“He and Caleb have been running them through a custom sandbox server with mirrored protocols and live-traced root logs. Said something about isolating backend triggers and neutralizing autonomous execution layers.”
I stared. “What?”
Robbie’s ears went scarlet. “I… uh… overheard.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You ‘overheard’?” I hadn’t missed the way he’d rattled that off—not like someone parroting words, but as if he understood every layer of what Jamie was doing with what I’d given him. Robbie hadn’tjustoverheard… he spoke with the kind of quiet authority that came fromknowing.
Robbie ducked his head, suddenly very interested in the floor. “I read… things.”
I didn’t get a chance to ask him what he meant, because Robbie’s head snapped up at a sound from the hallway. He gave me a quick, awkward smile and hurried to the door.
Then, left me sitting there, clutching a freaking lemon-yellow sippy cup with the attached straw like some overgrown child.
Perfect.
I heard voices outside the door—words muttered too quiet to make out. One of them sounded like Rio. Maybe Enzo too. I half expected all of them to come barging in.
But it was Rio who stepped inside alone.
He filled the doorway, arms crossed over that broad chest, his unreadable gaze on me in a way that made my skin itch, and he didn’t say a word.
I took him in for the first time—dark hair cropped close, a neat beard framing a mouth that rarely, if ever, curved into a smile. He was gorgeous, everything I wanted in a man: sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, eyes carrying a challenge in every glance. Broad shoulders stretched his shirt, power radiating from the way he stood, as if the world couldn’t shift him without his consent. Trouble through and through—and exactly the kind of trouble I craved to tame. Tattoos inked their way down both arms, twisting in intricate patterns beneath the short sleeves of a fitted black T-shirt that hugged his broad shoulders. He wasn’t as tall as Enzo, didn’t have Jamie’s wiry build, and he sure as hell wasn’t small and fragile, like Robbie. No. Rio was… a powerhouse. Solid. Built as if he could walk through walls—and tense, as if every muscle in his body was coiled, waiting to snap.
I let myself imagine it for a heartbeat—Rio on hisknees for me. All that strength, that raw, brutal power, bent to me, his head lowered, his lips parted, waiting. The thought of it made my chest tight, a kind of heat curling in my stomach, because it would be beautiful. Not weakness, never that—submission like his would be its own kind of dominance, a choice he’d allow no one else.
But then, the doubt hit. Rio wasn’t built that way. He commanded, he fought, he protected. The idea of him kneeling felt like a fantasy I had no right to touch, and I hated how much I wanted it anyway.
He dropped his arms, fists clenching at his sides.
I should’ve been scared. He’d said himself that he’d be the one to end me. But the fear wasn’t about that—it was seeing the sheer force of him; the threat he carried was like nothing I’d ever seen before.
After a moment’s hesitation, he stalked toward me. Every step made the air in the room seem denser.
He reached out and pressed a rough, calloused hand to my forehead.
Then, he gave a curt nod.
“Shower,” he said and yanked back the covers.
I froze.
Yeah, I was kinda proud of my body—compact, small, sure—but strong in its own way from working out and learning the skills to fight or hide. I’dsurvived on instinct and speed, on being overlooked, on slipping through cracks bigger men couldn’t fit through. But right now?
Right now, I was naked aside from boxers; I must have pulled off my shirt, or someone else had, which was even worse. Every scar, every mark, every thin line crossing my belly from old wounds and worse mistakes—all of it on display. Add in the stink of fever-sweat, the weakness that had me shaking, the fact I couldn’t sit up without help… and I fucking hated it.
Anger flared and burned hotter than any fever. Not at Rio—at me. At this. In the way, being sick stripped away every layer. I clenched my fists, heat prickling behind my eyes.
I wasn’t supposed to be this goddamn fragile.
I shot out a hand, trying to yank the covers back up over me.
Rio grumbled something low and guttural—and ripped the entire blanket clean off the bed.
“Get up,” he ordered, hands in fists again.
I tried to move, but my body wasn’t having it. I felt like jelly, my limbs loose and clumsy. When I finally swung my legs over the side of the bed and my feet hit the cold floor, I yelped in shock and pain.
“Fuck,” Rio snarled under his breath.
