50. Holden #2
“You asked me to investigate her. I did.”
His fingers rest on the folder. It is barely thick enough to justify the metal clip holding it together.
He knows exactly what I left out.
There are no photographs of her leaving the hospital.
No list of friends, lovers, or places she goes when she isn’t working.
No family history beyond the names required to prove she exists.
I gave him enough to show I followed the order and nothing that would make it easier to drag a young woman into a world she has no reason to enter.
“If she’s so important,” I say, “why don’t you have Fenrir look into her?”
The room goes silent.
Odin sets the folder down.
“Because Fenrir is working on the Kennel app. I assigned this to you because I wanted you to handle it, detective. Or would you prefer I divert Fenrir to this instead of dealing with the bigger issue?”
I grit my teeth. “She hasn’t done anything.”
“I’m aware.”
That bothers me. “Then leave her alone.”
“Do I need to remind you who pays you, Holden?”
The reminder lands harder than a raised voice.
“I gave the assignment to you. Not Fenrir. Not Milo. You. Be thorough. Be discreet. Then bring me the report I asked for.”
My jaw locks.
“Are we clear?” he asks.
“Crystal.”
I turn for the elevator.
“Holden,” Loki calls after me.
When I look back, he’s already left his chair and crossed to the sofa. He stands between Thor’s knees.
“Be a good boy and do what Odin says, okay? We want that girl.”
He might be talking to me, but he has one hand curled around the back of Thor’s neck.
Thor chuckles in agreement as Loki bends to kiss him.
One massive hand closes around Loki’s waist and pulls him down until Loki is half-straddling his lap, their mouths meeting with the easy familiarity of men who have done this a thousand times.
“Sure,” I say, about to turn away before Odin lifts a hand.
“One more thing, Holden,” he says.
I stand there, waiting while Odin watches Loki and Thor from his chair. There’s nothing detached in the way his eye darkens. Nothing casual about the hunger he makes no effort to hide.
The three of them. Comfortable. Practiced. Whatever exists between them belongs to all three, even when only two are touching. And they’re about to pull this girl into it too.
And it looks like I’m helping them.
I clear my throat and Odin’s attention returns to me. He taps one finger against Rosaline’s name. “Discreetly.”
The doors close before I tell him what he can do with his reminder.
My phone vibrates on the ride down.
MILO:
The corpse bow has been upgraded to silver because the black looked somber.
I type back with one thumb.
ME:
Do not decorate the body.
MILO:
Too late. It’s really boring waiting and art cannot be governed.
ME:
Dean and the cleaners should be there soon. Keep the door locked.
MILO:
Fascist.
ME:
I need to check on Sage then I’m on my way. Surely you can be a good murder puppy until then.
MILO:
Detective! Are you flirting with me? I might give you a bow too.
I drop my phone into my pocket without responding, but a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.
The elevator opens to the VIP corridor and the guard holds out his hand for the keycard. Music replaces the silence—bass, voices, the club moving around me as though there isn’t a corpse wrapped in plastic across town.
I give back the card and shoot Knox a text as I head toward the main floor.
Me:
Location?
Knox:
Playroom three.
My dick gets so many ideas that I’m in front of the door before I can decide which one is my favorite.
When I reach the door, I knock and wait until I’m invited in.
The moment I push it open, I find Sage curled in Eli’s lap beside the padded bench, wrapped in a dark blanket with her face tucked against his throat.
A narrow leather collar sits where the cameo choker should be.
One foot rests in Knox’s hand where he sits on the floor against the bench.
Her heels have been abandoned beside him, and the blanket covers the black dress I gave her at the motel.
Eli looks wrung out. Knox looks calm in the way he does after a good session.
Sage lifts her head.
“Hey, wildcat.”
“Hey.” Her voice is destroyed.
I crouch in front of her. “You good?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Dean and the cleaners should be with Milo soon. Milo has the room secured.”
“Good.” Her gaze drops. “I’m sorry for messing up.”
I put my hand against the side of her face, my thumb moving over her skin. “You made a bad operational call by going alone. We made one by keeping you outside the work after you told us exactly what you needed. Both things are true.”
Knox squeezes her foot. “It’s our job to take care of you, Fury.”
The door opens behind me and Micah slips in with a tray balanced on one hand—bottled water, a plate of fruit, cheese and crackers. Of course he anticipated the crash. Micah always does.
He takes in the scene in one sweep and his expression softens.
“Brought reinforcements,” he says quietly.
I stand and slide my arms under Sage, lifting her out of Eli’s lap. She comes willingly, one hand catching the front of my shirt, her face pressing into my neck. Eli lets her go without a word, but his fingers trail after her like separation requires physical effort.
“You want food?” I ask her. “Or I can take you home.”
She shakes her head against my shoulder. Then she pulls back far enough to look at me, gray eyes steady despite the exhaustion carved into every line of her.
“I’d rather have you and Micah. Together.”
The room goes quiet.
Micah sets the tray on the nearest surface, slow and deliberate. “Baby girl.” His voice drops into that register he uses when he’s serious. “You look exhausted. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” She reaches for him. “I need both of you. But be gentle.”
I carry her to the padded bench and sit her on the edge.
Micah kneels in front of her, his hands careful and tender at once.
He checks her pupils. Turns her face toward the light to examine the bruise blooming at her temple.
Runs his thumbs along her jaw, her throat, careful of the collar.
Lifts her hands and inspects her knuckles one by one.
“Headache?” he murmurs.
“Small one.”
“Dizziness? Nausea?”
“Just tired.” She leans in and kisses him, soft and slow, her fingers sliding into his curls. “Stop fussing and kiss me properly.”
He laughs against her mouth and obliges.
Behind me, Knox rises from the floor and settles onto the bench against the wall, pulling Eli down beside him. “Go ahead,” Knox rumbles. “We’re happy to watch.”
“Very happy,” Eli agrees, a ghost of his usual dryness returning.
I shed my jacket and strip out of the rest of my clothes, and the last few hours go on the floor with them.
Then I undress her—blanket first, then the black dress—until she’s bare except for the collar.
Marked, exhausted, still reaching for us.
I have to stand there a second before I trust my hands.
Micah guides her carefully onto the bench, spreads her thighs over his shoulders, and lowers his mouth to her. No teasing buildup—he reads her exhaustion and gives her exactly what she asked for. Her head falls back, fingers finding his curls, and the sound she makes is wrecked and gorgeous.