Two other men entered the room: a large man with tattoos and a smaller man who pushed everyone aside to reach the front. These three scary guys melted to one side as this fourth perched on the side of my bed.
“Hi,” he said, voice warm and open, as if none of the tension in the room touched him. “I’m Robbie.”
I looked at Robbie again.Reallylooked at him. The way he moved, cautious, his shoulders a little too tight, every glance flicking back toward the big, tattooed guy. He wasn’t even as big as me, but there was something hard-edged in the way he held himself. Dark hair, eyes full of wariness mixed with grit. As a man who’d seen enough to know when to be afraid—and enough to stand his ground anyway.
“Root… Nightjar… I’m Lyric,” I replied, my voice rough and uncertain. Somewhere to my left, I heard Rio mutter something under his breath—too low to catch, but it didn’t sound friendly.
“This is my partner, Enzo,” Robbie continued, gesturing to the tattooed man behind him. I met his gaze and gave a nod. Enzo returned it after a beat, sharp-eyed and silent, as if he were still deciding if I was a threat.
“Do you need pain relief? A blanket? A drink? Something to eat?”
“Not a fucking hotel,” Enzo said, but quietened when Robbie threw him a glance that spoke volumes.
“I’m okay,” I lied. My eyes drifted past the looming presence of the others and settled on Robbie, who radiated a softer quality. He didn’t flinch, didn’t scowl, just met my gaze with steady warmth. Something in me unclenched.
“Start from the beginning,” Robbie said. He must’ve seen the wariness written all over my face. “No one’s going to hurt you.”
But I didn’t move. I couldn’t. My throat locked up, and I felt Rio shift somewhere to my left, the weight of his glare like a noose. My skin crawled, every cell screaming not to trust him, not to speak—not when the man who’d pinned me to a wall seemed ready to do it again.
“Talk,” Rio snapped. A command, not a request. I flinched as he leaned over me, his presence a thundercloud, and his hand circled my throat. Not squeezing. Not yet. But he might as well have been. “You want to keep holding secrets? Keep lying?” His voice dropped to a hiss, harsh enough to flay skin. “Then, I’ll squeeze the fucking truth out of you myself.”
Terror stole my breath. My vision blurred. I tried to speak, to form words, but my voice caught, useless. I shook my head.
“He’s hurt! Stop!” Robbie pleaded, but Rio didn’t back off until Robbie shoved himself between us. “You’re not helping. He’s terrified. He’s not gonna talk.”
And he was right. I couldn’t. I was shaking too hard; my mind was blank, overwhelmed by the weight of that fury. I didn’t know if I could talk to anyone anymore.
“Yet,” Rio snapped.
“Rio…” Robbie warned. “Lyric? Look, you’re not the first one to end up here bleeding. And you probably won’t be the last.”
His voice grounded me in a way the others hadn’t. As though he meant to be kind.
“I need… help… a game.” Words were failing me; I felt as if my head was stuffed with cotton, every part of me throbbing with pain.
“Huh?” Robbie asked, eyes wide, tone soaked in sincerity—too much of it. My defenses spiked, fear curling in my gut. So many millions. That was what I was worth tothe system. These four men could turn me in, take the money, and never look back.
I wouldn’t let the system win. I was frantic anddesperate, and my gaze darted around the room—searching for something, anything. God, what was I searching for? A readily available scalpel? Fuck, I’m not in any hospital. A way out?
“What game, Lyric?” Robbie asked again, softer now, pulling my attention back to him. “You can trust us.”
No, I couldn’t. But I’d learned things over the years—the hard way. The times someone had managed to catch me, I’d learned how to survive. I’d survived before. Crawled my way out of places I shouldn’t have. I could survive this too. I had to because I wasn’t going back to him. Not now. Not ever.
“Need… Talk… Jamie.”
Rio growled low under his breath, Jamie huffed as if he didn’t have the patience, but it was Enzo who moved. He placed a hand on Robbie’s shoulder, grounding him—or maybe it was the other way around. The two of them shared a glance so full of quiet understanding, of love, that it almost broke something in me. It felt too soft for this world, too gentle to be real.
Or were the meds still warping everything around the edges?
“Try us,” Robbie said, voice steady.
I hesitated, then forced the words out. “Marcus Kessler.” I braced for the reaction. Marcus Kessler? The billionaire philanthropist? The media darling with the trillion-dollar tech empire?
Yeah.ThatKessler.
But no one asked the questions. Robbie sighed, Enzo tensed, Jamie cursed, and Rio? He frowned and clenched his fists again.
I understood immediately—they knew. The way the air changed, the shift in their postures. The tension wasn’t confusion. It was recognition. They weren’t shocked because the name held significance for them.
