Page 56 of Rolling 75 (The Noire Brothers #1)

RYKER

“S hh. Pretend like you’re sleeping.”

It’s late afternoon. Mercy, Remy, and I swam all day. When I brought Remy to our bed to take a nap, she stayed on the roof, reading a book for an hour before hopping into the shower.

He woke up twenty minutes ago, and we chatted about everything under the sun. I think he’ll like learning all he can about weird subjects, like his mom does.

When the sounds of her finishing up in the bathroom filtered through the door, I told him she was about to come out and had no idea where we were. We threw the blanket up over our heads to hide, but he can’t stop giggling.

The faint click of the door precedes her soft footfalls, and then she stops, quickly catching on to her precious boy’s laughter. “Hmm. I wonder where Remy and Ryker are.”

His giggles intensify, his hazel eyes wide and planted on me beneath the comforter as he sings, “We not under the blanket, Mama.”

I can’t keep the chuckle from bursting out of me. We might need to work on his covert operations skills.

Mercy’s sweet, melodious laughter floats through the room, cocooning me in a warmth I never thought would be mine, as she announces every place she’s searching. “They’re not in the closet. They’re not behind the curtains. They’re not under the bed.”

“She’s getting closer,” I whisper in his ear, and he kicks his feet with a squeal of excitement, smooshing his plush bulldog between us.

That does it for Mercy. She whips the covers back, beaming as bright as a fucking supermoon as she tickles him. “I found you, sweet pea.”

I drag her on top of us into a family pileup that surpasses every dream I ever had. If I could live only one day over and over again, it would be a lot like this one. Both of them safe in my arms, happy, together, choosing to be with me.

A nagging notion that it could all be ripped away from me slithers down my spine.

It’s been three days since we received the photograph.

Mercy fell apart for a little while afterward, but then a fresh wave of ire flooded her, and she insisted that she would not be terrorized.

That she was going to keep living her life because she had run from it before and that had felt like dying.

My brave girl lifted her chin, determined not to let that psychotic threat beat her down.

It was heartening and gutting at once. Because I’m starting to think this might all have more to do with me than her.

Axel is on the same page for that possibility.

I’m not sure how deep that goes, if that includes her history with Dalton from the start.

Part of me believes that’s reaching, my fears getting the best of me.

I’ve been on edge about her being caught in the crossfire of my business affairs since Axel and I inherited La Lune Noire.

That’s why I pushed her away, adamant that she attended college and did not keep in touch with me. Her being hurt was always a concern.

So, maybe these worries now are simply paranoia.

But the other part of me glimpses the pieces of a puzzle that have Noire connections.

Trafton’s body—my member—thrown at our facility is one.

The fabricated email sent to me from Monroe Montgomery’s address is another. Only someone who knew I’d had previous discussions with him regarding Mercy would have chosen that as a tool.

The package addressed to Mercy and me is yet one more.

Monroe Montgomery is the most obvious candidate to send that photograph, and Mercy couldn’t think of anyone else likely.

The police had never been involved in Mercy’s case.

Ty’s team salvaged some evidence and took pictures before the cleaners arrived so we’d have them if we needed them later, but I intended to handle Dalton myself—a source of contention between Mercy and me.

It’s also the reason Dalton vanished before my car was turned off in his drive.

He knew I was planning to kill him. But the house?

That was swept and eventually sold. And I can’t fathom why Monroe would incite Mercy or me with that photograph. It doesn’t add up.

Regardless, Axel viewed the photograph as a means to provoke me. A trigger for Mercy? Yes. But based on everything else, it being the pebble to cause an avalanche of my hostility is more likely.

Even years ago, the fact that Dalton refused to leave when I got him a career-making job as a patent attorney for a huge tech company was baffling.

The salary was massive with perks that would have given him bragging rights, especially considering his own father had ousted him from being chosen by The Order.

I thought he’d turned it down because he was in love with Mercy. Maybe that was why, but maybe not.

And then to find out that the fight he and Mercy had when he finally lost it had been centered upon me? That’s alarming, and something tells me it was more than jealousy about my relationship with her, though I suspect that was part of it too.

Dalton called someone after he hurt Mercy, and whoever that someone is, they aren’t coming after just her. They’re directing everything to me or both of us.

So, I’ve been trying to decompress and keep a clear head.

Liam Graves—a member of Ty’s team—is a tech wizard, so he’s trying to get us a location on that email, though that’s a stretch.

And they have a forensics guy sweeping the photograph and packaging.

They’re also digging into everything they can about Trafton.

Hopefully, we’ll get some answers soon. My first priority is to ensure Mercy is safe. But I’d be lying if I claimed I wasn’t sick to my stomach at the possibility of her realizing her torment has been all about me and choosing to bolt again. Could I even blame her?

For now, I’m trying to bask in her glow. She’s finding the strength to live, to fight through the lasting impact of her trauma. And I’m so fucking proud. I’m desperate to be a catalyst for her healing, the man who builds her back up. But I’m starting to wonder if it’s the opposite.

Mercy ruffles Remy’s hair. “You are the best hider there ever was. I bet you’re hungry from hiding so well.”

He puffs his chest up with pride as he squirms out of our hold. “I am. Ryker-friend is a good hider too.” And then he’s off, headed toward the door, muttering about a snack.

His name for me burrows into all those hollow aches I nursed the last few years.

I wouldn’t mind if we graduated it to something more permanent at some point.

That’s probably a long shot. I doubt Mercy will want him to have the Noire last name or …

but I’m grateful for every minute I get to have with him. So, I consider that title an honor.

“Ryker-friend is good at a lot of things.” Mercy presses her lips to mine, a smile curving them as she purrs into the swift kiss. “Hungry?”

I cup the sides of her face and nip her lower lip. “For you? Always.”

“Good.” She glances over her shoulder, anxious to follow Remy out. “Hey, can you promise me something?”

“Anything.”

She furrows her brows to that, correctly assuming there could be limitations in that department, though only regarding her being away from me. “Get Rena here for Jax.”

I had already been working on that, but as we climb off the bed, I keep my response simple, grateful that she cares about my family so much. “Consider it done.”

When we enter the kitchen, Axel has already had the cooks set out an elaborate afternoon feast. This is something we used to do for Jax and Rena when they were small.

Even Maddox and Cash enjoyed it. But with all of them adults, we’ve abandoned snack time.

It’s clearly rife with nostalgia for everyone because all my brothers are here.

Maddox pops a grape into his mouth, holding it inside his cheek for a beat. “It’s like charcuterie boards gone wild in here.”

“There are an awful lot of melons,” Cash muses with a smirk.

Axel ignores them, sneaks a cookie onto Remy’s plate, and moves on to business. “Jax, you’re master of ceremonies tonight.”

Jax piles his plate high with a shake of his head.

“No can do, Papa Axe. I booked a session tonight.” As if he can sense Axel’s skepticism, he spreads some cheese on a cracker and plants his unfaltering bloodshot eyes on him.

“You wanted me to work more to keep my mind off Rena not being here, so don’t give me”—his focus drifts to Remy, who is currently in a snack coma—“ stuff about it.”

Axel pats him on the back. “You’re right. Who’s going to cover? We have the WAGs After Dark Association tonight. Most are partners of hockey players, but there are some from other sports—soccer, football, baseball, basketball.”

Mercy is utterly enamored, hanging on every word as she sips a glass of sweet tea and helps herself to some veggies and dip. “So, these are wives of corrupt sports players?”

“No one here is corrupt,” Axel corrects. “We find a good number of hockey players prefer to handle things under the table, and we appeal to them for that. They want their domestic partners on board.”

Her brows knit together. “It’s frightening how accurate some of my books are.”

We might need to double back to that, but before I can delve into what hockey players she’s reading about, Cash kicks back in his chair and throws out one of his asinine thoughts.

“I can’t do it. That’s dangerous territory—a room full of women. And I’ve heard they’re wild.”

That has us all busting up because he’s dead serious, but still, I poke.

“And why is that, killer?”

“C’mon.” He swipes a look-at-this hand in front of his chest while flashing a smile that is pure devilry, which is absolutely the asset that scores him a pocketful of numbers, resulting in an ego the size of Louisiana.

“The last thing we need is one of those hockey gals breaking it off with their guy because—”

Maddox tosses a grape at him, pelting him right in the temple, and spears another with his butterfly knife. “You’re so pucking full of it.”

“I’d be willing to bet that’s a title of a hockey romance book,” Mercy chimes in, which only enhances my curiosity about whatever the hell she’s reading.

Maddox chuckles at that but turns back to Axel. “Count me out. I don’t have a toast appropriate for women.”

“I’ll do it.”

All eyes drift to Mercy, who is glowing with mischief. After everything she’s been through, it’s a wonder she’s still standing, let alone lit up with joy.

“You want to do the toast?” Axel glances at me for approval, and when I subtly lower my chin in confirmation, he casts a proud smile at her. “That’s perfect, Mercy. I’m sure the WAGs will appreciate that.”

When evening rolls around, Mercy accompanies me on my walk-through, which is my new favorite thing. Afterward, we veer over to the conference and banquet center for her to fulfill her master of ceremonies duty.

She’s utterly lethal in a black velvet jumpsuit with a deep V-neckline that teases the swell of her breasts. The fitted bodice has a belt and seamlessly connects to the flared pant that hugs the curves of her ass and thighs. Ravishing. I’ll be tearing that off her as soon as we’re done.

When we strut through the doors and head toward the front, the women rise, but both of us catch sight of Axel, Maddox, and Cash.

Axel immediately spits out what we’re both wondering. “Bernard is staying with Remy for a few minutes. We wanted to be here.”

“Don’t trust me?” Mercy directs that specifically toward Axel, but it’s clearly in jest.

“The opposite,” he assures her. “This is like an initiation. We came to support.”

Maddox echoes that encouragement with, “Full faith, Merce.”

She extends her appreciation to them before turning her sardonic wit on Cash. “Thank you for fighting this mob of females to be here for me.”

“Worth it.” He winks and passes her a French 75 for her toast. “I got you, but for the record, they’re already talking about me.”

“Really?” Her amusement tugs up the corner of her mouth. “Are you a lip reader now?”

“Like a deaf gynecologist.”

Maddox, Axel, and I lose it. Mercy’s face blushes as she shakes her head, laughing. None of us saw that coming. If she had any nerves fluttering, that effectively decimated them.

Sliding her hand over my cheek, she brushes her lips gently against mine, her brown gems capering all over my face. “Thanks for this. And”—she glances around before returning to me—“just remember, I’m yours, and you’re mine, and this is all in fun.”

With that, she sashays up to the microphone, like a queen in charge.

“Good evening, ladies. I am Ryker Noire’s fiancée, Mercy.

We thought it was fitting for me to kick off your festivities.

I know a little something about supporting a man who has an eclectic career.

It can be a lot.” She pauses for some nods and murmurs.

“So, let’s start this night with something we probably all have in common—what we were really thinking when they first took us out.

” With her fist to her mouth, she dramatically clears her throat. “Or rather, when they first took us.”

That garners her hoots and hollers and applause from the ladies, who have drinks in hand and appear to have started a little while ago. It takes a good two minutes for them to settle, during which time Cash leans into us.

“I told you they were wild.”

“No fuck,” Maddox spits, his eyes peeled on the crowd.

Mercy raises her champagne flute. “Now he lays me down to screw. I hope this clown knows what to do. If he should come before I end, I swear to God I’ll bang his friend.”

And the ladies go crazy.

Maddox pats his chest, his face as disturbingly cheery as Johnny Depp’s interpretation of The Mad Hatter. “I bet I’m the friend.”

That earns him a swift smack to the back of his head from me and a clap of appreciation from Cash.

To his point, I’m not entirely in favor of the content of Mercy’s toast, but she nailed it.

Axel side-eyes me with a similar conclusion. “I think she just secured us a banquet hall full of happy WAGs and possibly interested members.”

Mercy’s voice is nearly drowned out by the ongoing reception, but still, she finishes. “Welcome to La Lune Noire. Drink and conspire.”

It’s like she woke up and decided she belonged with us, the glimmer of true royalty we need. I’m so unbelievably in love with this woman that it nearly knocks me over.

But I push through that and dash for the stage. I’ve also never been this turned on in my entire life. Time to fuck my queen.