving a life,” Logan says, completely deadpan.
Chace wipes his eyes. “It’s gay if you make an ahegao face while doing it.”
“Logan, I need you to save my life,” I say, turning slowly toward him, “please suck my dick.”
The table erupts.
Sam is fully gone. Chace is folded in half. Even Logan lets out a quiet laugh through his nose.
“Fine,” Logan says after a beat, standing up. “Drop them, pretty boy.”
Wait.
Pretty boy?
He starts walking toward me.
I try to back up—trip—end up half-sprawled on a sun lounger.
He’s standing over me now.
Too close. Too amused.
I am having a full internal systems failure.
“Umm…boys…are we interrupting something?” Mac’s voice cuts in.
I exhale like I’ve just been granted parole.
Thank God.
“Yeah, I think in that case, Trey would be the gay one,” Chace says immediately. “Logan can suck dick and still be straight. He’s the Chuck Norris of straight. R.I.P.”
“Guys,” I say quickly, trying to recover my dignity from the lounger. “I was joking.”
They all look at me.
“But, Trey,” Logan says, flashing his panty dropping smile, still hovering there, “I thought you wanted me to save your life.”
And that’s how Logan became the heartthrob…the groups certified panty dropper. Or he was. Until Mac.