Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
EMMA EASTON
“So,” Nico starts with a grin. “Rook told us that you’re a damsel in distress.”
I straighten my posture. “He’s…correct, I suppose.”
His dark brown eyes don’t blink. They just study me. The server returns to take their drink orders when she drops my mojito off. Her eyes light up when she sees who joined me. I can’t imagine why, honestly. They’re terrifying.
“Are you ready to order, Emma?” Rafe asks softly. His voice is so refined, even if he looks like a demon wearing a gorgeous man-suit.
“Yeah,” I manage. “Seafood alfredo, please.”
Nico considers my order. “Same. That sounds like enough to bring home.”
Rafe smiles at him, then looks up at the server. “Filet and lobster. Medium rare.” He lifts a finger. “And I’ll take the Parmesan-crusted salmon to go. For my wife.”
God, his wife must be a bad bitch.
The server nods and leaves. He’s definitely been here a lot.
“So,” Rafe says, looking at me like he’s studying my facial expressions. “The Russian problem.”
My throat tightens. “Alexei Morozov has taken the man I love.”
Rafe’s eyes flash. “Morozov. Christ.” He shares a look with Nico.
“You know him?” I ask, voice steadier than I feel.
“Yeah,” Rafe says, almost amused. “I know the motherfucker. He was on my list a couple years back. Didn’t get the chance to kill him, though.”
I swallow. “Oh.” I want to ask why, but I should probably just keep my mouth shut.
Nico leans forward. “Rook said he’s got blackmail on your friend. Jude Graves, right? Lead singer of Dissonance?”
“That’s right,” I say. “Um, years ago, Jude accidentally killed someone in LA. Nolan found out and held it over him. He made him hurt people. Kill people. Nolan’s not a manager—he’s a monster laundering money and drugs through the tour.”
Nico’s mouth twists. “That’s a new one.”
Rafe sips his whiskey. “And Alexei? When did he come into all of this?”
“Nolan partnered with him,” I say. “I'm assuming it's to work together, doing…whatever it is they're doing. Illegal stuff.”
"Legality is boring." Nico chuckles darkly. “Is Nolan based in the West Coast?”
I nod.
Rafe’s grin is slow. “At least he’s avoiding the East Coast. Because it’s mine.”
My stomach drops.
“Listen,” he continues, voice soft. “I’d like to help.”
"Why?" I blurt, and I mentally curse myself. “How?”
Nico’s grin widens. “We can hack the best of them, love.”
Rafe’s tone stays smooth. “My wife runs one of the most powerful cybersecurity firms in the world. She protects a lot of people. Many of whom are not morally superior, let’s just say that.”
My jaw drops. “Okay.”
Nico’s eyes lighten.
Rafe leans back. “Where are you staying?”
I force my hands to stop fidgeting in my lap. “A hotel down the street with my best friend and Jude’s bandmate, Micah.”
“The drummer?” Nico asks. “He’s insane. Love his solos.”
Rafe waves him off. “I’ll send a car tonight. We’ll continue this at my townhouse.”
My mouth opens and closes. “Really? You'd just let us into your house?”
He raises a brow over his glass. “Of course. We’re about to walk into hell together. Might as well get to know each other a little. Plus, I already know a little about you. I remember when Rook asked us about you years ago.”
My jaw drops. "Wh—what?"
He chuckles. "He was pissed about your boy killing his brother, that's for sure."
"Mainly because he can't do it himself, now," Nico adds with a feral grin.
A small smile tugs on my lips, too. "Thank you. I—I don't know what to say."
"We wouldn't work with anyone that we didn't check out." Nico tilts his head. "Plus, boss and boss-ette would slit your throats and hang you in the basement to bleed out if you were to cross them."
Rafe scoffs, but I nearly shit myself. "Boss-ette? That's a new one, Nico. I dare you to call Adela that, later."
Nico laughs.
"Anyway, Emma, it's fine," Rafe says with an amused smirk. "We'll be happy to have you. I need revenge on that piece of shit anyway. And this is a perfect excuse."
The limo pulls up without a sound right on time. Micah and Heather stand on either side of me, their shoulders tight. When I told them that we’d be staying with Rafe, Heather’s mouth fell open, and Micah just smiled. He’s certainly ready to do this.
The driver steps out first. His dark hair is tied into a low, messy bun, shoulder-length strands framing his face. He looks up at us and offers a small, controlled smile. “Good evening,” he says. His voice is smooth and friendly. “I’m Kieran.”
I swallow.
Micah nods once. Heather’s eyes narrow, assessing him.
Kieran opens the door and gestures inside. “Please,” he says.
I steady a breath before being the first to slide into the back of the car, Heather and Micah following.
“I am just...I can’t believe this is my fucking life,” Heather murmurs as Kieran begins driving.
I notice that he kept the divider down. He seems friendly enough.
“I haven’t seen anything in the news about Jude,” Micah whispers, scrolling through his phone. “He must be hiding from the public eye.”
I blow out a breath, thinking of Adriana’s Instagram post of a shirtless Jude in Moscow.
I decide against mentioning it because I don’t feel like adding any more discomfort to my stomach.
Micah's probably already seen it, anyway. He follows her. I honestly just need to stop being a stalker. But it’s my last bit of connection with him. Sort of.
It isn’t a very long ride before Kieran pulls to a stop on a lovely street on the outskirts of the city. There are trees lining the entire street, with gorgeous properties tucked away. We step out, the cold fall air brushing through my hair.
The townhouse stands behind a wrought iron gate, tall and elegant in the evening light.
The creamy stone facade looks like it was plucked straight from a Parisian dream.
Black-trimmed windows line each floor, and ivy curls against the entryway.
The gate opens with a small creak, and we walk up the path.
“It is unlocked,” Kieran says casually. “Mr. Vaughan is expecting you.”
I nod, my hand squeezing the handle before swinging the door open.
Inside, the place is furnished in tones of matte black, soft beige, and textured cream.
The polished wood floors creak softly under my boots.
Each room flows into the next, decorated but not cluttered. Everything is arranged with intention.
And then I see Rafe and Nico standing in the living room, holding glasses filled with amber liquid.
Rafe is in a crisp black shirt, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal the hint of muscle and tattoo.
Nico is leaning against the wall, eyes dark, and a grin on his lips.
Kieran closes the door behind us and follows without a word.
I go to open my mouth to greet them, but we’re joined by a woman with long black hair and wispy bangs that soften her sharpness. Her dress is tight, black, and perfect. She moves with astonishing confidence, her blue eyes sweeping over us with curiosity.
Rafe’s gaze shifts to her, and the smile that forms on his face is one that women everywhere dream of. “This is Emma,” he says smoothly. “And her friends, Micah and Heather, if I remember correctly.”
The woman’s eyes flick to me. “Hello,” she says, reaching out with a delicate hand. “I’m Adela Sinclair-Vaughan. It is a pleasure to have you here.” Her handshake is firm.
I smile politely.
“You can relax your shoulders.” Rafe’s voice is soft. “You’re safe here,” he says.
“First, before we get into discussions,” Adela says, glancing over her shoulder at us. “Let us show you to your room.”
The guest room is upstairs and at the end of the hall. When the door opens, Heather lets out a soft, involuntary oh my god.
It's massive. A California king bed dominates the center, dressed in crisp white linens and layered with soft charcoal and cream throws.
The headboard is upholstered, elegant, and understated in a way that screams money.
A pull-out sofa sits near the window, plush and clearly never used.
Floor-to-ceiling windows let in evening light that spills across the hardwood floors.
There’s a chandelier overhead that’s probably worth more than my car.
Heather slowly turns in a circle, eyes wide. “This is…holy shit.”
I nod, unable to find words.
Micah, on the other hand, barely reacts. He scans the room with an even expression. No awe or shock like us, just acknowledgment, like he’s seen a hundred places like this before.
“Bathroom’s through there,” Rafe says, gesturing. “Help yourselves to anything in the minibar.”
They leave us to settle in, which has me feeling a little dizzy. We're in some strangers' house now. People who are extremely dangerous. What the hell happened to me?
Jude. Jude is what happened to me. The jerk.
Heather immediately flops onto the bed, bouncing once. “Emma,” she whispers. “We're sleeping in a billionaire’s bed.”
I manage a laugh. “Yeah, this is something else.”
"Hey, you're sleeping with a millionaire," Micah says, gesturing to himself as he sets his bag down.
She giggles.
Micah sighs, putting his hands on his hips. “They seem nice enough.”
I meet his gaze.
“It’s weird, though, considering Rook said he was scary.”
Heather scoffs at him. “Sure, they’re welcoming. But all three of them look like they could kill us in two seconds with their bare hands if we pissed them off. The driver, too.” She shrugs. “So I think we’ll be okay as long as we don’t do that.”
I snort, checking my phone to see a sweet text from Mrs. Kent with a Nova update. I miss my girl. I miss my little cottage. I miss my job.
I miss my life. But I miss Jude more.