Page 61 of Rolling 75 (The Noire Brothers #1)

MERCY

FOUR DAYS AGO

“I already accepted. I’m not backing out.” My stubborn streak is burning bright in the corner of the penthouse game room.

Bryce Wakeford’s lawyer had to withdraw due to a personal matter. And the case is in four days. So, I agreed to step in.

“You didn’t run it by me first, so the answer is no.” Ryker’s jaw is locked.

He’s in full alpha-beast mode, and I’m not having it.

“You should take a second and ask yourself how well this caveman bit has worked for you in the past. I didn’t ask your permission, Master , because you and Axel were the ones who had suggested it in the first place.”

He grits his teeth before he blasts a husky whisper-shout at me in an effort to spare Remy his ire. “That was before the goddamn picture was sent here.”

I relax into the chair, drape my arm over the back, and cross my legs, a bored expression on my face, as if his argument were mere drivel.

“And I told you that I’m not going to hole myself up here in fear.

I’m over it. The holidays are coming soon, and I promised Emma I’d help with her wedding plans. ”

Something cracked inside me the day that bloodstained portrait arrived.

But it wasn’t the same shattering that I’d been enduring the years prior.

It was the veneer of false armor I’d been clad in.

I knew that whether I was here or erased, that floor would haunt me unless I finally refused to let it have power over me.

Maybe that’s reckless, considering the daunting things we’re facing.

But I wasn’t living when I was Alice. I was existing, trudging through each day for Remy, yet dead inside.

So, I have no desire to let that fear consume me again.

I’ve tasted the champagne, the dancing, the forbidden fantasy of being pinned to a bed by Ryker Noire and railed into oblivion.

The remembrance of him looming over me—sweaty, feral, inked, and chiseled—will forever be synonymous with my depiction of freedom.

For the first time in what seems like an entire lifetime, I feel empowered, in control, and loved.

I won’t lie down in the gore of yesterday or revisit that self-imposed coffin.

But my refusal to retreat into hiding isn’t as liberating for everyone else.

Ty’s face droops with a sigh, his conflict evident.

He and his crew are here tonight. Rena is still gallivanting around the Underground with one of the other couples from their family and Jax.

Wells—Ivy’s husband—is battling this out with Ryker, Axel, Ty, and me.

We’re all hunkered down at a poker table.

Liam and Celeste—another couple Ty and Rena live with—are playing blackjack on the other side of the room with Maddox and Cash.

Remy is vrooming his Hot Wheels at their feet, perfectly content, while Ivy crawls around on the floor with him and her baby girl.

Outside of this vexing conversation, it’s a party. Although, based on the groans from Cash, I’d say the house isn’t winning tonight.

“Mercy, after everything you’ve endured, your strength is inspiring—”

“You’re waffling, Ty.” Ryker casts a warning glare at him. “I can see it. So, before you encourage her, tell her what you’d do in this situation. If you were me or if some madman were goading Rena, what would the plan be?”

Ty grunts, chewing the inside of his cheek and clearly sweating over being boxed in by both of us.

That is likely worsened by the fact that I expressed my unhappiness regarding him permitting Ryker to send me money and thus following it to find me, despite how elated I am now.

That irritation is based on principle. And he felt it.

I also thanked him profusely for the years he’d hidden and protected me, so we’re good.

Though at present, I’m in favor of his guilt prevailing so he takes my side.

His cognac eyes dart between Ryker and me. “I think we all know what I’d do, but in my experience, lockdown can backfire.” He inhales and exhales before adding, “Short of a house arrest bracelet.”

“What in the ever-loving hell is that suggestion?” I snap.

“Not a suggestion.” He throws up surrendering hands while he backpedals, and Ryker and Axel chuckle at his discomfort.

“But I would advise wearing a tracker if you’re going to leave the resort.

Maybe even if you aren’t. There are no guarantees here.

” That is mildly accusatory, probably based on the security breach that happened before I got here, which I’m about to point out, but he continues, “And our research shows that whoever this is, he’s … ”

“A grandstander,” Wells finishes, leisurely swirling his scotch, like a man in charge. “We might not know who he is, but what we do know is that he wants to be noticed.”

A chill washes over me. That’s eerie. “Why would he want to be noticed?”

Wells deliberates on his phrasing for a minute, his emerald gaze bouncing off all of us before landing on me.

“Most people who are involved in something like this hope they won’t get caught.

They’re often panicked, going to great lengths to conceal any evidence or trail leading to them.

Ninety-nine percent of people fall into that category. ”

My heartbeat hammers my sternum as a question I’d probably rather not know begs to be answered. “And the other one percent?”

“Far more dangerous.” He swills the final sip of his scotch, setting the tumbler aside and digging a candy bag out of his suit jacket pocket.

“There is no plausible reason to be taunting you. All signs suggest that whoever was on the phone is unknown to you. Dalton was convicted and is now gone. The average person would celebrate that their involvement would never be unveiled. But a grandstander is insulted.”

I met Wells a while back, once or twice before he and Ty came to the hospital to erase me.

He was more than a La Lune Noire guest. He was a close friend of Axel’s.

But I must have missed his penchant for sugar.

I am wholly enamored by this formidable man, whom the others refer to as Chief, sifting through his Sour Skittles as if there were a treasure inside.

Flicking my attention to Ryker, I cock an eyebrow with an amused gape, to which he laughs and smooths his hand over my thigh. Hard liquor to a Halloween treat in seconds.

“Insulted?” I eventually manage.

Wells keeps on sifting. “They don’t appreciate being ignored or undervalued.

They’re often harder to catch at first because they don’t panic and make mistakes.

They’re skilled chess players, sitting back and watching the destruction.

But they will eventually reveal themselves because their deepest desire is to be seen. To matter.”

“And how long would you expect that to take? For them to show themselves?” I peer at Remy, ensuring he’s occupied and not paying any attention to us over here, relieved when Ivy nonchalantly sweeps her ginger locks into a ponytail and flashes an affirming smile at me.

She’s just as dynamic—sweet and fierce and intuitive—as she was on our phone calls while I was Alice.

When I twist back, Wells is winking at his girls.

“It’s hard to say,” Ty replies, his soft brown curls lending him a boyish charm. “They’ve already made two clear moves. The email and sending the photograph, which had to have been retrieved at the time of the incident.”

Axel expands on that, his own drink in hand. “They’re hiding behind Monroe, aware that, as Dalton’s father, he’d be the most likely to be involved, to have access to the photograph, to be someone Dalton would reach out to for help. Whoever it is, they knew Ryker would follow up with Monroe.”

“Exactly,” Wells agrees. “Which also means they wanted Ryker to realize Monroe wasn’t responsible. They likely enjoyed watching him chase a lead and slam into a wall.”

Ryker scratches his dark two-day stubble, sweeping his thumb back and forth on my thigh. “Any progress on who could have sent that email?”

“No,” Wells sighs. “Those are hard to track if they mask the signal and bounce it enough. Liam narrowed it down to an area, but it’s not precise enough to indicate identity.”

Across the room, there are howls of upset and of celebration. Cash growls, insisting he’s been taking it easy on Celeste.

Liam cackles in response, his rebuttal colorful. “Your ass hurts. Ace could bury you with her eyes closed.”

If her nickname is Ace, that might hold some merit.

She’s gorgeous, with an always-the-winner air.

But Maddox and Cash exchange a look that leads me to believe they will be playing dirty from here on out.

Liam and Celeste miss that because Ivy is admonishing Liam for his language before hurling an apologetic wave in my direction.

That is an example of another thing lost to that horrible night and this mysterious asshole intent on keeping it present. I don’t want to be in a corner, discussing how to thwart him. I want to be over there, laughing and living.

My hope that this will end soon is dwindling, but I submit my query to Wells and Ty anyway. “And the forensics on the photograph and packaging?”

Ty shakes his head, noting my defeat. “The outside packaging was handled by many. No one of glaring interest. Only prints on the portrait are you and Dalton.”

I’m frustrated. This is scary, but I refuse to let all the progress I’ve fought for since I came back be wasted. “Back to my original question, how long would you guesstimate it will be until they show themselves?”