Page 24

Then Z's eyes snap open, instantly alert. He doesn't move, careful not to disturb Vesper, but his stare locks with mine in a silent warning.

“Meeting with Ricky at ten,” I say quietly. “We need to prep.”

Z's jaw tightens, but he nods almost imperceptibly. With careful movements, he begins to extract himself from Vesper's embrace. She stirs, murmuring something unintelligible.

“Shh, moya koroleva. Sleep a little longer.”

I lean against the doorframe, watching as my brother gently tucks the blanket around her before pressing a kiss to her forehead. He rises from the bed with silent grace, crossing to where I stand. As he passes, I catch Vesper’s scent clinging to him.

“I know what you’re going to say," he says once we’re in the hallway.

“You’re an insufferable asshole who doesn’t listen?” I fire back at him.

Z's lips quirk up in a half-smile. “She had a nightmare.”

‘And you just happened to be there?”

“I was checking on her.” He shrugs, unapologetic. “She didn't kick me out.”

“That seems to be a theme around here lately. You seem better,” I remark. “You two talk it out?”

“Yeah,” he admits.

“You good?”

“Getting there.” Z rubs a hand over his face. “She's...patient with me. More than I deserve.”

“How about you give Talon and Alex some of that patience? I believe it was you who told me that it’s Vesper’s choice.”

Z's jaw tightens, the muscle working beneath his skin. “I know what I said.”

“And yet…” I let the words hang between us, raising an eyebrow.

He sighs. “Fine. I'll play nice with St. James. But Alex? You don’t think…?”

I shoot my brother a knowing look. “Have you ever seen him be that protective over someone in the entire time we’ve known him?”

Z carefully considers the question.

“I just want you to be prepared, if, and when, it happens. Try not to piss off the son of a serial killer. I do like having a brother around.”

Z's jaw clenches. “Alex wouldn't hurt me.”

“Not intentionally, no,” I concede. “But we both know what happens when you push him too far.”

My brother's silence speaks volumes. We've all seen Alex's darker side—the cold, calculated precision that emerges when his control slips. The genetics he tries so desperately to suppress.

“Fair point. I'll ease up.”

“Miracles do happen,” I mutter, clapping him on the shoulder. “You can wake him up then.”

Z's lip curls. “I said I'd play nice, not perform a miracle.”

“Your problem, not mine.” I gesture toward Alex's closed door. “I've got weapons to prep.”

Z narrows his focus on me, then stalks toward Alex's room like a man heading to the gallows. I don't envy him. Alex waking up is like poking a hibernating bear—never a good idea unless you're ready for the consequences.

I make my way back to the living room, where Talon has transformed our dining table into an arsenal. Handguns, knives, and various other lethal implements lie in neat rows on a black cloth. He's methodically cleaning a Glock, “Where's Z?”