Page 12 of Rio (Redcars #3)

NINE

Lyric

I blinked awake, brain fuzzy at first, the world swimming in slow, syrupy waves before it settled. I was wrapped tighter than a burrito, a rough blanket cocooning me from shoulders to toes. Weirdly… I felt clearer. Not great, not even good—but clearer.

The room was quiet, soft shadows stretching across the walls. There was no sign of Rio.

But next to the bed, perched on a battered chair with his knees drawn up, sat Robbie.

His nose was buried in a thick, battered paperback titled Clinical Neurology and Neurotherapy .

He chewed the edge of his thumb, eyes scanning the page as if he actually understood it. Maybe he did? Maybe he was a doctor?

I blinked again. “Hey?”

Robbie startled, fumbling the book so hard it almost hit the floor. He caught it at the last second, cheeks flushing red. Shoving it onto the chair, he stood quickly and crossed over to me.

“Hi,” he said with a cautious smile. “How are you feeling?”

I considered the question as he helped me scoot up a little, careful hands adjusting the pillow behind my back. Then, he offered me a cup, a straw sticking out of the top.

I swallowed a mouthful of water. “Not dead, I guess.”

“Thank goodness.”

I tried for a smirk. “Gold star for surviving…” I muttered, or joked, or whatever.

Robbie didn’t smile. He met my eyes instead, his voice quiet. “We didn’t know if you’d make it.”

That hit harder than I expected. The lightness I’d been aiming for shriveled in my chest, and I stared at my hands, swallowing again—this time around a knot that had nothing to do with being ill.

And where was Enzo? Wasn’t he supposed to be Robbie’s shadow—his personal guard dog? The man hadn’t been more than a step away the last time I’d seen them together. So why wasn’t he here now?

And Jamie? Rio? Where the hell were they?

I dug through the fog in my head, searching for the last clear memory… but all I got was a mess of heat, voices, flashes of pain. The harder I tried to piece it together, the more it slipped away.

Why couldn’t I remember what happened?

“Enzo’s not worried about you right now.” Robbie’s voice broke the silence, and I realized I must’ve said that out loud.

I glanced at him, frowning.

He gave a small shrug. “You gave all your access codes to Jamie?—”

“Fuck!” Panic surged as I recalled the hazy begging as I tried to get Jamie to listen to me, but had I made the worst mistake of my life? Handing over everything—my code, my intel, my last shreds of leverage. Was I insane?

“Are you okay?” Robbie said, sounding as panicked as me, his gaze darting to the door as if he wanted to call for help.

I groaned and hid my face. How could I doubt what I had to do when it had been the only move I had left? I had to trust the group of men who’d made it very clear they were ready to kill me if things went sideways. Had to hope they could help and not hand me over for the money. Who else did I have?

“I gave access to Jamie,” I finally murmured, attempting to quell the instant panic that the secrets I’d had for so long were now in someone else’s hands.

“He and Caleb have been running them through a custom sandbox server with mirrored protocols and live-traced root logs. Said something about isolating backend triggers and neutralizing autonomous execution layers.”

I stared. “What?”

Robbie’s ears went scarlet. “I… uh… overheard.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You ‘overheard’?” I hadn’t missed the way he’d rattled that off—not like someone parroting words, but as if he understood every layer of what Jamie was doing with what I’d given him.

Robbie hadn’t just overheard… he spoke with the kind of quiet authority that came from knowing .

Robbie ducked his head, suddenly very interested in the floor. “I read… things.”

I didn’t get a chance to ask him what he meant, because Robbie’s head snapped up at a sound from the hallway. He gave me a quick, awkward smile and hurried to the door.

Then, left me sitting there, clutching a freaking lemon-yellow sippy cup with the attached straw like some overgrown child.

Perfect .

I heard voices outside the door—words muttered too quiet to make out. One of them sounded like Rio. Maybe Enzo too. I half expected all of them to come barging in.

But it was Rio who stepped inside alone.

He filled the doorway, arms crossed over that broad chest, his unreadable gaze on me in a way that made my skin itch, and he didn’t say a word.

I took him in for the first time—dark hair cropped close, a neat beard framing a mouth that rarely, if ever, curved into a smile.

He was gorgeous, everything I wanted in a man: sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, eyes carrying a challenge in every glance.

Broad shoulders stretched his shirt, power radiating from the way he stood, as if the world couldn’t shift him without his consent.

Trouble through and through—and exactly the kind of trouble I craved to tame.

Tattoos inked their way down both arms, twisting in intricate patterns beneath the short sleeves of a fitted black T-shirt that hugged his broad shoulders.

He wasn’t as tall as Enzo, didn’t have Jamie’s wiry build, and he sure as hell wasn’t small and fragile, like Robbie.

No. Rio was… a powerhouse. Solid. Built as if he could walk through walls—and tense, as if every muscle in his body was coiled, waiting to snap.

I let myself imagine it for a heartbeat—Rio on his knees for me.

All that strength, that raw, brutal power, bent to me, his head lowered, his lips parted, waiting.

The thought of it made my chest tight, a kind of heat curling in my stomach, because it would be beautiful.

Not weakness, never that—submission like his would be its own kind of dominance, a choice he’d allow no one else.

But then, the doubt hit. Rio wasn’t built that way. He commanded, he fought, he protected. The idea of him kneeling felt like a fantasy I had no right to touch, and I hated how much I wanted it anyway.

He dropped his arms, fists clenching at his sides.

I should’ve been scared. He’d said himself that he’d be the one to end me. But the fear wasn’t about that—it was seeing the sheer force of him; the threat he carried was like nothing I’d ever seen before.

After a moment’s hesitation, he stalked toward me. Every step made the air in the room seem denser.

He reached out and pressed a rough, calloused hand to my forehead.

Then, he gave a curt nod.

“Shower,” he said and yanked back the covers.

I froze.

Yeah, I was kinda proud of my body—compact, small, sure—but strong in its own way from working out and learning the skills to fight or hide. I’d survived on instinct and speed, on being overlooked, on slipping through cracks bigger men couldn’t fit through. But right now?

Right now, I was naked aside from boxers; I must have pulled off my shirt, or someone else had, which was even worse.

Every scar, every mark, every thin line crossing my belly from old wounds and worse mistakes—all of it on display.

Add in the stink of fever-sweat, the weakness that had me shaking, the fact I couldn’t sit up without help… and I fucking hated it.

Anger flared and burned hotter than any fever. Not at Rio—at me. At this. In the way, being sick stripped away every layer. I clenched my fists, heat prickling behind my eyes.

I wasn’t supposed to be this goddamn fragile.

I shot out a hand, trying to yank the covers back up over me.

Rio grumbled something low and guttural—and ripped the entire blanket clean off the bed.

“Get up,” he ordered, hands in fists again.

I tried to move, but my body wasn’t having it. I felt like jelly, my limbs loose and clumsy. When I finally swung my legs over the side of the bed and my feet hit the cold floor, I yelped in shock and pain.

“Fuck,” Rio snarled under his breath .

Then, after a heartbeat, he held out his hand—rough, solid, steady.

For me to take.

I stared at it, my heart a mess of anger, shame, and something I couldn’t name.

But I reached out and took it, bracing for him to yank me upright.

Instead, he eased me up carefully, his grip firm but steady.

I wobbled the moment I was on my feet, legs threatening to fold under me. As I swayed, Rio caught me—one strong arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me in against the solid wall of his chest.

“You fucking stink,” he grumbled.

“I almost fucking died!” I snapped back, the words shooting out before I could stop them. “Asshole,” I added under my breath.

I tried to push away, needing space, but my knees buckled, and the room spun hard.

With a muttered curse, Rio swept me up—arms sliding under my knees and shoulders, lifting me as if I weighed nothing.

Because this situation wasn’t humiliating enough.

“Let me go!” I yelped, wriggling in his arms.

Every muscle ached, my ribs flared sharply with every tiny movement—but I kept squirming .

Rio huffed and, in one smooth move, set me on my feet.

I managed all of a millisecond before my knees gave out.

Rio caught me again without missing a beat.

“See?” he muttered. “Stop wriggling.”

Then, he stalked toward the bathroom, carrying me as if I were some fragile, breakable thing.

I wriggled anyway.

Because fuck if I was going to stay vulnerable without a fight.

Rio kicked open the bathroom door, carried me in, and lowered the toilet lid with a flick of his boot.

He crouched, his hands surprisingly steady as he helped ease my boxers far enough for me to sit. I fumbled to cover myself, face burning with a humiliation that had nothing to do with fever.

Rio glanced up once—just once—then turned away, stepping out and pulling the door shut behind him.

He was… giving me privacy?

I stared at the door, heart rattling in my chest.

It shouldn’t have mattered. It shouldn’t have felt like anything.

But it did.

Because here was the man who’d threatened to end me stepping out without a word. Giving me space when I was at my weakest.