Page 41 of Rolling 75 (The Noire Brothers #1)

The challenges take anywhere from forty-five to ninety minutes, depending on skill level. Since they begin at eleven, being present for the opening ceremony at midnight is a bragging right.

And a hell of a lot of fun for us.

Cash sidles up beside Mercy as we stride through the quiet halls, handing one of her diamond pendant earrings to her as he flicks his intentionally tousled blond hair off his forehead. “You’re the only plus-one we’ve ever had at the Prohibition Ball. The first queen in attendance.”

“How the hell did you get my earring? Did it fall off?” She rubs her lobe and checks the jewelry, noting all the pieces are there.

He shrugs, smug grin in place. “Just a reminder to keep a close eye on your assets tonight. Everyone wants to touch royalty.”

She slides it back on while flashing me a bewildered scowl, and I chuckle.

Cash is an ass with his street tricks, but he has a valid point.

And he’s not referring to her accessories.

The guests will be wearing masks, but we won’t.

It’s imperative that our identities are unmistakable. And that includes Mercy.

Everyone will be in awe of her.

But once it’s clear she’s mine, she’ll be untouchable.

“Why am I the only woman to ever be escorted to the ball by a Noire brother?”

I wondered when she’d ask that. That’s the thing about Mercy. She never cared about the money or privileges our friendship could provide, so in all the years she saw us prepping for this and knew the deep significance it held, she never asked to come. And I never shared why she couldn’t.

Axel fields that, which lends a far more ominous angle to it. “We’ve always had a firm rule that partners aren’t welcome until they’re our forever .”

Maddox flicks his butterfly knife around, like he’s wielding a fencing sword. “You don’t peek behind the curtain until you’re part of the show.”

My Viper—the woman Mercy was before Dalton—wouldn’t have been wowed by the pompous side of that statement, but she would have been motivated by the veneration it bestowed. Maybe deep down, that honor still fuels her, but the wounded girl calling the shots probably only hears the threat.

Jax opens the door to our dining suite, an impish glint in his eyes. “And what a show it fucking is.”

Grabbing the back of his neck, I unleash my rebuke. “I swear to Christ, if you set yourself on fire, I’m gonna let you burn.”

He proffers surrendering hands. “Got it, man. No all-consuming flames tonight.”

“Down, bulldozer,” Cash chimes, though I ignore him.

Axel dips his chin to me as we stroll inside. He appreciates anytime I shoulder a scolding for him. They may be adults, but the youngest four can be a handful. In that regard, Ty being responsible for Rena has been a gift.

The suite is arranged the same each year because this night is steeped in tradition.

Three walls of glass, the twinkling city lights, and two fireplaces greet us.

There’s a round table set for six, couches to lounge on, twelve monitors for our viewing amusement, and sliding doors open to a balcony aglow by golden sconces.

Since it’s late, we indulge in a light dinner while enjoying the entertainment. The aroma of bread and seafood and garlic butter waft in the air. It’s our comfort before the welcome chaos.

By mid-meal, Mercy is so engrossed in the fly-on-the-wall vantage point of our guests escaping that the guard she’s had around her this past month is crumbling.

One group is in sync and will likely be our first crew through.

They’re methodical, taking one puzzle at a time and not panicking.

Axel is pleased with that. Some of those guys are from organizations that wouldn’t traditionally associate.

Often, in these situations, if they strike up a profitable alliance, they feel indebted to us for the connection.

Some will even give us a kickback in the hopes of future introductions.

But the greatest payoff tends to be their loyalty and favors.

Like I said, it’s our goddamn Super Bowl. Everything’s a play.

Another room is completely stumped, but after some thick tension, they dissolve into resigned laughter. That’s not a loss. Shared experiences lead to bonding, even in defeat.

The themes vary from year to year. A few we’re utilizing this year are a prison escape with a slew of locks and gates, opening a casino vault, a haunted schoolhouse, a mortuary with a whole buried-alive vibe, and an espionage mission, among others.

Maddox points at one of the rooms, where a guy is atop a table. “That jackass is trying to go out through the ceiling.”

Mercy sips her French 75, relaxed and majestic, her eyes as effervescent as the bubbles. “The staff won’t stop him?”

“Nah.” Cash glides his finger around the rim of his glass, laying out how we do things with his customary smooth air.

“The staff might fuck with them, but we applaud tenacity. If they want to crawl through the ductwork and arrive at the party covered in dust, we won’t stop them.

We don’t tell them it’s permitted, but none of these guys color inside the lines. ”

“Exactly.” I mindlessly roll my dice around my palm, letting the polished bronze cool my skin. “It’s encouraging to see what it’s worth to them.”

“A few years back, we had a group of enforcers chew through wires because they couldn’t find the hidden tools to cut them.” Axel directs her to a room that’s set up like a WWII bunker, where a crew is dismantling a bomb. “It was kind of like that one.”

“Best fucking solution ever.” Jax beams at the memory. “Those guys are beasts. I’ve inked most of them.”

Mercy taps the stem of her champagne flute with one French-manicured nail, the twitch of an accolade on her lips as she keeps her eyes on the screens. “And the partnerships? You’re puppeteers.”

Axel’s sapphires drift to her, the pride of a leader creasing them. “Yes, we are.”

The emphasis probably goes over her head, but it’s there either way.

Axel and I have been through the thick of things together.

He’s always supported me, even if our approaches vary dramatically at times.

But his repeated emphasis to Mercy that she belongs here, that she’s staying, that it’s what’s best for her means everything.

He felt so powerless when she left. This is his way of helping Mercy and me pick up the pieces.

“It’s almost time.” I shove my dice into my pocket and finish my drink. “We should head down soon.”

“Why are those men twirling like ballerinas?” Mercy asks as my brothers erupt in laughter at the sight of an entire group pirouetting.

“That’s what Cash was talking about. Sometimes, they try to barter with the staff for clues over the two-way speaker, and our employees are fucking ruthless.” Maddox stands, tightening the band on his onyx hair since several strands fell forward. “We train them well.”

Stealing some of that credit, I rise to join him. “I think that’s Gentry’s room.”

“Right. That must be it.” Cash’s mouth folds into a skeptical frown, clearly insinuating that Gentry’s prowess has more to do with their employee training.

I shake my head, grabbing Mercy’s hand and guiding her to the exit as I call over my shoulder, “Everything you know, you learned from Axe and me.”

A boom of Axel’s laughter rushes after us. “I one hundred percent agree with that statement.”

Cash scoffs. “Watch your wallets, old men. And your girl, Ryker.”

I spin around to pin him with a death glare just as Maddox grips his shoulder and waves me off.

“We have a students-surpassing-the-masters scenario here. Nothing but respect for you old-timers though.” He stalls his smart-ass retort, just long enough to let the impending barb hook in good when he flings it. “Unless Merce wants to finally take me up on that date.”

“Still good, Maddox. Thanks.” She drags me forward, glowering at my pinched brow as we trek toward the ballroom. “I hope that suffices so you don’t have to bend me over and piss on me during the opening ceremony.”

“I’m not really into golden showers, but I’m willing to compromise if you beg me nicely.” I wink, aware that’s not one of her kinks, but eager to see if I can make her blush anyway. “Nothing’s off the table if you’re a good girl for me.”

She rolls her eyes, but her complexion does pinken as she bites her lip and bats her lashes at me. “I’d tell you to teach me a lesson, but urine over your head, Mr. Noire.”

Impressed by the impeccable timing, I can’t keep the laugh from bubbling out of me. “How the hell do you look that sexy, telling a dad joke?”

“Only the child of a sex club owner could associate golden-shower puns with dad jokes.” As the words fall from her lips, a pall of shame veils her. “Sorry.”

I’m not sure what she’s apologizing for, whether it’s guilt for the dig about my father on a day centered upon dismantling his legacy, the remembrance that her own dad raised her well but was aligned with criminals, or the insinuation that she wouldn’t want a man who owned a sex club to raise her child.

The last possibility stings because I’d give anything for Remy to be mine, but maybe she’ll never see me as enough.

Our conversation is devoured by jabbering about the progress in the escape rooms my brothers are witnessing on their phones. Some of the groups have made it through. Others are close. And a few don’t stand a chance. That’s usually how it goes.

When we enter, the hall is drenched in darkness, aside from some sconces, candles, and the soft violet glow illuminated beneath the centerpieces. The decor is black, gold, and periwinkle blue. It’s elegant and extravagant. But not much of the opulence is visible within the shadows.

Axel grips my elbow as we’re piling onto the stage. “The welcome toast is yours.”

This won’t be the first time I’ve given it, but I generally defer to him. Mercy being here makes this a special honor. She’ll stand beside me for all to see she’s mine.