Page 8 of All The Darkest Truths (Second Sons Duet #2)

VESPER

A loud crash comes from the living room, followed by arguing. “We might want to head back out there,” Alex suggests as he shifts from his spot next to me. “I’m pretty sure Zaire is about a minute away from kicking down my door, and you’re the only person who can diffuse that powder keg.”

Another crash, this one followed by a string of Russian curses I recognize all too well.

“Z does sound pissed,” I mutter, forcing myself to move toward the door.

“Can you blame him?” Alex smirks. “You didn’t kick me out when you looked at the photos.”

I shoot him a glare. “I asked you to stay.”

“Tell that to your Russian bodyguard out there. Both of them. My conversational Russian is a bit rusty, but I’m almost positive he mentioned something about my dick, and a knife.”

“Have they always been like that?”

“As long as I’ve known them," he shrugs. “But they’re worse now. I think we both know what the common denominator is in that volatile equation.”

“Me.”

I sigh before following Alex through his bedroom door and back out into the hallway.

The others are waiting in the living room, tension thick enough to choke on permeating the air.

Zaire's eyes lock onto mine immediately, something primal flickering in those silver depths.

Before I can choose my own seat, he reaches out, pulling me onto his lap, like I'm his personal property.

His arms wrap around my waist, holding me firmly against his chest.

“Really?”

“Yes, really, moya koroleva,” he declares against my hair, his breath warm against my scalp. “You were gone far too long.”

“Did you recognize anything?” Talon inquires.

I shake my head, disappointment settling heavily in my chest. “No. Nothing we can use. Just more evidence of what those bastards did to me.”

Alex clears his throat from where he's settled into an armchair. “It's not a complete waste. I've got software running through the dark web looking for anything that matches the backgrounds in those photos. Architecture details, equipment models, even the lighting fixtures. Something might ping."

Hope flickers, small but persistent.

“I'll get started extracting the audio from the videos I haven’t analyzed yet. We might not recognize the voices, but my recognition software might find matches if they're in any database—legal or otherwise."

Z's arms tighten around my waist. “It better find something. I'm not letting those fuckers breathe free air much longer.”

“We need to move forward regardless," Oz interjects, his expression serious. “I need to find Ricky.”

“Ricky?” I question. “Who is that?”

“Ricky Novak is an informant I’ve used for a few years," Oz answers.

“Do you think we can trust him?”

“No," Oz admits freely. “But he’s the best shot that we have. He may be able to point us towards The Collector’s new clinic. It’s worth a shot.”

“What makes you think this Ricky knows anything about the new clinic?” I ask, leaning forward despite Z's possessive grip.

“He knew about your auction and got us into it. Ricky is the reason we found you.”

Something shifts in my chest at this. Ricky—a name I've never heard before—is part of the reason I'm sitting here instead of still being passed around like property. I glance at Oz, studying the tight line of his jaw.

“Then he knew I was there all along?”

“Not exactly,” Oz clarifies. “Ricky deals in scraps of information from the underbelly. He heard rumors about a high-profile sale and caught wind that several of the major families were interested.”

I shift in Zaire's lap, his possessive hold loosening just enough to let me turn and face the room properly. "And you trust someone who profits from human trafficking intel?"

“Trust is a strong word,” Oz responds coolly. "I trust that he values his life and the money I pay him. Ricky has never fed me false information—not intentionally.”

“He's a cockroach,” Zaire comments against my back, his chest rumbling. “But cockroaches survive by knowing where the dangers are. They scurry between worlds unseen."

Alex interjects. “If he knew about the auction, he might know about other operations. The Collector doesn't work alone—he's got a network. Ricky may be a part of it or knows someone who is."

“When are we meeting him?” I ask, already knowing I'm not staying behind.

“We aren't meeting him,” Oz says, emphasizing the ‘we’ with a pointed look. “I am. Alone.”

Z's chest rumbles against my back. “Like hell you are.”

“Ricky has only ever worked with me. He doesn’t know about the Second Sons, or Vesper,” Oz argues. “I’d like to keep it that way. He’s been helpful in the past, but Ricky is the kind of guy who would sell out his own mother if he could make a quick buck.”

“So, we send you in alone to meet a man who sells information to the highest bidder?” I ask, my voice laced with skepticism. “That sounds like a terrible plan.”

“It's not ideal,” Oz admits. "But Ricky's paranoid. One whiff that something's off and he'll disappear.”

Zaire's fingers flex against my hip. “I don't like it.”

“You don't have to like it,” Oz counters, a familiar tension building between the twins. “But we need information, and Ricky's our best lead.”

I shift in Z's lap, trying to process everything. “What if we compromise? Oz meets Ricky as planned, but we have backup nearby.”

“Ricky checks for tails,” Oz says, shaking his head. “He's survived this long by being careful.”

“Then we'll be more careful,” I insist, feeling Z's approval in the way his arms tighten around me once more. “I'm not risking losing anyone else."

“Fine,” Oz finally concedes. “But distant surveillance only. First sign Ricky's spooked, you all back off."

“Deal,” I agree before Z can argue further. “How do we get in touch with him?”

“I’ll set it up. We usually meet at a bar on the southside.”

“We’ll be watching and listening the entire time.”

Oscar pulls out his phone, typing quickly before sliding it back into his pocket with a sigh. “Message sent, but I wouldn't hold my breath for an immediate response. Ricky's nocturnal—probably just crawling into whatever hole he sleeps in right about now.”

I rub my temples, exhaustion suddenly crashing over me. The adrenaline that's been keeping me upright is fading fast, leaving behind bone-deep weariness, and the phantom ache of memories I'd rather forget.

“So, what now?” I ask, unable to keep the fatigue from my voice. “We just wait?”

Talon, who's been unusually quiet, stretches his long limbs and yawns dramatically. “Now, we sleep. It's been a long fucking day.” He looks at me, some of the edge in his voice easing. “And tomorrow’s only going to be longer if Ricky actually shows. We need to be sharp.”

He's right. My body feels like it's running on fumes, my mind foggy with exhaustion and the aftershock of seeing those photos.

“Sleep sounds…” I hesitate, wondering if I'll actually be able to dream without seeing myself strapped to that table. “Necessary.”

Z's arms tighten around me protectively, as if sensing my unease. “You'll stay with me.” It’s not a question but a statement of fact.

“No.” I push myself off Zaire's lap, standing on unsteady legs. "I'm sleeping in my own room."

Z's expression darkens, confusion and hurt flashing across his face. “Vesper?—”

“Alone,” I add firmly, wrapping my arms around myself. “I need space. Time to process everything.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Talon's eyebrows shoot up, and Alex suddenly becomes very interested in his phone. Oscar watches me carefully, taking in every micro-expression.

“You shouldn't be alone right now,” Z argues, rising to his feet. “After what you just saw?—”

“That's exactly why I need to be,” I interrupt, meeting his intense stare. “Those photos...seeing myself like that...I can't just crawl into bed with someone and pretend it didn't affect me.”

Zaire takes a step toward me, but Oscar places a hand on his twin's shoulder. “Let her breathe, Z.”

“Funny. I don’t remember you being the one with common sense when it comes to Vesper,” Z snaps.

“About the time you became the irrational one,” he mutters under his breath.

Z shrugs off his brother's hand with a sharp movement. “She shouldn't be alone after seeing those images.”

“I'm not a child,” I snap. “And I'm standing right here. Don't talk about me like I'm not in the room.”

The brothers fall silent. I take a steadying breath, trying to center myself despite the exhaustion threatening to pull me under.

“Look, I appreciate the concern—all of you—but I need to sort through my own head. Alone.” I meet Z's worried face. “Please, just give me this.” For a moment, I think he might argue further, but something in my expression must convince him.

“Fine.” The single word is heavy with reluctance. “But your door stays unlocked. And if you need anything?—”

“I know where to find you,” I finish for him, offering a weak smile that doesn't reach my eyes.

Talon clears his throat. “Well, this has been sufficiently awkward. I'm turning in.” He stretches again. “Wake me if Ricky responds or the world's ending—whichever comes first.”

As the group disperses, Oz lingers. When the others have moved out of earshot, he approaches me with measured steps.

“You don't have to be alone to be strong, Vesper,” he says quietly, his tone carrying none of his twin's intensity.

“This isn't about being strong. It's about…” I trail off, searching for words that won't come.

“Finding yourself in the aftermath,” he finishes for me. There's understanding in his eyes that makes my chest ache. “I get it.”

“Do you?” I challenge softly.

Oscar’s lips curve into a sad smile. “More than you know.” He reaches out, his fingertips barely grazing my arm.

“Just remember that walls keep people out, but they also lock you in.” He presses a gentle kiss to the top of my head, then turns and walks away, disappearing into his room—leaving me truly alone with my thoughts.