CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CASH
Me: I’m bringing her home.
An unfathomable level of rage coursed through my veins this morning when Sylvie detailed her past several years.
The ferocity of my drive to fix it was staggering.
So far beyond anything I’d ever experienced.
If it hadn’t already been clear, there on that beach, I realized this woman had gotten so far inside me that she was embedded in my bones.
And while that’s fucking terrifying, sending that text is rejuvenating. Even more exhilarating than when I sent the message announcing I’d found her. I feel high. And held hostage. Like a Stockholm-syndrome hostage. I can’t escape, but I don’t think I want to.
Last night, after I talked to Sterling, I called Axel and told him I was hoping I could convince Sylvie to come back with me.
I wanted him to be prepared for her to stay with us and make any needed arrangements.
That intense kitchen conversation earlier presented a perfect opportunity.
Sterling and I hadn’t planned that, like Sylvie believed.
But I think we’d both drawn the same conclusion after we spoke in her office.
And like cons tend to do, I read her intent at lunch long before she alluded to it. And I pounced.
La Lune Noire is where Sylvie needs to be. My family and I can get her through this.
Beyond that, I’m not sure what the hell we’re doing. But she got on the fucking plane, so I’ll take the rest one moment at a time.
I’ve got the memory of her lips against mine to keep me satiated.
Or haunted. Flashes of shimmery, tanned skin and supple curves.
And moans that nearly had me coming in my swim trunks.
Fuck, she’s a dream. That orange knit bikini will be burned if she thinks she’s wearing it anywhere in public again.
But that’s a conversation for another day.
Maddox: Way to go, bro. What is the state of relations?
Me: Murky.
Maddox: Friend, foe, or feline?
Tessa: What the hell kind of question is that?
Mercy: It’s about the purring.
Maddox: I’m not sure that’s how I would’ve answered, but, yeah, Merce, let’s go with that.
Jax: Those categories are not always mutually exclusive.
Ryker: I can attest to an overlap.
Zara: I agree that purring can happen in various states of relations.
Axel: Regardless, I don’t think asking if the girl has purred is putting our best foot forward in the welcome wagon.
Me: Best paw forward would’ve been wittier. Or you could’ve gone with something about a catcall. The point is to stay on theme, Pawpaw Axe. See what I did there? If you’re going to do something, do it right.
Axel: I was the one person not giving you a hard time. But then again, there’s more than one way to skin a cat.
Me: Better, but there’s no need to be catty.
Mercy: We should make a Venn diagram to document the overlap.
Jax: On it.
Me: You’ve all had your fun. This shit needs to be out of your systems before we arrive. She’s already on edge. I want her to feel at home.
Maddox: Better give us the CliffsNotes.
Jax: We could survey her for the Venn diagram.
Ryker: Or simply greet her with Maddox’s original question.
Axel: You’re usually in this pack of wolves, so you know how this works. Gotta give ’em something.
Me: She was pissed I showed up, but happy to see me. I kept my dick in the friend zone and kissed her in the ocean. She melted in my arms but is still pushing platonic. And I’ve somehow summoned saintlike patience.
Zara: Well, fuck.
Tessa: Goner.
Mercy: Feline.
Ryker: Impeccable timing, baby, lol.
Jax: You’d better buy stock in gray joggers. That’s the secret to aloofness, right?
I might have claimed that once.
Me: I’m so aloof, my gray joggers feel snubbed.
Axel: So, we treat her as …
Maddox: Seriously, the ambiguity is going to break the Venn diagram.
Jax: Can you ask Sylvie to send us her version of events?
Mercy: People rarely relay the same story.
Maddox: Truth. Maybe Sylvie was pissed about your dick showing up, but happy to see the ocean because she was melting in the sun, where the friend zone was.
Jax: All the same elements. That’s fucking confusing.
A laugh spills out of me, but half the fun of razzing someone is working them up, so I’ll let them have this, even though I know they’ll make Sylvie feel like a queen.
Me: I hate you all right now.
“Is that your family?” Sylvie side-eyes my phone as the plane rolls to a stop, a hint of nervousness in her tone.
She slept most of the flight and messed with her phone the rest of the time.
Between the beach this morning, the stress from fighting with her mom, and the packing, she’s completely wiped out.
And yet as stunning as ever. Wide-leg black pants with a belt on the high waist, sporty white sneakers, and a short-sleeved maroon top that looks so good against her dark hair.
I really am a fucking feline.
“Yep.” I tuck my phone into my inner suit jacket pocket, eager to show her the resort. “They’re excited to see you again. Probably rolling out the red carpet.”
“That makes sense.” She scrunches her lips and widens her eyes. “They did accompany you to stalk me, so celebrating your capture aligns.”
“I can’t really defend that.” I tilt my head in concession and turn it back on her. “You know how these things go. They tend to run in the family.”
My car service picks us up at the private airfield and drops us off at La Lune Noire in the owners’ parking garage. I’m surprised but grateful that my family doesn’t bombard us when we arrive. The staff handles the luggage, and I weave my fingers with Sylvie’s to tow her toward the owner entrance.
She scoffs—it’s laced with humor, but still a scoff—so I peer over my shoulder to catch her eyeing our connection.
“Christ, Palmer. Take a breath. I’m holding your hand, not proposing.” I can’t discern whatever the hell kind of expression that provokes, so I tack on, “Or fingering you.”
She bursts out laughing and steals her hand back to feign embarrassment, but it’s really to keep her guard intact. “That would be an interesting way to meet La Lune Noire … I don’t know who I’m meeting right now, I guess. Members? Staff? Do I need to check in somewhere?”
“I told you we take care of our friends. We’re going straight to the penthouse.”
“The penthouse?” she parrots as I scan my iris to gain access to our personal elevator. “I’m staying with you?”
“With my family and me, like how I just stayed with you and your mom.” I glide my hand over the small of her back to nudge her inside when the doors slide open.
“Zara and Mercy live there. Well, Mercy, Ryker, and their son, Remy, are there most of the time. They also have a country house. Jax, Axel, and Zara are always there though. And Tessa and Maddox have the apartment below ours, but it can be accessed from the penthouse, so …”
“I guess I pictured staying in my own suite.”
That’s not happening.
“We’re usually booked,” I say as the elevator kicks into motion. “It’ll be fine. I’ll get you set up in my room, and—”
“Your room?” she gasps with indignation.
“Yes.” I lean against the wall and cross my arms, enjoying her squirming. “I hear your eagerness, and I know you’ve got that filthy mind, but the best aspect of that accommodation will be lacking because I’ll be staying in Maddox’s room.”
She scrunches her cute little nose. “Why wouldn’t I just stay in Maddox’s room?”
“Like hell I’d have you in anyone else’s bed.” That is delivered with more bite than necessary, but the thought of Sylvie in Maddox’s bed makes me want to set that room on fire.
Jesus, she’s turning me into an arsonist.
She rolls those gorgeous ambers at me, searching for another angle. “And your family—”
“Is thrilled.” As the words fall from my lips, the elevator deposits us in the small foyer outside the penthouse door.
The second we step out, flashing red and blue lights surround us.
And a damn siren.
“What the hell is happening?” Sylvie’s entire body stiffens; she’s ready to bolt. “That is a really triggering sound for people in my line of work.”
I’m going to fucking kill them.
I whip out my phone to begin obnoxiously dialing each of them when the animated message—which my sixth sense detected lurking in wait—begins.
“Warning: Intruder. Warning: Intruder. Cash Noire has accessed the penthouse. Do not panic. Authorities are on the way.”
Sylvie’s face pales. “What. The. Fuck?”
“My family is just having fun at my expense,” I explain with my cell lodged between my ear and shoulder, the taunting ring fueling my ire while I try and fail to use my finger, face, and retina to open the penthouse. “No need to panic.”
“That’s what the message said.” She gestures at the ceiling because the speaker is invisible. “Which is weird because it seems pretty panicked that you’re trying to enter the penthouse. Have you been exiled?”
“Yes.” I hang up and dial Bernard—the man—hoping he’ll have mercy on me. “Like the goddamn prodigal son. You saw me scan my iris downstairs.”
She’s seen me with my family, too, so there shouldn’t be a question about whether I’m welcome here.
“Right,” she deadpans. “And we know how foolproof that is.”
That’s fair. It probably means little to someone who creates retina replicas to commit larceny.
Bernard is ghosting me, too, and I’m damn near close to raging.
Sylvie tries to get back on the elevator, but it requires authorization that is locked out, so that sends her into a full-on meltdown. She smacks the seam of the doors. “Why can’t we get out?”
“Look at me, Sly.” I clutch her chin, hoping to settle her. “This is a prank. I did something similar to Axel a while back when he was interested in Zara.”
She pulls her chin back, aghast. “You trapped him somewhere with lights and sirens?”