ONYX
For the past few days, I’d been walking around strung so fucking tight I felt like a single spark could set me off. Not just because I was holding back with Elena, but also because a quiet storm was building behind the scenes.
Wizard had been running symbols nonstop. Ace was picking apart every dollar Marks had ever touched. Rebel was digging deep, too, and he’d hit something big yesterday. He found a syndicate tied to Marks. Not just a passing association, either. Real ties. Money, contact, and movement.
He still hadn’t figured out what Mark’s role was in it. No one had. Which was part of what made my hands itch every time I walked Elena to her apartment door at night and didn’t follow her inside.
She still didn’t know we were investigating him. Or how far it had gone. We’d kept everything from her on purpose. She was already in deep without realizing it, and I couldn’t risk her tipping her hand, partly because we had something concrete. If Marks suspected she was aware of what he was doing, there was no telling how fast this situation would spiral.
So I kept my hands to myself when I walked her home—until last night, when I’d given in to my need. I’d kissed her fiercely, barely restrained myself from taking her into her apartment, stripping her down, and claiming her as I desperately wanted to. I only allowed my hands to roam her waist as I owned it, pressing my mouth to hers until her knees went soft and she whimpered into my throat. And then I left.Again. Because I was still playing the long game. Trying to give her something worth remembering instead of just tearing into her the way I wanted.
She didn’t realize what kind of self-control that took. How hard I was under my jeans half the damn day.
But right now, protecting her meant staying sharp. Keeping my dick in my pants and my eyes on the problem.
It was beginning to take shape, but all the unknowns were carving away at my patience. Hell, I’d been more relaxed back when I went with my brothers to take down a trafficking ring. At least when you were facing down a known enemy or putting bullets in a problem, you knew where you stood. This was shadow work. Psychological, coded, and strategic.
Elena wasn’t just a bystander. She was being used. I just didn’t know how. Not until today.
She moved through the studio that afternoon like she always did—with quiet grace, focused energy, and her hair pulled up with soft wisps falling around her face. She wore those snug black jeans that hugged her hips like a second skin and a fitted charcoal T-shirt that stretched across her tits when she reached for supplies. Her apron was tied tightly around her waist, with a few smudges of ink on the front, but she still looked fucking edible.
Ink was working on a client in his booth. I was handling paperwork, half-distracted by the memory of Elena’s lips and the constant buzz of stress that never quite left my spine.
The doorbell chimed, and Elena hurried up to the front desk since our receptionist had stepped away for a minute. When the guy walked in, I clocked him instantly. Trim black beard, dark slacks, and pressed dress shirt as he’d stepped out of a business meeting. But he didn’t carry himself like an office drone.
King had been in the CIA before he became the president of the Hounds of Hellfire, and I’d learned a lot about how to read people from him.
This guy’s body language was all wrong. Too controlled and measured. Every step was specifically placed, like a man trained to move through hostile space without triggering alarms.
Elena smiled at him. “Hi. Jareth told me you’d be by today.”
The guy returned her smile with just the right amount of polite warmth. “Had a gap in the schedule. Figured I’d take advantage of it.”
I stepped out of my office and crossed to her side before I even realized I was moving. My tone was low enough not to spook the guy, but firm enough to make her pause when I murmured, “Elena.”
She turned toward me without hesitation, wearing a bright expression that always knocked the air out of me. “Reeve, this is Darren. He works with Jareth on one of the local charity boards.”
I didn’t offer a hand. Just looked him over and gave a nod. “A friend of Marks's?”
Darren’s eyes flicked to me. “We’ve worked together for a while now.”
That wasn’t a yes.
Elena’s brow creased slightly. “He’s here for a tattoo. A commission piece Jareth asked me to design. He said Darren wanted something special and knew I’d make it perfect.”
My jaw locked.
Elena went on, cheerful and proud, clearly excited about the work. “It’s different from the last few. Most of those were lower-level friends or employees of his. This one’s supposed to be exact. High-end.” She gestured for Darren to follow her. “I’m set up in booth four.”
My gaze tracked him closely as she led him back to her station. He didn’t check out her ass. Didn’t look at anything but the floor. But I still didn’t like it.
I followed and leaned casually against the edge of the booth. I was already sure of the answer, but still asked, “You got the artwork with you?”
She shook her head, her eyes sparkling. “No, I’ll be doing it from memory. Jareth didn’t give me a print. Just a rough sketch for the general flow, then I cleaned it up in my book. He said it would be good practice to internalize layout and negative space. I practiced it for days.”
Of course, he didn’t give her a print.
My pulse picked up. “Where’s it going?”
