Page 57 of Vows of Ruin

He comes around and opens my door, offering me his arm like a gentleman from another lifetime. I take it, slipping into the role we need them to see.

“Try to look meek,” he mutters under his breath. “Not a threat. They’ll let you keep the dagger if you don’t look like you’ll use it.”

I nod. “Okay.” But we both know better. I’ll use it if I have to. And I won’t miss.

The warehouse stinks of cigar smoke and bad intentions. Torque and I step through the double doors like we belong there, but the second we cross the threshold, we’re met with resistance.

“Name?” one guard asks, clipboard in hand.

Another is already patting us down. His hands are fast, impersonal, until they hit the sheath strapped high to my thigh. He pauses.

I smirk at him. “Feel something you like?”

“You can’t bring that in here,” he says gruffly.

Over the comm, Liam’s voice cuts through. “Play it cool, Little Warrior. We’ve got eyes.”

Torque doesn’t flinch. “We’re not here to play,” he says. “We want to see Cyrus.”

The clipboard guy raises a brow. “He’s busy. Twenty-k buy-in… minimum.”

Torque sighs like this is the most exhausting thing he’s dealt with today. “Tell him his brother is requesting a face-to-face.”

That gets their attention. The guard speaks into a radio, then, after a beat, nods at his partner. “Follow me.”

I lace my arm through Torque’s again and fall into character, trophy girl, accessory, harmless.

“They’re headed up to the catwalk, office,” Riot says over comms. “I’ve got a visual. Wrenley’s dress is a war crime, and I mean that as a compliment.”

“Copy that,” Elias chimes in. “Internal feed is up, we’ve got eyes inside from every angle.”

We’re led up a narrow staircase that creaks under our weight, the kind of sound that makes my skin itch. From the overlook, the full depravity of the scene unfolds below, barely-legal girls in lingerie draped over laps, pouring drinks, laughing too loudly. The women with these men are stone-faced, and I feel it in my bones. No one here is safe.

Once we’re in the office, Torque leans down, his voice low, and his lips brushing my ear. “No matter what, follow my lead.”

I smile, draping over him silk, lean close to his face, and purr. “Sure, baby. Whatever you say.”

The guard stares. Good. He leaves us with a grunt and shuts the door. Torque doesn’t let go of me. His jaw locked tight, hand like stone on my arm. I place my hand gently over his and mouth the word, breathe.

He gives me a short nod as the door swings open. And there he is. Cyrus. He could be Torque’s twin. Just leaner, slicker, and with a smile that makes my skin crawl.

“Everett,” he says, like it’s a toast. His eyes flick to me and gleam. “And this must be Mrs. Blackwood. I’ve heard… Interesting things.”

He winks.

“How’s it looking?” Max’s voice cuts in over the comm, tight and clipped.

“Eyes on. No weapons visible,” Reaper replies. “Wrenley’s tense but not panicked.”

Cyrus gestures to a velvet couch. “Please, sit.”

We do, intentionally close.

Torque stays calm. “Cyrus. Good to see you.”

“You too, little brother.” Cyrus lounges in a chair like a king. “So… dating the boss’s wife now? Didn’t think you had that in you.”

I tense, but Torque doesn’t miss a beat. “Life isn’t black and white. Wrenley dates who she wants, when she wants.”