Page 21 of Nash
Her lips part. Her eyes hold mine. The space between us pulls tight, and neither of us moves to close it.
"Goodnight, Trouble."
She turns and walks toward the door. The flannel slips lower on her shoulder, bare skin catching the porch light. My eyes follow the line of her legs, the denim shorts riding up with each step, the curve of her thighs, and my chest aches with want. The headband catches on the handlebar when my hand shifts. I look down at the faded red fabric against my wrist.
Candace opens the door before Ruby reaches it. The door closes.
I sit on the Harley, engine off, staring at the closed door. My right hand flexes open and closed against the handlebar.
I ride to Vesper.
The building sits at the edge of town, quiet at this hour. Victor, Connor, and Phoenix renovated the space together when Phoenix brought his reformed vision of the Society to Mississippi. Malachi's sister, Amelia, runs it.
On auction nights, the bids are voluntary, the participants vetted, every transaction documented and consensual. The rest of the week, Vesper operates as a private club. Membership only. Background checks. Paperwork. Couples in D/s dynamics gothrough an intake process before they're cleared for the private rooms. Amelia built the protocols herself, and they're tighter than anything I've seen in federal intake.
Arden is at the back entrance when I pull up. He's leaning against the wall in the dark, arms crossed, and I'd bet money he's been standing there since sundown without shifting his weight once.
"Anything?" I ask.
"Quiet." He pushes off the wall. "Has been all week."
I take the door. He stays.
"You heading to the clubhouse?" I ask.
"Eventually."
I look at him. He looks exactly the way he did twelve hours ago, yesterday, and at three in the morning last week when I found him standing at the tree line behind Amaranth. I've never seen Arden tired. Never seen him yawn, rub his eyes, or reach for caffeine. I stopped trying to explain it months ago.
"Nash." His voice is flat, unhurried. "You're carrying something."
"I'm fine."
"You're not." He says it the way he says everything, with the patience of someone who has more time than the conversation requires. "Leo trusted you. I trust you. If you need resources, I have connections most people don't."
Leo. Victor's guy. He and Arden ran security for Olivia when Donovan Castiel was still breathing. Leo didn't make it. Arden stayed on after, helped the club, offered to consult on Vesper since he owns nightclubs of his own. He's been useful. Reliable. And something about the way he talks about Leo, steady and careful, makes me think they were close.
"I'll keep that in mind."
"Do." He holds my gaze for a beat. "Whatever's pulling your focus, deal with it before it deals with you."
He turns and walks toward the tree line. I watch him disappear into the dark between the oaks without making a sound.
I go inside and run the sweep. Every room. Every lock. Every window. The main floor with its low lighting and deep leather seating. The private rooms down the back corridor with heavy doors and soundproofing. Each one is equipped with its own lock and intercom system that connects to the front desk. The consultation room where Amelia runs intake sessions with new members where a stack of contracts and consent forms are filed in the cabinet behind her chair. The back offices she keeps locked when she's not here.
Amelia is here tonight. I find her in the consultation room, laptop open, paperwork spread across the desk. She looks up from her laptop when I knock on the open doorframe.
"Nash."
She's young for the weight she carries. Malachi's baby sister, trafficked by the same network her brother spent years trying to dismantle, was rescued by Phoenix. Now she runs a venue designed to prove that what was done to her can be rebuilt into something that operates on consent instead of force. She doesn't talk about what happened to her. She built Vesper instead.
"Building's clear," I say. "Arden's heading out."
"Good." She leans back in her chair. "You know, most of the guys Malachi sends over for security rotation do the sweep, check the locks, and sit in the lobby on their phones. You actually walk the rooms."
"That's the job."
"That's not why you do it." She taps her pen against the desk. "Nash, I processed your membership intake myself. I've read your paperwork. I know what you listed under experience, preferences, and limits." She holds my eyes. Steady. Professional. "The man who filled out that file understands thedifference between dominance and control better than most people I've met in this work. That's why you walk the rooms."
