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CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

I SHOULD’VE BEEN paying attention.

Devil’s voice rumbled through the room, as the brothers sat around the table, some leaning back in their chairs, others with their elbows planted firmly on the surface. The meeting had been called to handle business, but my mind was somewhere else.

Always with her.

Zeynep’s voice, that soft, rasped whisper, still played in my damn head. I kept feeling the warmth of her hand on my face, the way she looked at me like I was something steady in a world that fucked her over. No one in my whole life made me feel special like Zeynep had a way of doing.

I clenched my jaw, shoving the thought away. Focus.

“The Pit’s pulling in good cash,” Thunder was saying, his arms crossed over his chest. “Ain’t had any trouble lately, but with you bein’ out more, I got Gatsby runnin’ backup on security.”

I gave a nod, forcing my mind back to the conversation. The underground gambling house—the one I was supposed to be runnin—had been on autopilot since Zeynep came into the picture. Since I made her my responsibility.

“You good with that?” Devil’s sharp gaze cut to me, unreadable as ever. I know he was worried about where my mind was at, but he kept a lid on it.

“Yeah,” I said, keeping my tone even. “I’ll check in tomorrow.”

“Good,” Devil said, then leaned forward, steepling his fingers. “Now let’s get to the real shit—Dragon Fire.”

A low murmur rolled through the room, blood lust thickening the air.

“No sign of Lucy?” Devil asked Spinner.

“Fuck no, a few possible leads but nothin’,” Spinner replied, that spinner going a mile a minute between his fingers.

“Drago hasn’t got his hands on her,” Devil replied. “If he had he would have made demands. Plus, we have Wrath, Soldier and Snipe out there with ears to the ground. It’s quiet.”

“Yeah, fucker would have demanded Zeynep to be returned. We all know Drago’s wants her back,” Chain muttered. “He’s got a twisted sense of ownership.”

My fingers curled into fists under the table. The thought of Drago getting anywhere near Zeynep again sent a slow, dark burn through my veins.

“He’s been quiet,” Bolt added, brows furrowed. “Too quiet. That don’t sit right with me.”

Gatsby flipped open his notebook, his pen tapping against the page. “I’ve been digging. Drago’s still got his connections to the cartel, but he’s keeping a low profile. Doesn’t mean he’s not planning something.”

“Which is why we need to be ready,” Devil said, tapping his fingers on the table. “We don’t let our guard down. We don’t assume he’s moved on. We keep an eye on Zeynep. Keep an eye on them.”

Keeping an eye on her wasn’t the problem.

The problem was why I wanted to.

I wasn’t just watching over Zeynep because she needed protection. I was watching her because I needed her. Because every time she was near, something in me settled, and that wasn’t something I was ready to give up.

“Anything else?” Devil asked, scanning the table.

No one spoke.

“Good. Meeting adjourned.”

Chairs scraped against the floor as the brothers stood, murmuring to each other as they filed out. I stayed where I was, fingers pressed against the wood, thoughts tangled up in a mess I couldn’t sort out.

“You got something on your mind, Mystic?”

I looked up. Devil was still at the head of the table, watching me.

I exhaled slowly, pushing to my feet. “Nothin’ that needs discussing.”

He studied me for a long second, then gave a slow nod. “Just make sure whatever’s crawling around in your head don’t fuck with your judgment, and bring shit knocking at your door.”

I didn’t answer. Just turned and walked out, the weight of his words heavy on my back. I knew what shit he was referring to. But my judgment was already shot to hell.

Because all I wanted to do was go back to my room.

Back to her.

And I did.

I found her curled up in bed, the light beside her casting a warm glow over her face. She blinked sleepily, shifting as I walked in, her eyes tracking me like she’d been waiting.

"Did the meeting go well?" she asked, her voice soft, still carrying the weight of earlier.

"As well as it could," I muttered, toeing off my boots. My body was wound tight, my mind still restless. She studied me for a beat, then lifted the blanket just slightly, an unspoken offer.

I froze. Not because I didn’t want to. Because I did.

There was nothing in her expression but quiet understanding, something unspoken passing between us. Just comfort. Just trust. Nothing sexual.

I exhaled slowly and lay down on the other side of the bed, on top of the covers, keeping space between us but feeling the warmth of her near me. She let out a small breath, her body relaxing just a little more, and I felt something inside me settle, too.

Neither of us spoke. We didn’t need to. The room was wrapped in low light and the steady rhythm of our breathing. Still, something hung between us. A question. A tether. A heartbeat.

I felt her shift slightly, felt the whisper of fabric brushing the bed between us. Then, in a voice so quiet it was almost part of the air, she spoke. "Ben seni bulmak icin do?dum."

The words slipped from her lips in soft Turkish, carried by something too deep to hold back.

I didn’t understand the meaning. But the way she said it—the way her voice cracked just slightly around the edges—hit something deep in my chest.

I turned my head toward her, but her eyes were already closed, her breathing slowing into sleep.

Whatever she'd said...it mattered.

I lay there staring at the ceiling, her words replaying in my head over and over. Burning holes into places I didn’t know were still alive.

For the first time in too many years to count, sleep didn’t feel so damn far away. But when it came, it came with the sound of her voice wrapped around my fucking dark soul.