Page 14 of Rio (Redcars #3)

TEN

Rio

Lyric needed to eat. He needed the fuel, and I needed the distance.

My temper buzzed beneath the surface, low and hot -- the way it always did when I didn’t know where to put it -- as if my fists were waiting for permission and every step was an excuse not to punch a hole through the nearest wall.

I needed action or pills. Impact or floating. Something to feel or not feel.

Hell, anything that wasn’t tangled up in the shitstorm of attraction to Lyric that I didn’t want to name.

But what I felt… fuck.

What I wanted to do to Lyric the moment I saw the soft curve of his stomach under that towel, the pale skin, the quick flash of his cock when he moved, the fear in his eyes—it was wrong.

But the feeling lodged in me anyway, guilt fused with heat until it was impossible to tell them apart.

He was too raw, too much like Danny, and still I ached for him.

I didn’t do fragile. Fragile got me hurt. Fragile made me hesitate. Fragile crawled into my head and lived there until all the violence I was good at turned into something ugly.

I gritted my teeth and yanked open the fridge, grabbing a couple of things that didn’t require thought.

Cheese was protein, right? There was Robbie’s favorite yogurt, still in date, along with a couple of cookies from the tin.

Maybe, he could dunk those or something so he could eat without flinching.

I focused on the task, kept my hands moving, ignored the heat crawling up the back of my neck and the ache across my shoulders.

Saturday couldn’t come soon enough. That fight—the extra thirty pounds of muscle and rage, going up against someone bigger and stronger than me—I needed it like I needed oxygen.

I needed to hit something that wouldn’t break.

I needed the release. The noise. The bruises that meant I was still here, still solid, still capable of control .

Because the alternative was still upstairs, weak and stubborn and already crawling under my skin in ways I didn’t want to think about.

I heard the code beeping and the side door creak open, the low squeal of the hinge, and footsteps I knew too well. Jamie appeared in the kitchen a few seconds later—alone. No Killian.

Good.

Not that I’d ever put much effort into being the guy who watched out for Jamie. I’d tried, but I’d slipped, and I still harbored guilt for that, but I was too caught up in my own shit back then. Too angry. Too loud. Too busy getting hurt and railed by guys bigger than me so I didn’t hurt them.

But still, some part of me resented Killian for stepping into that role as if it were easy. As though Jamie didn’t need someone solid in me, and maybe I could’ve still been that if I hadn’t been such a fucking mess.

Jamie didn’t pause. He gave me a nod on the way in and headed straight for the counter where I was setting out a bowl and a spoon. I had questions for him. He’d mentioned nine contracts on Lyric. What was that about?

“How is he?” Jamie asked, voice clipped .

“Alive.”

“Can he talk yet?”

I thought about Lyric upstairs, skin too pale, hair damp and stringy. He was clean, small, and fragile. His eyes were wide and defensive. And worse—part of me wanted to reach for him. Braid that mess of hair. Stroke it. Curl him up against my chest as if he were mine to take care of.

Fuck that.

He’s not a fucking pet.

“He needs to eat first,” I said, jaw tight.

Jamie showed me a photo, something that looked as if it had appeared on a phone screen, or maybe a laptop.

K: You did this. It’s stopped loving me. It will kill us all.

“This is in the files he gave us access to, along with a shit ton of other messages. I assume K is Kessler. So why is Lyric talking to him? What does that message mean? What does this K think Lyric did? Who is killing us all? ”

“After he eats,” I said stubbornly.

“Jesus, Rio.”

I tilted my chin, stubborn and focused, and finally, he rolled his eyes and backed off. Before I went back upstairs, though, I had one question.

“There were contracts on Lyric; he’s being hunted.”

Fear struck quick and hard, leaving my stomach in knots. “Do people know he’s here ?” I demanded, the words spilling out before I could stop them.

Jamie shrugged. “The contracts weren’t random. Caleb and I cross-checked timestamps, ran traces, and every single one lined up with a disruption Lyric caused in the system—times he accessed a node, rerouted packets, disabled authorization bridges.”

I didn’t understand half of that shit. “Slow down.”

“Sorry, look, the older contracts weren’t put on the web by Kessler, LyricNight… shit… the AI’s adaptive response engine marked interference and reclassified the threats from Lyric based on evolving behavioral patterns?—”

I shoved my friend. “English, Jamie.”

He huffed in exasperation. “Every time Lyric managed to break through a firewall or crippled a segment of Kessler’s operation, the system Kessler built—LyricNight—flagged Lyric, recalibrated, and issued a fresh bounty—always with escalating rewards and urgency for Lyric to be found alive.

” Jamie sighed, rubbing at his jaw. “It’s fucking scary, end of days shit.

That thing—it thinks for itself. It’s anticipating interference, protecting itself.

And it’s not just Lyric. There were other contracts that were completed, involving people that KessTech wanted out of the way.

We’re talking witnesses and jury members, random investors, and even some corner shop guy who was the last bastion against a construction project. ”

“The computer is the bad guy?” I asked, just to get it to my level.

“Yeah, like War Games shit.”

Nope, another reference that passed me by, but the way Jamie said it made me pause. He was wired.

“Okay, stupid question, but can’t we find it and turn it off?”

Jamie didn’t laugh at me; instead, he closed his eyes. I wasn’t used to seeing him stressed like this; I was used to fire and purpose. “I wish,” he muttered. “We need to know how we get to Kessler’s software and take it out. I need to talk to Lyric.”

“ After he’s eaten,” I repeated.

Jamie glanced at the plate I’d put together—cheese cubes, yogurt, two crumbled cookies, and a mug of steaming coffee balanced beside it on a chipped plate. “That’s not food,” he said in horror.

I stared at it as if I were seeing it for the first time. “Protein, cookies, coffee—all the major food groups,” I muttered. “It’s all we’ve got right now. I’ll go out and get something when…”

I trailed off.

When what?

When he wasn’t mine to want?

Mine to hate—and still want?

“I’ll give it ten,” Jamie said, daring me to argue.

“Thirty. He’s fucking exhausted.”

I carried the tray of food into the room, setting it on the small table by the wall and noticed my phone on the floor—must have dropped it when I was carrying Lyric.

I bent, picked it up, and straightened slowly, eyes fixed on the bed.

Lyric was curled on his side, breathing even, face slack in sleep.

Too slack. I didn’t buy it for a second.

Suspicion prickled in my chest. I moved closer, crouched, and studied him, waiting for the tiniest flicker of awareness.

Nothing. My hand hovered, then I reached out and shook his shoulder, watching hard to see if he’d break character, if this was an act or the real thing.

He was a shit actor, blinking at me, even throwing in a small yawn as if I’d fall for it.

“Food,” I said, and his eyes widened on cue as his stomach gave a loud, betraying grumble.

I helped him sit up, steadying his weight with one arm.

His hair was still a little damp, one side flattened from where he’d been lying, but as soon as my fingers brushed through it, curls sprang loose in a mess of dark waves.

I hadn’t meant to touch him like that. My hand froze mid-motion.

He froze too, eyes locking on mine, tension crackling between us, and for a second, the room felt caught in something fragile and dangerous.

He flinched, as if my touch had burned him. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” I said before I could stop myself.

“You said you were gonna kill me,” he shot back, voice thin but biting.

“Yeah, well, that was before.”

His eyes narrowed. “Before what?”

“Before you were the victim,” I growled.

Lyric bristled, fire lighting his expression.

“I’m not a fucking victim,” he snapped, anger flashing between us like sparks off a live wire.

He tried to move—too fast. A wince contorted his face, followed by a yelp of pain as if he’d forgotten his stitches, his ribs, and the knock to his skull all at once.

I felt guilt, yeah -- he was hurt and weak -- but no, he wasn’t a victim.

“A target, then,” I said, the words heavy between us.

I backed away and brought over the plate of food, setting it on his lap.

He stared down at it as if he couldn’t decide whether I was feeding him or poisoning him, probably wondering how any of it qualified as healthy eating for a convalescing target.

I took the plate and moved to the bed, crouching beside Lyric.

He looked exhausted, and his hand trembled as he reached for the cheese cubes.

I didn’t say anything, just took one and held it out to him.

His pink lips closed around my finger, brushing the skin, and my pulse stuttered as if I’d been hit.

I froze.

His mouth was soft. Warm. For a second, it wasn’t about feeding him. It was about that . That slow drag of heat as his lips closed and his lashes fluttered as though it surprised him too.

I swallowed hard. Pulled my hand back as though it had been burned.

He watched me in silence, a tiny furrow between his brows, as though he’d caught the thought in my head.

“Cheese, yogurt, chocolate cookies,” he whispered, picking up a cube of cheddar between two fingers. “All the major food groups. ”

I couldn’t stop the smile tugging at my mouth, unbidden.

“That’s what I told Jamie.”

Lyric’s expression grew serious. “I need to talk to Jamie. I need his help to?—”

“Eat,” I cut him off, sliding the coffee within reach before slumping into the chair, arms folded tight across my chest, stubborn as fuck.

He stared at me, then at the plate.

“Eat,” I repeated, voice hard. “And then, you can talk to Jamie.”

“You’re a fucking asshole,” Lyric groaned, but he did what he’d been told.

He reached for the cookie, biting into it with a sigh that was way too close to pleasure.

His eyelids fluttered, his tongue darting out to chase crumbs at the corner of his mouth, then he licked his finger slowly, as if he couldn’t waste a speck of sugar.

It was food-fucking porn, and I sat there watching every second of it, heat coiling in my gut.

I was hard, shifting in the chair, wriggling a little to hide it.

He put what was left of the cookie to one side, then picked at the cheese, chewing with a kind of distracted stubbornness.

When he struggled with the lid of the yogurt, he shot me a scowl to warn me off.

I didn’t move to help. Eventually, he got it open, finished both the cheese and the yogurt, and then, circled back to finish the cookie.

Watching him eat, I felt something settle in me, like I’d provided for him.

It wasn’t much, but it was something—and he’d eaten.

I took the empty plate and handed him the coffee. “Now can I talk to Jamie?” he asked.

I nodded, but before I could get up, the door slammed open and both Jamie and Levi walked in.

My chest tightened. Why was Levi here? He was part of Killian’s Cave, but he was also a cop, and that label alone made my hackles rise.

Cops meant authority, meant the law breathing down our necks, meant trouble.

He’d already proven he could play both sides—spending half his time with Killian’s team, half with whatever badge still hung over his head.

I wasn’t entirely sure which part of him I hated more.

Maybe both. And fuck, I didn’t like cops. Never had, never would.

Levi looked like shit—not polished and commanding in a suit, but dressed in a ragged shirt and old jeans.

He looked rougher, worn out, as if he’d been running on fumes.

The fuck? This wasn’t the slick operator from Cave briefings—it was a man worn down, stripped raw, and it made me wonder what he’d been through before walking into our space.

I stood immediately, a wall between Lyric and both Jamie and Levi. My shoulders squared, blocking their view of him. “What’s wrong?” I demanded.

Levi didn’t bother answering me—he pointed past me at Lyric. “Him.”