The memory clicked into place. The night he first saw Andy. The pretty dark-haired young man at the bar who’d reminded him so much of…
“But then that little brat had to cause chaos in your casino.” Porter’s voice turned venomous. “That worthless piece of—” He caught himself, inhaling sharply. When he spoke again, his tone was honey-sweet. “But it doesn’t matter now. We have all the time in the world.”
He pressed himself against Matt, one hand tangling in his hair while the other traced the dragon tattoo on his chest. “I’ve dreamed of this. Of touching you. Loving you. Making you see that I’m the only one worthy of standing beside you.” His tongue followed the path of his fingers, tasting Matt’s skin. “We’ll build an empire together. Show Vegas what true power looks like.”
Matt jerked away from Porter’s touch, chains rattling. “The only thing you’re building is a prison sentence.”
Porter’s laugh was high and brittle. “Oh, my love. Still fighting. Still so magnificently proud.” He stepped back, eyes roving hungrily over Matt’s exposed chest. “But you’ll understand soon. I’ll make you see how perfect we could be together.” His smile turned dreamy. “I already have our first board meeting planned. The look on Xavier’s face when he realizes… when they all realize…”
“You’re delusional.”
“I’m devoted!” Porter snapped, then immediately softened and leaned in, pressing a desperate kiss to Matt’s lips. “Rest now, my king. Dream of our future.”
The door closed behind him with a heavy clang. In the sudden silence, Matt heard the distant hum of ventilation systems. Somewhere above, the city carried on, unaware that one of its most powerful men was chained in a madman’s dungeon.
Andy, he thought fiercely.Stay safe. Stay smart. Don’t try to be a hero.
But even as he thought it, Matt knew it was useless. Andy would never stop looking. Never stop fighting.
And that terrified him more than any chain ever could.
Forty-One
ANDY
If pasta could file for asylum, my creation would’ve been first in line. I poked at the sad, slightly charred mess with a fork, wondering if it qualified as a culinary crime or modern art. Probably both. The rich scent of burned garlic and overcooked tomato sauce filled the space.
“Yeah, no,” I muttered, reaching for my phone. “Room service it is.” Matt’s kitchen deserved better than my crimes against Italian cuisine. The sleek marble countertops and professional-grade appliances practically begged for mercy.
I fired off a quick text to Matt:Ordered backup dinner. Your pasta apparently decided to commit suicide. Come home soon?
After ordering enough food to feed a small army—or one very hungry billionaire—I flopped onto the ridiculously comfortable couch, sinking into leather. My phone buzzed.
Ryan:Look what I found.Attached was a meme of a grumpy cat wearing a business suit with the caption, Board Meeting Mood.
I snorted.Shouldn’t you be doing actual work?
Ryan:This IS work. Meme research is crucial for modern business.
Another buzz. This time from Fin:Lunch this weekend? My treat (with your money obviously).
I rolled my eyes.Sure, why not. I love funding your food adventures.
Fin:You’re the best sugar baby ever.How’s Mia btw? Still can’t believe that whole Herbert mess.
The mention of Herbert sent my mind spinning back to last week’s homecoming. Fin and Ethan had practically ambushed us at the airport, despite my multiple texts assuring them everything was fine. Well, as “fine” as things could be after your uncle tries to kidnap your sister and ends up dead.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” Ethan had asked for the millionth time, while Fin stress-ate airport pretzels.
“Yes, mom,” I’d replied, dodging Ethan’s attempt to check for invisible injuries. “Herbert’s dead, Mia’s safe, and Matt’s security is scarier than ever. We’re good.”
The doorbell chimed, snapping me back to the present. Room service rolled in a feast that would make a master chef weep—perfectly grilled ribeye, truffle mac and cheese, Caesar salad that actually looked like salad and not war crimes against lettuce like my attempt, and chocolate lava cake.
I checked my phone again, the screen mocking me with its emptiness. No reply from Matt.
Something cold and heavy settled in my stomach, an instinct I couldn’t explain but couldn’t ignore either. We hadn’t been dating long—hell, some people would say we weren’t even officially dating yet—but I knew Matt’s habits. He always replied, even during meetings. Always. That time he was stuck in back-to-back meetings with the board? He’d managed to send me stupid memes. During yesterday’s crisis with the hotel renovation contractors? He’d somehow found time to text me a heart emoji while simultaneously threatening to bankrupt three different companies.
But now? Nothing.
