Page 15 of Rolling 75 (The Noire Brothers #1)

RYKER

“S he asked about Monroe and her parents. She knows something. I want every word, every damn sentence the two of you ever fucking exchanged the past three years.”

Ty maintains his calm demeanor and reiterates the bullshit he’s been spewing for the last ten minutes of this phone call. “As I’ve said, if she knows something, she hid it from me too.”

“And me,” Ivy chimes in on the line. “Has Monroe contacted you since the trial?”

The former governor, Monroe Montgomery, is Dalton’s father.

He is a semi-decent man who had a fucked-up son.

When Dalton killed Hailey, Monroe panicked and helped him cover it up.

Disgusting? Yes. But Dalton had fed him a sob story about it being a terrible accident, and people do twisted shit for their kids.

When Monroe discovered Dalton was a repeat offender, he turned him in. After a bit of convincing . He ultimately saw it as choosing his grandson, which is the only reason he’s still breathing. That and my need to approach everything in a manner that wouldn’t send Mercy further into hiding.

“No. And he won’t.” An unsettled twinge skitters down my spine.

I’m about three seconds away from burning down New Orleans so there is nothing and no one left for Mercy to worry about.

“I’d expect him to resurface in about fifteen years.

But he’s getting older, so I wouldn’t count on that being an issue. ”

There is no way in hell he’s ever coming near Mercy or Remy again, so by the time Remy is eighteen, Monroe will be six feet under. Grace has an expiration date.

Jax taps my shoulder with a silent admonishment to stay still for him. We’re in his art room, which is rich and eclectic and adorned with every shade of blue in existence. It’s his oasis in our residence and our private studio for him to bestow our ink and piercings with discretion.

“If you aren’t flipping out about him, do you think she’s aware of the information in the black book?” Ty asks. “Is that your concern?”

“Fuck, I hope not.” I clench my jaw, anxiety rattling in my bones enough that Jax has to stop again, but he’s almost done, and I need to finish this damn conversation.

“She’s asking weird questions and not talking to me like she used to.

I have no goddamn idea why or how to fix it.

But I would think if she knew … it would destroy her. ”

Ivy hums for a beat, evidently gearing up to hit me with an unpopular opinion. “I think it might hurt her more if she finds out you’re hiding it.”

A disgruntled groan leaks out of me as the tattoo machine buzzes against my ribs. “Yeah. I’d bet on that.”

Ty clears his throat. “On that note, it’s technically classified, so for her own protection, she needs to be in that position with Axel for—”

“She’s already vetted by the fucking Noires since she’s been employed here for three years ,” I interrupt, “so don’t feed me any of that KORT bullshit right now. Get me some goddamn answers.”

“Working on it.” His voice has little inflection with that, but enough for me to sense the impending request. “Rena wants to see her.”

This time, Jax is the one who bristles, though he pulled away in time, which is good because he won’t appreciate my answer.

“Not now.” My teeth grind as everything collides. “Since she and Ivy and the rest of your family have a fucking madman after you, willing to infiltrate our resort in pursuit and fuck knows what else, you keep her locked down until you get a name. I cannot deal with both of them—”

“Okay,” Ivy coos, like she does when she’s handling me—we’ve been close friends ever since she gave me the tip that put Dalton behind bars.

“We’re safe, Ryker. There have been no other issues.

We’ve got Rena, and we’re working our way through your members.

We’ll figure it out. Just take care of your family. ”

“Will do.” I end the call, unable to stomach another second of that discussion, and close my eyes while Jax finishes up.

Mercy and Remy have been here just over a week.

I’ve stepped back, hoping she’d be drawn to seek me out.

Unsurprisingly, that’s not how it’s turned out.

There was undeniably some heat between us that first day, mingling with our secrets and wounds.

I could have pressed it, but it was obvious she wasn’t thrilled about any desire she had for me, and I didn’t want to frazzle her before she started working with Axel.

Instead, I poured myself into bonding with Remy and encouraged her while giving her space.

The time with her precious boy has been a gift. But the space?

Fucking torture.

I’ve spent three years—or nineteen —waiting to have her in my arms, in my bed. Nothing left between us. And having her this close isn’t easing that craving. It’s infecting me, conquering my thoughts and senses, making me fucking insane.

Her cherry-and-brown-sugar scent clings to every surface in the penthouse, taunting me. But I can’t get enough. I stole her pillow, bought every damn product I could find with that dessert fragrance, and filled her bathroom—and mine—with them.

Jax smooths the clear adhesive bandage over the fresh ink. “That should do it. You good, man?”

I stand, pluck my button-up off the back of the chair, and slip it on. “I’m trying to be.”

He scans me, his concern hovering between us, until he settles on, “That’s all we can do.”

Jax is no stranger to the relentless grip of obsession. His is of a darker nature, so it’s not a fair comparison. My suffering is immersed in beauty.

Which is precisely why, the second I’m done buttoning and tucking, I dash back to glimpse the source. On the way, I check on Axel and Remy and snap a quick picture of them watching a movie.

Pulling up the security app on my computer as I take my seat at my desk, I locate her in her office, and serenity washes over me.

She’s reading through files—probably old contracts still on paper—and organizing them.

Dressed to kill in a black pencil skirt and suit jacket with a red silk camisole underneath it—sexy and professional—she is so in her element, lost in her work. Stunning.

My mind instantly quiets when I watch her, knowing she’s safe. After all these years, my heart rate still thumps faster at the sight of her, like it did the first time I saw her. But just like then, I can breathe more freely than I ever could without her.

She’s always been my hope.

I claimed her that day, but not in the way I should have.

Unable to tolerate one more second in my house, I drive downtown to grab a bag of beignets, a blueberry scone for my mom, and some kettle corn for my little sister.

But on my way home, I decide to stop off at the park and enjoy my food in peace.

Otherwise, I’ll end up breaking something, possibly my father’s face.

Fuck, I wish I could leave this all behind.

People think I have the whole world in my hands.

I get why it looks that way. But other seventeen-year-olds have everything in front of them while I’m shackled to a destiny I don’t want any part of.

Anything with his name attached to it is tainted.

Not that it matters. I’ll die in this place, miserable, my only life purpose to keep him from tormenting my mom and siblings.

Hopeless.

I have no idea why she stays with him, unless he’s threatening her.

She doesn’t tell me much, but the gist and the consequences are clear.

He’s a neglectful, cheating bastard, who cares more about work, money, and power than my mother.

And her pain wrecks the rest of us. Axel is nothing like him, but he’s off being groomed for the family empire all the same, and I’m stuck at home, helpless, drying her tears.

After parking my Porsche Carrera GT, I get out and wander toward the playground. Ordinarily, I sit on a bench, but there is a beautiful brunette about my age perched on the merry-go-round. It seems my day is turning around.

She raises her brows when I take a spot not far from her, glaring as if I stole a piece of prime real estate she’d had an offer in on. And something about that glare is familiar. It takes a beat for it to click, but then the vision of pigtail braids and canine teeth slams into me.

“You’re the girl who bit me,” I spew with all the indignation that epiphany warrants.

Her mouth hikes into an annoyed snarl. “You must be mistaken. I’m not really into biting.”

“Says the heathen whose jaw unhinged like a snake before she took a chunk out of my arm at the Montessori preschool.”

She rolls her big brown eyes. “Snakes don’t actually unhinge their jaws. That’s a myth. I mean, the garter snake might, but really, they just have a different jaw structure.”

“What the hell is with the snake rant? Is this some deflection tactic? Headed for a life of crime and planning to lull the detectives to sleep if you get caught?”

She throws her hand out toward me. “Clearly, my ability to judge character was spot-on, even when I was three.”

I shake my head in feigned disappointment. “That was pathetic. You folded like a house of cards. Walked right into my trap.”

“Maybe you walked into mine, trudging knee deep into the quicksand of my ‘life of crime.’ While my upstanding father will be disappointed, he’ll testify to my insanity if I’m ever caught.

He’s a psychiatrist, and he’d categorize my obsession as unhealthy, but what can I say?

I’ve been single-minded, on the hunt for the kid who got me expelled from preschool. ”

She crosses her arms, done with her satirical rant and ready to go head-to-head with me.

Adorable. “Our neighbor had to watch me for weeks. No other preschool would accept me because, apparently, a three-year-old biting a frustrating four-year-old is a capital offense. My mother ended up quitting her job to homeschool me because society wasn’t willing to risk it. ”

“What an ass-backward argument. Blaming the victim is disgraceful. You should be a lawyer. The ousting serves you right.” I lift my sleeve to show her my bicep, where her pretty teeth left a forever branding on me—yep, she pierced that deep into the flesh.

“The greatest dangers to the community always come in the cutest, most unsuspecting packages.”

She blushes, but doesn’t miss a beat. “Weak. You bruise like a banana.”

“Peach.”

“What?”

“The saying is, bruise like a peach .”

She waves that off. “The point is, you bruise like a piece of fruit, regardless of which one you pick. And banana is far more illustrative.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s not a Mad Libs where you insert a fruit. It’s a saying that already exists, and it’s, bruise like a peach .”

“Well, you say cucumber, I say cucumber.” She grins, letting me know that incorrect fruit was purposeful.

Christ, she’s cute.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, and I watch her out of the corner of my eye. She swishes the toe of her tennis shoe back and forth in the dirt, but every once in a while, her lips dip into a frown.

“What’s with the sad face?” I ask.

She shrugs, leaning against the bar at her side. “I’m hating boys.”

I don’t ask why. Instead, I shamelessly flirt. “Present company excluded.”

Her nose scrunches. “What?”

“This is where you say, present company excluded.”

“Which would be a lie.” Her gaze drifts to my Café Du Monde bag before she forces it away. “No exceptions. And no hiding it. You’ve got the scar to prove it.”

“Fair point.” I unroll the bag that I’ve been neglecting because I was too enamored with her and whip out a beignet. Her eyes grow hangry as I raise it to my mouth with a goading, “I’ve also got the goods.”

Her head slants, and her long coffee-brown hair frames her tanned freckled face. “You’re going to eat that in front of me?”

“Yep. It’s a merry-go-round, not my kitchen table, but I’m not opposed to sharing. All you have to do is utter a few simple words —present company excluded. Wouldn’t that snake jaw be happier, filled with a beignet?”

She contemplates that, but drums up an argument, which seems to be her thing. “How can I make an exception when I don’t even know your name?”

“What I have to offer is more important than my name. But it’s Ryker, and you are?”

She reaches to shake my hand, as poised as my father’s associates, not a teenage girl with Bambi eyes. “Mercy,” she supplies when our palms slip together.

Talk about a fitting name. I could use some mercy in my life.

One encounter, and I think I might be obsessed with this girl—sweet and feisty and an overthinker in the most captivating way.

She’s homeschooled, and she has an upstanding father, so her life couldn’t be more different from mine.

But it’s clear she’s smart and quirky, and she has a vicious bite.

She could probably hold her own anywhere, even in my world.

She purses her lips and ends the formal shake. “Fine. I guess it wouldn’t kill me to befriend you.” A feathery puff of defeat precedes her concession. “Present company excluded.”

My victory is overshadowed by the fastest friend-zoning known to man. Jesus.

“Again,” I drawl as I pass her a pastry, “you caved so fast. We need to work on that. I understand the stakes were high, but all you had to do was bat those lashes, and I would have given you the beignet. Either way, Viper, this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

She smirks as she side-eyes me. “Says the extortionist who bruises like a banana.”

And just like that, I’ve found the best reason to stick around.

As the memory melts away, I mindlessly roll my seven-sided dice and consider our date tomorrow night.

All the bullshit my brothers spewed about bulldozing races through my mind.

I’m exhausted, tamping everything down. It’s not how I’m built.

And every time I gave in to her in the past, it backfired.

Not completely since she’s been mine in some capacity for nearly two decades. But now, it all feels different.

There’s a lot we have to cover, a lot she doesn’t know, a lot she won’t be happy about.

But none of that matters as much as revisiting the sparks she’s so intent on ignoring.

Regardless of my hard-to-get plan, making her chase me might not be an option.

I’m teetering on a precarious edge. One heated glance, one subtle signal, and everything I’m holding in is going to tumble out like a rockslide.