Page 48 of Rolling 75 (The Noire Brothers #1)

And this might be one of those times. Maybe there’s no connection, and I’m jumping the gun, but Trafton is in The Order.

Monroe Montgomery is in The Order. Mercy’s father was in The Order.

Dalton wasn’t. I’m not sure why any of that matters, but something tells me it could.

So, I open my phone and slide it to Axel, showing him the email from Monroe.

Axel’s forehead pinches. “You think it’s related?”

“Weird timing.”

“Yeah,” he agrees on a ragged breath. “You two get outta here. If I find him, I’ll call.”

That’s his way of covering for me since he likely assumes I haven’t shared with Mercy.

It’s obvious he’s as unsettled as I am. We’ll need to dig into this later.

And I probably will tell Mercy. If I want her to be my partner, to have ownership over the role she’s sliding into, I need to treat her as a queen who can handle things.

Or at least give her the choice as to whether she wants to be informed.

But now, I’m whisking my girl up to the penthouse so I can take my time with her and give us a fresh start.

Remy has been waking up around eight lately, so that should give us a couple of hours. Plus, Tessa is planning on taking care of him today since we need to sleep.

So, with my hungry woman curled around me and her mouth glued to mine, I sneak us into the penthouse, all the way to my room, much like I did after the rooftop party. Though this feels so much bigger.

That was exploratory. Testing. This is solidifying. Beginning.

After locking the door, I carry her into the bathroom, where we both kick off our shoes.

“Showering me first?” she asks between kisses.

“Bathing.” I bite her lower lip to garner her attention because I’ve been waiting for this for a fucking eon. “Or more like baptizing.”

That does it.

She stills, stutters a laugh, and surveys my face before glancing around the candlelit bathroom.

The far wall is glass, overlooking the skyline, the first muted tangerine glimmers of daybreak ricocheting off the buildings and history and slivers of the Mississippi River. In front of it is a grand hammered copper tub—the focal point of the otherwise neutral decor.

“I forgot how stunning it was in here.” Her breath hitches then, like my baptism comment is catching up to her. She wanders toward the tub, a good twenty feet from the doorway, and turns to me, wide-eyed at what she found. “What’s in there? Champagne?”

As the last syllable leaves her mouth, I drop my phone, wallet, and dice on the counter, noting the upturned seven and five. A thrill unfurls in my chest. It’s not the first time I’ve rolled that, of course, but it reads like the win of all wins.

I shrug out of my suit jacket and lay it across a bench by the wall, closer to where she is. “You should know better than that. Everything’s better with—”

“Cognac,” she finishes, though her expression is incredulous. “You filled the bathtub with French 75?”

“Yes. I think it’s a creative spin on the coveted champagne bath.”

Her dubious stare returns to the tub. “This is bizarre, even for you. How many bottles did it take to fill it?”

As I unknot my tie, I rattle off the stats.

“I actually know that because Gentry sent the final numbers to me. Three hundred thirty-five bottles of Dom, thirteen bottles of Rémy Martin, and a dash of simple syrup and lemon juice. It’s not the correct ratio, of course, but champagne is the best for this, so … ”

“Marilyn Monroe once bathed in three hundred fifty bottles of champagne, so that makes sense.” It’s not surprising that she knows that fact, but she also knows my motives aren’t to immerse us in opulence. She peers at me over her shoulder. “What’s the point?”

“I told you I didn’t expect things to just magically be okay.

I’m here, for all the days in front of us, even if they’re messy.

” I set my tie with my suit jacket and work the buttons on my shirt, first the sleeves, then up at my collar.

“We’re going to reclaim what he stole. Our scars tainted what we had and what could’ve been, so we’re washing them in what has always been ours. ”

Neither of us is religious, but Mercy dedicated a few months of her homeschooling education to studying various sects.

That’s why she knew how many acres were at the Vatican when she spewed her mixed-up Pope in the woods idiom.

My girl always loved to geek out, and her mother let her dive into any subject that caught her attention.

Mercy was fascinated with the ritual of burying the old and becoming new.

Her chin quivers, brown eyes brimming with far more emotion than what we’ve explored tonight. “We’re going in?”

“Will you start fresh with me?” I chuckle because this will feel anything but in the literal sense. “Or sticky with me?”

“Yeah.” She unclasps her earrings and her electronic access bracelet, sets them on the counter, and returns for me to unzip her dress.

I take my time with her zipper, drawing out the simple act for what it is—one more piece of her I’ve never had, even when so many others were only mine. My fingertips drag over her silky skin, bumps sprouting in their wake, as my mouth peppers kisses along the curve of her shoulder and neck.

Once the garment slinks to the floor with a whiz , she spins, standing before me in nothing but those black satin panties that were gagging her not long ago.

Her chin is lifted, the confidence that she lacked weeks ago on full display with her beauty.

Perky tits and taut nipples; a luscious swell to her hips; smooth, shimmery skin; and the scars that shout what a goddamn warrior she is.

My eyes rake over every striking part of her, my chest tightening, lungs squeezing painfully.

And suddenly, though I have plans for us, I can’t resist. One hand kneads her breast as my mouth sucks on the opposite nipple, and my other hand grips her plump ass.

She whimpers and arches, and everything about her begs for more, but I need to focus, so I pull back, nipping at her lip.

“You are magnificent. I doubt I’ll ever catch my fucking breath when you’re naked.”

She brightens at the praise, but can’t mask her impatience. “Your turn.”

“I have some things to show you.” I slip out of my button-up, and her gasp has me pausing, her focus lasered on my abs. I’m thrilled she likes what she sees, but that’s not what I was referring to, so I twist to show her a tattoo I got on my side shortly after she arrived. “Remy drew this for me.”

“You really did it.” She’s unable to conceal her shock as she runs her fingers over the three stick figures— us . “He did good.” She rolls her lips in. “Any idea why our hands are like that?”

A barked laugh flies out of me because our hands look like mitts or cartoon hands that got rolled over by a bus. “Maybe he thinks we’ll be baseball players.”

“Does Remy know?” She smirks and keeps tracing it, lost to studying the simple drawing even though my chest and back and biceps are covered with phenomenal pieces Jax crafted. Maybe she sees what I see—our family.

“Not yet. I figured if I showed him, he’d tell you. And I wanted to wait until—”

“Until it didn’t freak me out.” Her brown beauties flick up to me, and the boldness in them is spellbinding.

“Yeah.”

She pops one nonchalant shoulder. “At this point, I don’t think you can shock me.”

I’d bet otherwise, but I decide not to share that. “Fair. I have something from when you were that age too.”

Her mouth pops open, but it’s a grin that could rival the dawn sun. She knows. “You didn’t.”

I twist to the other side to reveal the viper on my bicep. Mercy’s baby teeth marks form the fangs.

Her hands cover her slack jaw, her reaction breathy. “Ryker … when?”

“About five years ago.” It was just a snake and some teeth marks, and I told myself that it didn’t mean more than simply being a tattoo I’d share with her someday, but I was fooling myself.

“Five?” And because my girl’s intuitive, she correctly links that to another piece of information she has. “How long have you been celibate?”

“Closer to six. Are you okay?”

The tattoo was months before her first date with Dalton and months before I tempted him with the career move of a lifetime.

He didn’t bite, and there was a pit in my stomach.

I hadn’t even worked out what I could offer her since she wanted to wait to be serious with someone until she was in her mid-thirties.

Casual wouldn’t have been an option for us, and losing her because she didn’t reciprocate wasn’t either.

But when he turned me down, I knew in my gut that I was too late.

She doesn’t know all of that, but she understands the gravity of the timeline and probably has a slew of follow-up questions. Thankfully, she doesn’t hammer me with them.

She puffs out a heavy breath. “I’m okay.”

“Good.” I pull down my zipper and hook my fingers inside the elastic of my boxers. “Because I’ve got more.”

After a slow perusal of my upper body, ending at the bulge in my pants, she utters a dazed, “More?”

The night of the spectacular safe-room blow job, I kept my shirttails down so she couldn’t see this tattoo. I knew if she saw it before she was ready, it would be too overwhelming. Maybe it still will be.

I drop my pants anyway, kicking them aside and showing off the pretty script spelling Mercy in a soft arch on my pelvis, which fits perfectly inside the V leading to my cock.

She gapes at it and stammers through some nonsensical noises, and all I can do is chuckle.

“I think you spoke too soon, Viper. I’ve clearly shocked you.”

“A little … I … what if this … what if we didn’t …”

That muttered query only proves she’s underestimating me, my devotion to her. It was there, and it was forever, even when I didn’t know if I’d ever see her pretty face again.

“I got this a year and a half ago. You were safe, but you didn’t want to see me or hear from me, and …

well, it was … hard.” Excruciating would be more accurate, but I won’t put that on her.

I clear my throat, attempting to choke back the anguish the mere thought brings.

“Anyway, Axel was concerned. Afraid I was putting my whole life on hold for something that might never happen. He suggested that I try to move on, see if there was something else out there— someone else —that would make me happy. So, in answer to that, I got this. Jax told him casually during our family meal, and he knew never to fucking suggest it again.”

Her eyes blaze a trail over the letters, over my saluting cock, over my abs and chest as she works through an arduous swallow.

Then she steps into me, and her hands do the same, igniting a slow, fiery path that scorches me from the inside out.

But she’s silent, so I wait, both of our chests heaving in tandem. The air thick.

She draws sinuous lines and reconciles whether or not the weight of my feelings for her are crushing or comforting. And with her hands on me, I’m alive— living in a way that’s only attainable in her embrace.

I hold on to that shabby silhouette of hope, the one I know can be the greatest villain there is.

It thrives, beating the doubts to death.

Because there’s still a chance, whether you’re hanging from a bridge, down to your last dime, or staring at the girl who was once determined to leave you.

The cloud of possibilities only renders the fall that much more decimating.

Finally, her sweet face tilts to mine, and at least for tonight, the cloud is steady.

She throws a hitchhiker thumb at the bath. “A French 75 rebirth and … then what?”

“We become a new version of us ,” I answer, my hands cradling her cheeks, “one day at a time.”

After considering that for a few seconds, she reaches down, spreading the dollop of precum over my length and cupping my balls with the most delectable pressure. My eyelids flutter as I release a groan, and when they pop back open, a wicked smile blossoms on her angelic face.

She waggles her brows. “Does it start with us—”

“Fucking?”

“Yeah.”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay, let’s do that.”

“Thank fuck.” I rip off her thong, hoist her up to my waist, and crash my lips to hers.

She rolls her hips, grinding her sopping pussy against my hard dick, so eager, her limbs tangled around me, her tongue swiping warm and wild against mine.

After I move us to stand in the tub, I study her for a beat, checking for any hesitation, but she peers back, simply trusting me, like she said earlier. So, I run with it.

“For just a minute, let your mind hold the pain. All the things lost, all the ways you’ve felt broken, all the reasons you wanted to …”

“Die,” she finishes on a whisper when it’s clear I can’t. Her eyes well with tears, lips tipped down to battle a frown.

I nod. “I’ll do the same, all while holding us under and letting the French 75 coat us until we’re lathered like a bad bachelor party held during Mardi Gras.”

She laughs at that, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“But then we’re gonna leave it all in there to drown and rise lighter without it.”

“Wait.” Her tongue peeks out to catch a drop of the agony she’s readying to unload. “Does this mean … or will it … do you forgive me for leaving?”

I brush my lips against hers as my heart jumps to my throat. Inducing guilt in her is the last thing I want. “Yes, baby. All’s forgiven. Any remnants hanging around will be left in there. Promise.”

“It’s hard to put something that’s shattered back together. What if I cut you?”

“Then I’ll rejoice in the blood as we pick up the pieces.”

“I’ll probably still be broken, a heap of shards,” she counters.

“So we’ll build a fucking mosaic.”

She smirks, her lashes fluttering. “Do you have an answer for everything?”

“Yes. Every road leads to you.”

A puffed breath precedes her resolution. “I’m ready then.”

As if she fired a pistol to start our journey, my body darts into action. I lower us into the tub-sized cocktail, press her against me, hold my breath, and in we go.

The champagne fizzes, bubbles tickling my skin, the cool temperature rousing my weary muscles, the scent of one of my favorite memories latching on to strangle the life out of the very worst.

I see the night I found her. The blood and bruises and lifelessness. I hear the cries of her— our —precious boy and her doctors telling me it didn’t look good. I feel the hollowness of every day in the hospital and every second she was gone.

Floating in white oak and screams.

But then the girl in my arms squeezes me, the woman who is my entire world, my breath and life and taste of champagne. And I know that even though we’ll face challenges, she’s safe with me. We can beat anything that comes our way as long as she believes in us.

So, as I prepare to rise, I hope like hell she’s ready to fight.