Chapter 8
NIKOLAI
The elevator opens to chaos.
“—told you not to use my good knife for that!” Raphael’s voice carries from the kitchen.
“It’s a knife. It cuts things.” That’s Damon, defensive.
“It’s a Henckels santoku, you barbarian. You don’t use it to open packages!”
I step into the common room. Theon’s sprawled across the couch, feet up on Ezra’s lap despite Ezra’s obvious annoyance. Marcus sits in the corner armchair with his eyes closed. Lucien’s cross-legged on the floor, rebuilding what looks like a carburetor.
“Nik’s back,” Darius announces from where he’s leaning against the kitchen doorway. “And he’s got that look.”
“What look?” I move toward the kitchen, needing water. My voice feels raw.
“The I just did something I shouldn’t have look,” Theon supplies, wiggling his toes against Ezra’s thigh until Ezra shoves his feet off entirely.
“Fuck off,” I mutter.
“See? Defensive.” Darius grins. “Twenty bucks says it’s about the woman downstairs.”
“We don’t bet on Nikolai’s personal life,” Raphael says primly, then adds, “Fifty says she’s brunette.”
“You’re both assholes.” I grab a glass from the cabinet.
“Technically, we’re all assholes,” Dominic corrects from somewhere behind me. “Professionally trained assholes, even.”
“Some more than others,” Ezra mutters, still glaring at Theon.
“Speaking of assholes,” Damon emerges from the pantry with an armful of chips, “who ate all the good salsa?”
“That was literally you,” Marcus says without opening his eyes. “At three AM. I heard you.”
“Snitch,” Damon hisses.
“Both of you shut up,” I snap, then catch myself. They’re all looking at me now. Even Lucien glances up from his carburetor.
“Okay, seriously.” Theon sits up. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me.”
“He’s sexually frustrated,” Darius diagnoses. “Look at the tension in his shoulders.”
“I’m not—”
“When’s the last time you got laid?” Damon asks through a mouthful of chips. “And I don’t mean rubbing yourself up against a pretty acquisition before transport to Wisconsin. I mean actual—”
“I know what you mean.” The glass creaks in my grip. I ease up before it shatters.
“Three months,” Ezra supplies. “March fifteenth. With that handler from—”
“Why do you remember that?” I interrupt.
“I remember everything.” He shrugs. “It’s a curse.”
“I don’t know why you don’t just go and fuck her.” Damon sets down the chips, brushing crumbs off his hands. “The girl you brought in. Clearly you want her.”
The glass slips. Water splashes across the counter.
“And she’s getting special treatment,” he continues. “You didn’t run her through Wisconsin like the rest of the collection. You brought her into our home and put her two floors down, behind your own locks. That’s new.”
“She’s an acquisition.” My voice comes out rougher than intended.
“She’s not, though.” Raphael’s tone stays mild. “We didn’t have a job. No buyer, no file, no name on a list. You went out alone and came back with a woman who has nothing to do with any of this. That’s not an acquisition. That’s a woman you wanted for yourself.”
“So go handle it,” Theon suggests. “Get it out of your system. You look ready to tear someone apart.”
“Maybe I’ll start with you.”
“Ooh, touchy.” Darius pushes off the doorframe. “When was the last time Nikolai Vex wanted to fuck one of his captives?”
Never. The answer burns in my brain. Every name I’ve ever collected earned the cage—they built the program, ran the wings, signed off on what was done to children like us.
You don’t look at people like that and want them; you feel the cold weight of what they’re owed, and nothing else.
Jenna doesn’t fit the pattern. She never has.
And I still can’t explain why I took her.
“Jesus, look at his face.” Marcus has opened his eyes. “He’s got it bad.”
“I don’t have anything.”
“Right. That’s why you’re white-knuckling the counter.” Lucien doesn’t even look up from his carburetor. “And why your breathing changed when Damon mentioned her.”
I release the counter. Force my hands to relax.
“This is adorable,” Theon declares. “Nikolai has a crush.”
“I don’t—”
“Does she have a name?” Darius asks. “Or are you just calling her acquisition while you jerk off thinking about—”
I’m across the room before the thought completes. My hand closes around his throat, pressing him back against the wall. Not hard enough to cut off his air. Just enough to make a point.
“Easy, brother.” Darius’s grin doesn’t falter. “We’re just fucking with you.”
“Find another topic,” I suggest.
“Why? This is the most interesting thing that’s happened all week.” He glances at my hand on his throat. “Well, second most interesting.”
“He’s right, though,” Damon says calmly. “You need to either fuck her or send her to Wisconsin. This in-between thing? It’s making you sloppy.”
I release Darius. Step back.
“I’m not sloppy.”
“No, you’re just death-gripping counters and threatening us over mild teasing,” Ezra observes. “Completely normal behavior.”
“Fuck you.”
“See? Sexual frustration.” Darius rubs his neck theatrically. “Classic symptoms.”
“We done with the analysis?” I grab paper towels to clean up the spilled water. “Because I’ve got actual work to review.”
“Work can wait.” Theon stretches out on the couch again. “This is more entertaining.”
“For you maybe.”
“For all of us,” Lucien corrects without looking up. “You’re usually Mr. Ice Cold Professional. This is… different.”
“Different how?”
“You’re acting human,” Dominic says quietly. “It’s unsettling.”
“Thanks. Really helpful.”
Marcus shifts in his chair. “You know, we could call some of the regulars. Get you sorted out.”
“The regulars.” My voice comes out flat.
“Yeah. Lisa’s probably free. Or that guy from the club—what’s his name? Tyler?” Marcus opens one eye. “Hell, we could get both. Make a night of it.”
“I’m good.”
“You’re clearly not good,” Raphael counters. “When’s the last time you—”
“March fifteenth,” Ezra supplies again.
“Right. Three months. That’s…” Raphael does the math. “Yeah, no wonder you’re wound tight.”
“I’ll call Lisa.” Marcus pulls out his phone. “She likes you. Said you’re intensely focused or some shit.”
“Don’t,” I snap.
“Or Tyler. He definitely likes you. Very enthusiastically, if I recall.”
“I said don’t.”
But even as I say it, I know the truth. Marcus could bring Lisa here, or Tyler, or both, and I could go through the motions, but nothing would happen. Not with Jenna two floors below, her presence pulling at me like the center of gravity.
My body wouldn’t respond to anyone else. Not now. Not with her scent clinging to my clothes from carrying her.
“Just trying to help.” Marcus pockets his phone. “But if you want to stay wound up like a spring…”
“I’m handling it.”
“By stopping by every few hours to stare at her through the camera feed?” Damon asks.
I freeze. “How do you—”
“The security office shares a wall with the electrical room,” Damon says. “I was checking the breaker panel. Heard you in there at four AM.”
“Stalker,” I counter. “What were you doing up at four?”
“Couldn’t sleep.” He shrugs. “Unlike some people, I don’t have a shiny new toy to obsess over.”
“Speaking of obsessions,” I turn to Darius, “how’s that bartender from last week? The one you spent three hours texting about her fascinating insights into craft cocktails?”
“That’s different.”
“Right. Because you actually fucked her.” I lean against the counter. “Multiple times. Loudly.”
“You’re just jealous of my healthy sexual expression.”
“The whole building was jealous. We could hear your healthy expression through the walls.”
“I have excellent lung capacity,” Darius says proudly.
“We know,” everyone responds in unison.
“Remember when Lucien brought home twins?” Theon grins. “And we thought he was dying?”
“I was not that loud,” Lucien protests, finally looking up from his carburetor.
“You literally screamed, ‘I’m alive’ when you came,” Marcus says. “They almost called 911.”
“That was taken out of context,” Lucien supplies.
“What context makes that better?” Raphael asks.
“I was making a philosophical point about mortality and—”
“You were high on Theon’s aphrodisiac compound,” Ezra interrupts. “The one he specifically said not to take more than five milligrams of.”
“I took seven,” Lucien admits. “It seemed like a safe round number.”
“Nothing about seven milligrams of experimental sex drugs seems safe,” I point out.
“Says the man keeping a woman in our basement because he can’t decide if he wants to fuck her or send her to Wisconsin,” Theon counters.
“We’re back to this?” I ask, exasperated.
“We never left it,” Damon says. “We just took a scenic route through Lucien’s near-death sexperience.”
“Don’t call it that,” Lucien grimaces.
“Too late. It’s canon now,” Darius declares.
“I’m done with this conversation.” I push off from the counter. “Some of us actually have work to do.”
“Work.” Darius draws out the word like he’s tasting it. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“What else would I call it?”
“A date with your right hand?” Theon suggests.
“Research,” Ezra adds with a straight face. “Very thorough, repetitive research.”
“Quality control testing,” Marcus chimes in, eyes still closed. “Making sure all systems are operational.”
“You’re all hilarious.” I head for the hallway.
“Don’t use all the hot water!” Damon calls after me. “Some of us might want actual showers later.”
“And hydrate!” Raphael adds. “Important to maintain fluid levels during intensive… work sessions.”
“Maybe light some candles,” Darius suggests. “Set the mood for your strategic planning.”
“I have reports to review.” My jaw clenches tight enough to ache.
“Reports. Right.” Lucien doesn’t even try to hide his smirk. “Very detailed reports that require complete privacy and possibly a locked door.”
“Don’t forget tissues,” Theon adds helpfully. “For all that… paperwork.”
“Or just use a sock like a normal person,” Damon contributes.
“He’s too fancy for socks,” Darius argues. “Probably has special tactical jerking-off gloves.”
“Military-grade,” Marcus confirms solemnly. “With grip enhancement.”
“I hate every single one of you.”
“No you don’t,” Ezra says. “You hate that we’re right.”
“You hate that you can’t stop thinking about her,” Raphael corrects. “There’s a difference.”
“The only thing I’m thinking about is how to murder you all in your sleep.”
“Sure,” Theon drawls. “Murder. That’s definitely what’s on your mind.”
“Fuck off,” I call over my shoulder, not bothering to look back.
“Remember—counterclockwise!” Darius shouts as I reach the hallway. “More nerve endings that way!”
“That’s a myth,” Ezra protests.
“It’s not a myth, it’s science—”
Their argument fades as I put distance between us. My hands shake slightly as I head for my quarters. Not from anger.
From knowing they’re right.