Page 21 of All The Darkest Truths (Second Sons Duet #2)

VESPER

Every muscle in my body protests as I shift on the couch, trying to find a position that doesn't make me wince.

This morning's workout with Talon has left me feeling like I've been hit by a truck.

A surprisingly satisfying kind of pain that reminds me that my body can take being trained.

That with enough practice, I can protect myself.

The apartment has fallen into an odd rhythm today while we wait for updates on whether or not Alex can get anything off Ricky’s phone.

He hasn't emerged from his room since last night, which means he’s still working through what he found, or he hasn’t been able to crack it yet.

Talon keeps glancing down the hallway toward Alex's sanctuary, his expression cycling between concern and annoyance. While Oscar has been buried in his laptop at the dining table, occasionally muttering to himself in Russian as he types, working on something he hasn’t clued the rest of us in about yet.

And Z has been doing what he does best, hovering.

Leaving me sore, satisfied, and worried that Oscar’s risky meeting with Ricky was for nothing, and that we are no closer to finding my brother than we were before the meeting.

I shift again, unable to suppress a small groan as my body protests the movement. Z's head snaps up immediately.

“I’m fine.”

“Your groan says otherwise. You went too hard this morning for your first lesson.”

“I'm fine,” I insist, “My body isn’t accustomed to being used in that way.”

Z arches a knowing eyebrow.

“You know what I mean.”

“Should have stretched first,” Z smirks back at me.

“I did,” I lie. I mean, considering a few hours before I was doing cardio with him and his brother, I’d put myself in the well-worn and stretched category, but clearly, good sex is not a great pre-workout routine. Lesson learned.

“You overworked her this morning. This is on you, Talon.”

Talon’s smile thins.

“Unless…” Z smiles with a shrug. “That’s not the only reason you’re sore this morning.”

“Really?” Talon remarks, shaking his head.

I throw a decorative pillow at Z's smug face. He catches it without effort, his reflexes infuriatingly sharp—even while lounging like he owns the place.

“You're insufferable,” I declare.

“Yet you suffer me anyway,” he replies, tossing the pillow back with gentle precision. It lands softly in my lap.

Oscar glances up from his laptop, the corner of his mouth quirking upward before he returns to whatever has him so engrossed. The quiet tapping of his keyboard fills the comfortable silence.

Talon shifts from his spot, heading towards the kitchen, and emerges a few minutes later with a steaming mug in each hand. “Chamomile with honey,” he says, offering one to me. “Should help with the muscle soreness.”

“Thanks,” I say, gratefully accepting the warm mug. Our fingers brush during the exchange. The memory of his lips on mine in the gym this morning sends a rosy flush to my cheeks.

“Show off,” Z remarks.

“I prefer to say that I am attentive. It’s better than being an asshole all the time.”

“I'm not an asshole all the time,” Z counters, stretching his arms above his head. The motion lifts his shirt, revealing a sliver of tattooed skin and defined muscle. “Just when it's warranted.”

I hide my smile behind the rim of my mug, the steam warming my face as I take a careful sip. The chamomile is just right—sweetened with honey but not cloying, the floral notes calming the frayed edges of my nerves.

“Warranted is subjective,” Oscar comments. “Especially in your case, brother.”

“Wow, turning against your own blood? Rude.”

“Truth hurts, Z. Learn to live with it.”

“Alex still locked in his cave?” Oscar redirects the conversation away from the pissing match brewing between Z and Talon.

“Yup,” Talon confirms, settling back into the armchair across from me. “He was awake all last night, too.”

“How would you know that?” Oscar remarks.

“Hunch,” Talon shrugs indifferently.

I sip my tea, savoring the soothing warmth as it slides down my throat. “Should someone check on him? Make sure he's okay?”

“I wouldn't,” Talon says quickly, something flickering across his face too fast for me to interpret. “He's in the zone. Interrupting him now would just piss him off."

“Even if I interrupted him?”

“Yes,” they all answer in unison.

Their unanimous answer startles me. I set my mug down on the coffee table with a soft clink, suddenly feeling the need to check on Alex myself. Whatever he's working on has kept him locked away for hours. What if he needs something? Food? Water? A reminder that other humans exist?

I push myself up from the couch, wincing slightly as my sore muscles protest.

“Where are you going?” Z asks, already half-rising from his seat.

“To check on Alex,” I answer, taking a step toward the hallway.

Talon clears his throat. “Before you do that, I was wondering what you were thinking for dinner tonight?”

I pause, turning to face him. “Dinner?”

“Yeah,” he says casually, though something in his expression seems almost too deliberate. “Your choice. Anything you want.”

I narrow my eyes, suspicious of the sudden change of subject. “Are you trying to distract me?”

“No,” Talon says, looking offended. “I'm trying to plan ahead. In case I need to hit up the grocery store.”

“I'm thinking...” I draw out the word as I study Talon's face. “That you're a terrible liar.”

Z snorts from his position on the couch. “He really is.”

“I'm not lying,” Talon protests, but there's a slight flush creeping up his neck that betrays him. Talon is many things. A great cook, someone who always seems to be able to make me laugh, but a liar, he is not. “I'm genuinely curious about dinner.”

“At two in the afternoon?” I cross my arms. “What's going on with Alex that you don't want me to see?”

“Vesper,” Oscar begins carefully, closing his laptop. “Alex gets...intense when he's working. He doesn't like interruptions.”

“That's putting it mildly,” Talon mutters. “Last time I walked in on him mid-hack, he nearly threw a keyboard at my head.”

“So you're saying I should just let him starve in there?”

“He's got protein bars and energy drinks stashed everywhere,” Z offers. “Like a squirrel preparing for nuclear winter.”

“That's not healthy,” I argue.

“Neither is disturbing him right now,” Oscar counters, his voice gentle but firm. “Trust me, solnishko. When he's ready, he'll emerge.”

Something in their collective reluctance makes me more determined. Perhaps it's the lingering spark from this morning's training session with Talon, or maybe it's just my natural stubbornness, but I find myself stepping toward the hallway with renewed purpose.

“I'm just going to knock,” I insist. “If he tells me to go away, I will.” I pause, giving them all a pointed look.

The three men exchange glances, some silent communication passing between them that I can't quite decipher. Finally, Oscar sighs. “Fine, but don't say we didn't warn you.”

“I can check on him,” Talon offers.

“No, I will,” I demand, not dismissing Talon’s odd behavior when it comes to Alex. What the hell is going on between the two of them?

I make my way down the hallway, ignoring Z's muttered, “This'll be good,” behind me. The door to Alex's room is closed, a thin strip of light visible underneath. I hesitate for just a moment before I knock.

Three gentle taps. No response.

I try again, a little louder this time. “Alex? It's Vesper.”

Silence stretches for so long I begin to wonder if he's wearing headphones. Just as I'm about to knock a third time, I hear movement from within—the creak of a chair, footsteps approaching the door.

The door swings open suddenly, revealing Alex in a disheveled state I've never seen before. He's wearing a different pair of sweatpants than he was last night, with his bare, chiseled chest on full display again.

“Vesper,” he says, his voice rougher than usual. “Did you need something?”

I take in the chaos visible behind him—multiple monitors displaying scrolling code, empty energy drink cans scattered across his desk, crumpled papers littering the floor.

“I was worried about you,” I admit, crossing my arms over my chest. “You've been in here since last night.”

“I'm fine. Just working.”

“On Ricky's phone?”

“Among other things.”

“Any progress?”

“Nothing worth sharing yet.” His fingers tap an impatient rhythm against the doorframe. “Is that all?”

His dismissive tone stings more than it should. “Have you eaten anything? Or slept?”

“I don't need a babysitter, Vesper.” The edge in his voice is sharper than I expected.

“I never said you did,” I counter, refusing to be intimidated. “But humans generally require food and rest to function. Even brilliant ones.” I duck under his arm, pushing myself into his room.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He hisses as he whirls, hot on my heels.

“Tell me what you've found,” I say, turning to face him. “Or what you haven't found. Either way, I deserve to know.”

Alex’s jaw clenches as he shuts the door behind me. He glances at one of his monitors and quickly taps a key, blanking the screen before I can see what’s on it.

“I told you. I don’t have anything to share yet,” he repeats.

I study his face—the twitching muscle in his jaw, the way his eyes flick between me and the now-blank monitor. There’s something he’s hiding, something important enough that he’s willing to snap at me to protect it.

“I don't believe you,” I say, stepping closer to him. My frustration transforms into something else—a strategy forming in my mind. If direct questioning won't work, perhaps another approach will.

I move deliberately into his personal space, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his bare skin. His breath hitches almost imperceptibly as I place my palms flat against his chest, feeling his heart thundering beneath my fingertips.

“What are you doing?