Page 71 of Rolling 75 (The Noire Brothers #1)

“I don’t view it like that.” My mouth quirks into a lopsided grin because his jealousy is apparent in the slant of his brows. “But you’re too close. You can’t see the forest or the trees.”

He chuckles, and though a pang of guilt lashes me for this frivolous exchange, the buoyant sound floating into the freckled night is exactly what we need.

He wraps the towel around himself, tucking in the corner. “It’s, can’t see the forest for the trees .”

“I hate that wording. It doesn’t make any sense,” I snap back.

He struts toward the door for us to go inside, looking as sexy as ever. “But not being able to see either does?”

“That’s exactly what I was going for.” I pop a blasé shoulder. “It’s like you’re flying blind.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just no. They don’t mean the same thing.”

“Agree to disagree. Idioms are subjective.”

“And a brilliant decoy.” He winks. Onto me.

Still worried he’ll fight Axel on this when we get downstairs, I clutch his hand as he opens the sliding glass door. “This is important to me, so …”

He hooks my hair behind my ear. “Then it’s what we’ll do.”

That’s always been the way with us, and yet it’s changed so much. There was a time he relented so I could go my separate way, which only bred animosity between us. I suspect now, even though he objects to me having any part of this, he grasps that it’s so we can journey in the same direction.

“Thank you for always loving me the way I need to be loved, Ryker. You’re everything I ever dreamed of.”

The veneration in his eyes stills me. Those enthralling blues pierce my depths, chanting promises that felt like pipe dreams not long ago.

He clasps my chin, planting a gentle kiss on my lips. “Everything I am is yours, Viper. The honor of loving you and loving Remy and both of you loving me back is hope realized. So, thank you for biting me all those years ago.”

“Business first.” I smile against his mouth. “Then maybe I’ll bite you again.”

I’m sitting on the tufted leather sofa in the conference room, Cash on my right, Maddox on my left, and Jax draped across the back with his head hovering between mine and Maddox’s. It’s a bit ridiculous. Yet it somehow transforms this dismal undertaking into a bonding ritual.

All three were adamant about not leaving my side. Regardless of how much they would have liked to partake in the unsavory event, they chose to be here with me, which warms my heart.

My toes are evidently fully ensconced in the duplicitous soil from which the Noires thrive.

“It’s almost time, Merce. Whatever you need, we’re here for you.” Maddox nudges my thigh while scrutinizing me to be sure I’m okay.

He’s holding a tablet in front of us. We could have done this on any of their wall monitors, but I didn’t want to risk Remy waking up and catching a glimpse.

“I’m glad you’re all here, but I’m good,” I assure him, and Cash and Jax murmur some additional encouragement, which only reinforces the truth of my statement.

Axel and Ryker are in counting room two with Bryce, who is strapped to a chair. His mouth is taped, and both of his ankles and wrists are tied down, but he dons the same casual attire he wore when he callously blew up the woman he’d been engaged to and living with for years.

He’s sporting two black eyes, what appears to be a broken nose, and probably a host of other injuries bestowed by the Noire brothers as part of their welcome package. Yet he appears unfazed.

Ryker is planning to torture Bryce when I’m done. He didn’t admit that, but I’m aware of his intentions nevertheless.

And Axel is aware of mine.

“Mercy has something she’d like to share with you.” He dips his chin to me before turning his phone screen to Bryce.

Despite his bound predicament, he doesn’t sacrifice his narcissism. He arches an imperious brow, still clinging to the idea of going to the grave as a victor.

Because all this man wants is for the world to center upon him.

I actually feel bad for the little boy without a family; for the teenager who found a home, only to have it ripped away; for the young man leaving a shelter without a soul to call his own.

But the monster in that chair, who wreaked havoc on so many innocent lives, isn’t worthy of that pity or that recognition.

Still, as a parting gift, I begin with the very words he craves. “You were right, Bryce.”

I stall there just long enough for him to be confused, but then I deliver the antidote to the monologue he served up in the courtroom.

“We all have choices. And there are consequences for those decisions. My father made his when he falsely testified in your foster uncle’s murder case, much like your foster father did when he had my mother killed.

You’re sitting in that chair because of yours.

And that’s where you lose. Because part of winning is staying in the game.

You made an epic move, but you backed yourself into a corner with no way out.

All because you were under the impression that the final act of Ryker killing you or me being a part of it would destroy me, destroy us. ”

Again, I take a breather. But in that breath, I am surrounded by love.

Maddox, Cash, and Jax sharing cushions with me, extending brushes and nudges and hugs of support.

Axel, who believes in me enough to not only trust me as part of his staff, but to also handle this and to be who Ryker needs.

Which leads me to the man who has been my everything.

The man I hope to be worthy of standing beside.

“The thing is,” I continue, “you were playing at being part of a family, Bryce, whereas I really am part of one. And that’s not how we do things here. La Lune Noire doesn’t tolerate acts of violence.”

Ryker’s captivating blues flick to the camera, cognizance of where I’m headed finding him. There’s only one thing that could hurt Bryce more than being flayed open. Being nothing special.

“Is this personal, Ryker?”

The slightest hint of his dimple appears before he answers sternly, “Of course not. It’s business.”

And with that response, I know he sees it. That tonight, in counting room two, we aren’t merely avenging Emma, Hailey, the unknown girl, or even me.

We’re becoming.

I’m not a friend of the Noires. Or a victim. Or a survivor.

I’m Ryker’s goddamn queen.

And this is my fucking castle.

Bryce makes a valiant effort to remain unaffected, but it’s there in the slight slump of his shoulders. And I know it’s so much worse inside his head. That’s enough for me.

Using the very words Ryker told me he says to members when they end up where Bryce is, I seize my throne. “Exactly. Rules are fucking rules.”

On the final syllable, the man I’m proud to call mine lodges a bullet in the monster’s head and locks his gaze on to me. “That’s my Viper.”